Sonic Confusion: Beirut / Realpeople, 'March of the Zapotec / Holland'

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ZACH CONDON COULDN'T take the label of "experimental" sitting down. He decided to switch up his old routine of Eastern Europe-inspired themes and try out their polar opposites: Mexico and synth-pop. On "March of the Zapotec / Holland," a two-disc EP set out Feb. 17 on Ba Da Bing Records, melodic prodigy Condon goes by both the familiar Beirut and the unknown Realpeople, two pseudonyms for the same person, likely just indicating the bizarrely different directions the collections take.

The first installment, "March of the Zapotec," is highly listenable, requiring just a bit more concentration than is usually required of a Condon work. It also might come with a prerequisite of some appreciation for Mexican folk music, since this hodgepodge of alternately murky and mournful horns isn't likely to turn you on to the whole genre of banda.

Recorded in a sparsely populated area of Mexico with the 19-piece Jimenez Band, whose native language was Zapotec, "March's" six tracks are distinct to the region and in some ways exemplify the kind of richness that Beirut is capable of. Even using foreign sounds and experimental techniques, Condon's music typically comes through as comforting and familiar.

Compared with 2006's epic "Gulag Orkenstar," though, and even last year's "Flying Cup Club," "March" features tighter arrangements and less emotional range, focusing less on sprawling odes and more on raw, repeated themes. The constant "oom-pah-pah" is cute at first but soon crosses into tedious territory, so that's one good reason for the whole project to clock in at less than 16 minutes.

But the second part, "Holland," is tedious in ways the first half couldn't even fathom.

A bland synthesizer and '80s soundtrack tunes, it turns out, are not a good backer for Condon's ethereal voice, and there's little on this half of the collection that merits any repeat listens. The only exception is "Venice," which uses a real-life horn part to balance out the banality of the synth melody, and the result is worthy of being called a Beirut masterpiece, with deep harmonies and an unspecified intensity that can make your heart hurt (although it's likely no other song will ever reach the heights of "Elephant Gun."

Featuring only a few undisputedly good moments, it's likely this release will appeal to a select few — the die-hard Condon-worshippers and the odd listener or two who stumbles across it and discovering he's harboring some undiscovered enthusiasm for funeral mariachi music. The rest of us will wait eagerly for a worthy follow-up to "Flying Cup Club."

Written by Express contributor Afton Lorraine Woodward