Beirut live!

Beirut
Portage Theater, Chicago
Thursday, October 4, 2007

Rock ‘n’ roll is a young man’s game, but what about European folk? For 75 minutes on Thursday night, 21-year-old Zach Condon led his Beirut on a pseudo-Old World tour with a bandleader presence that approached James Brown.

Granted, Condon’s dance moves are limited to gripping the mic stand and dancing with his trumpet, but cuts and slashes with his arms were psychokinetically linked to the actions of the seven-person band behind him — a minor miracle. Beirut’s alarmingly confident 2006 debut, Gulag Orkestar (Ba Da Bing), was mostly completed by Condon alone in his bedroom, giving him less than a year to assemble some musicians who not only adapted his juvenile visions, but felt them too.

From the opening waltz of “Nantes,” a languid waltz down the Left Banke, Beirut were able to draw more distinctions between Gulag and this fall’s The Flying Club Cup than is managed on record. And never was that more apparent than the morphing of “Nantes” into “Mount Wroclai” — the latter of which is more heavily Gypsy-influenced. The songs’ only fealty was to Condon’s impassioned wailing (and unfortunate aversion to enunciation), and were thus able to branch into separate pockets of Europe.

Only violinist Kristin Ferebee and drummer Nick Petree were constants behind their instruments: Condon and the others were feverishly swapping horns, ukeleles, mandolins, guitars, standup bass, and keys while trying to keep up with assorted waltzes and marches. More impressive than their abilities to pick the right piece up each time was the fluency with which “A Sunday Smile,” “Elephant Gun,” and “Penalty” were recreated. Each brassy trill, tap-danced bassline, and nimble violin run fell into place with remarkable authenticity, defying criticism Condon has faced for seeming postcards away from his fantasies.

An amiable if somewhat reluctant showman, Condon’s refusal to experiment vocally remains Beirut’s biggest weight. His clear devotion to Rufus Wainwright’s pipes isn’t as lamentable as his crooning’s habit to repeat certain caterwauling tics. A playful Belgian pop song was a welcome excursion and proved even if he’s in love with the sound of his voice, he’s at least willing to have fun with it. He could do with some more.

— Steve Forstneger

Category: Live Reviews, Weekly