Album Review: Beirut - The Flying Club Cup

Beirut - The Flying Club Cup

(Ba Da Bing!, 2007)

Grade: 78.4

"The Penalty" (mp3)






"It's your move," my opponent tells me as he pulls several new tiles out of a nearby silk bag. His reminder recovers my senses from a daydream. The culprit, the latest Beirut album, The Flying Club Cup, is nearly a quarter finished, yet already I am daydreaming. Though I am not impressed, I dare not voice my displeasure to his face, instead refocusing my attention on the Scrabble board that sits on the coffee table that separates us. Before I study my tiles I must check my opponent's previous move. I grimace at the newly added cliquot. All seven letters used, placed on a triple word score to add further insult. The game, like the album, is nearly a quarter finished, yet I am already beat. "You're not going to challenge?" he asks. I consider the option. "The Penalty" begins on the stereo, and instead I resign. I tell him he played a great game as we sweep the tiles back into the silk bag. What I wanted to say was much harsher.

The charmed young man departs for the streets, bottle of wine in one hand, mandolin in the other. I watch him from the window. He pulls his collar up as the snow falls and takes a swig from the bottle. I decide to retire for the evening and cozy up to my lover as "Forks and Knives (La Fete)" plays softly in the background. The warm bed makes everything better. Even the music, despite its low volume, charms my ears for the first time. I suppose I was wrong about you, I think to myself as I drift into a deep sleep. The music continues its passage into my ears, into my head. I hear a voice calling me, it is the young man from a few moments earlier. He looks the same, yet somehow I am clothed and my shoddy apartment transformed into a deli. Confused, I accept his offer to lead me back home. Together we wander through cities I have only seen in PBS documentaries and Jean-Pierre Jeunet films. I am amazed, and suddenly it becomes apparent that I am dreaming. No longer eager to return home, we decide to take a hot air balloon over the coast of Italy. I weep at the sight. To the North, everything. To the South, everything else. I thank the young man for his kindness, and for showing me the world as I had never seen it before. "I only brought the balloon", he replied, "you did the rest."

It is morning when my lover wakes me up, and though I normally prefer to sleep in on Sunday mornings, this moment feels appropriate. "Its been a long time since I've seen you smile," she says. I kiss her as gently as the needle does a record, and play the album again so the two of us can fly together.