Beirut: The Rip Tide

At just 25 years old, Zach Condon has already enjoyed an enviable life. After dropping out of high school, the boy behind Beirut traveled to Europe and heard the Balkan gypsy music and French chansons that would inspire his music and reputation as an indie prodigy importing a worldly sound. Both of his accomplished previous albums are deeply rooted in the cultural sounds of Eastern and Western Europe, which makes his third album, The Rip Tide, an outlier. Foregoing the distinct, grandiose instrumentation of Gulag Orkestar and The Flying Club Cup, Beirut has produced a more domestic pop album that only hints at Condon’s past life as a vagabond.

Belying his youth, Condon gives the impression that he is ready to settle down with this release, an effort more refined in sound and lyricism. The LP’s opener, “A Candle’s Fire,” sounds a little brighter than classic Beirut thanks to a brass section more evocative of big band jazz than heartsick poetry. Instead of heralding European landmarks, Condon pays tribute to his hometown on “Santa Fe,” a sunny track that still incorporates horns into a polished sound. Even the lilt in Condon’s voice is cheerier, which makes wistful lyrics like “As the air grows cold, the trees unfold/ And I am lost and not found” sound hopeful. The Rip Tide’s brevity and pacing keep the album fresh; the songs move in waves of fluid momentum that reflect its nautical name.

Despite this excursion into less exotic locales, Beirut remains distinguished from its peers. Whether roaming the Parisian streets at midnight or exploring a Spanish street market in “East Harlem,” Zach Condon invites listeners to join his enchanting travelogues. This time around he leaves his passport behind, but explores familiar territory with the same sense of amazement he found abroad.