Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Up in the air.

As regular readers (aka: my lovely wife) may remember, I deemed Gulag Orkestar by Beirut the "best album of 2007." So, it probably comes as little surprise that I also really love his new album: The Flying Club Cup

Honestly, I do have to admit that I was a little concerned that I wouldn't like it as much. As amazing as Gulag Orkestar was, I was concerned that what had seemed so novel on the first album would just seem strained and redundant on the second. Luckily, Zach Condon (who it, what, 12?) has changed his focus a bit (from Eastern Europe to Paris), brought in an eight-piece band and was apparently fortunate enough to record in the same church studio used by Arcade Fire's most recent album.

All in all, a great album. And, if you don't like it, well...

Just don't poop on my balloon!

See this balloon?

Happy looking, isn't it? Now, imagine if it had poop on it. Maybe seagull poop, though you can use your imagination and pick another sort of poop.

Doesn't the idea of a balloon with poop on it seem so sad. But, y'know, funny-sad. That's why I'm coining the phase: "Don't poo on my balloon." Or, alternately, "I don't mean to poop on your balloon, but..."

And, its going to be the Greatest Phrase ever!™ So, feel free to use it and spread the word!

Update: I just discovered this page which allows you to stream a new Beirut song, My Night With the Prostitute From Marseille, which will be appearing on some benefit compliation that Natalie Portman is releasing on iTunes. The track is an interesting one, because in some ways its more Postal Service sounding that Beirut.

1 comment:

the4thpip said...

Don't tell me not to live,
Just sit and putter,
Life's candy and the suns
A ball of butter.
Don't bring around an ass
To poop on my balloon.
Don't tell me not to fly--
I've simply got to.
If someone takes a spill,
It's me and not you.
Who told you you're allowed
To poop on my balloon!
I'll march my band out,
I'll beat my drum,
And if I'm fanned out,
Your turn at bat, sir.
At least I didn't fake it.
Hat, sir, I guess I didn't make it!
But whether I'm the rose
Of sheer perfection,
Or freckle on the nose
Of life's complexion,
The cinder or the shiny apple of its eye,
I gotta fly once,
I gotta try once,
Only can die once, right, sir?
Ooh, love is juicy,
Juicy, and you see
I gotta have my bite, sir!
Get ready for me, love,
cause I'm a comer,
I simply gotta march,
My hearts a drummer.
Don't bring around some ass
To poop on my balloon!

I'm gonna live and live now,
Get what I want--I know how,
One roll for the whole shebang,
One throw, that bell will go clang,
Eye on the target--and wham--
One shot, one gun shot, and bam--
Hey, mister Adler, here I am!
I'll march my band out,
I will beat my drum,
And if I'm fanned out,
Your turn at bat, sir,
At least I didn't fake it.
Hat, sir, I guess I didnt make it.
Get ready for me, love,
cause I'm a comer,
I simply gotta march,
My hearts a drummer.
Nobody, no, nobody
Is gonna poop on my balloon!