March Of The Zapotec/Holland [EP]

Rather than re-tracing the path that made him popular, he has hacked into the wilderness of his new inspirations, no matter how divergent, and emerged triumphant.

To reiterate, then: it’s not the third Beirut album, like, proper. But as a means of sating collective appetites before that record does arrive--heightening expectations, even--it is a remarkable achievement.

The truth is, Zach Condon’s voice is enough to unify the two halves of this substantial release. If you put the album on shuffle, the songs blend into a surprisingly coherent whole.

Zapotec has a regal, brassy sort of sweep--check the martial melody 'The Akara'--and the best songs on Holland twist and turn over a warm, buttery backbeat.

His trademark woozy laments and waltzing rhythms are present, but buried beneath layers of tumbling horns they seem much richer, with the charming languor of his voice twisting the mariachi saunter into something dark. Strangely, it’s the synth-pop gems of second EP Holland that seem the most foreign.

The two mini-albums are both successes in vastly different ways, but they are especially effective as testaments to the versatility and adventurousness of Zach Condon.

The production could be more daring, the disparity between songs could be smaller ('Venice' apes Boards Of Canada, while 'No Dice' sounds like bad house), and Condon’s voice sounds glaringly melodramatic without any rich instrumentation to mitigate its effect.

Like the most artistically successful EPs (Magical Mystery Tour, the Who's surf-rockers, the Beta Band's glory-days output), these do the job without overstaying their welcomes.

The first half of this double EP was recorded with a 19-piece Oaxacan band, who pull the songs away from Condon's reflexive melancholy; but next to their pomp, his sparse bedroom electronics on Holland (under the name Realpeople) feel a tad thin.

Holland's airy, electronic pop music with layers of vocals. It's pleasant enough, though it's not as compelling as March of the Zapotec.

The resulting EP is powerful, but also a bit slight.

March of the Zapotec and Holland won’t get people as stirred up as "Gulag Orkestar" but they do suggest some interesting new directions.

A game of two halves as Brooklyn world music troop go synth pop on split disc.

Holland has its moments, but its weaker than Zapotec, an issue amplified by listening to them together. [Winter 2009, p.69]

They make the point that Condon has the talent to move in any direction that he pleases, but the reliance on smart ideas means that they only occasionally create a similar emotional impact to the work that got us so excited about Beirut in the first place.

The beauty of those opening moments suggests that Condon's future really does lie in soundtracks, where you can imagine him collaborating with and finding inspiration in the baroque visual inventions of an Anderson or a Gondry, and where his restless musical wandererings might yet chance upon the truly undiscovered countries of the imagination.

Not only does it sound like two very different acts but March, fashioned with a funeral band from Mexico, is far less absorbing than the synth-pop of Holland, whose five twinkly tracks contain a joie de vivre absent from its stodgy, reverential sister set.

The ensuing synthetic pop suite can't disguise a crucial lack of memorable songs. [Mar 2009, p.111]

While the second project has iuts moments--'Venice' is beautifully undersatetd--the juxtaposition doesn't really come off and you're left wondering why these weren't simply kept as two disctnct EPs. [Mar 2009, p.96]

Together they highlight his strengths (ace horn arrangements) and, especially, shortcomings.

March of the Zapotec is a serviceable, if less than memorable, expansion of Beirut’s already established sound via the Jiminez Band, a 19-piece band from Mexico. Realpeople Holland is fucking awful techno music that is desert-bereft, wholly disposable, and somehow makes Condon’s crooner’s dollop seem alien and unlistenable for the first time. If