Beirut No No No

In the years following the release of Beirut’s 2011 LP, The Rip Tide, frontman Zach Condon got hospitalized for exhaustion, got divorced and then got engaged to be married again. Yet the chamber-rock band’s fourth studio album, No No No, shows little sign of that overt emotional tumult. More surprising, the record possesses few of the ornate, carnival-esque gypsy-rock flourishes that made the band an indie darling. Songs are more straightforward, nodding to vintage soul-funk (the Belle & Sebastian-ish “Perth”) and graceful waltzes (“So Allowed”), while their arrangements are muted and streamlined. Only jaunty piano (the percussion-heavy “Gibraltar”), beehive strings (“As Needed”), burbling organ (“Pacheco”) and cascading harmonies (“Fener”) add color; in fact, the band’s trademark horns appear on just a handful of songs, a disappointment considering their mournful, mariachi-esque presence on “At Once” helps the song emerge as a standout. An even bigger disappointment? At nine songs and under 30 minutes, No No No ends when it feels like it’s just getting started. Still, Condon’s meticulous, resonant voice and the album’s lyrics—which convey hesitant optimism and flashes of profundity that feel like impressionistic postcards scribbled from far-off places—ensure the record doesn’t feel generic or pedestrian. It’s a rare case of emotional addition by (musical) subtraction.