Young Zach Condon, the talented multi-instrumentalist behind world-folk troubadours Beirut, possesses a talent for the theatrical second only to Tom Waits. Yet where Waits has traded in nightmarish distortions of junkyard blues, sea-shanties and broken down honky-tonk, Condon has a passion for the rusted out musical textures of the Old World. Though Condon’s shambolic brass ensembles and swelling ballads may bear little actual resemblance to the music of the gypsies and café idlers he so vividly evokes, his music is possessed of a dreamlike romanticism that manages to redeem even his most florid compositions. Where Condon’s well-received debut ,Gulag Orkestar sought to recapture the drunken chaos of a gypsy orchestra, for Flying Cup Club he has turned his eyes westward, assembling a set of songs that sound as though they might provide a dream soundtrack to a tale of 19th century Parisian debauchery. Condon’s soaring baritone may not be to all tastes, and he often breaks into a melodramatic tremolo that puts a strain on his already overwrought melodies. Nonetheless, Condon has a fine ear for musical textures, and Flying Cup Club has many rewards in store for those willing to indulge Condon’s musical fantasies.