On Sunday night, in a moment of impulse, I bought a ticket to see Beirut at the House of Blues. And it was so wonderful.
You know how you get obsessed with a song, or a band, listen to them everyday for a month before retiring them away for a while? And then, whenever you listen to them, as if by magic, you’re transported back to that time in your life when that music was so important?
For me, Beirut takes me back to Europe, the early days. The days of small French apartments, salty sea air, bikes and two euro bottles of cheap champagne…of drafty castles, French housekeepers, brown German bread, and iambic-pentameter Luxembourgish.
And mostly, of trains, and watching the countryside pass by. Beirut was the band I would listen to, en route, feeling that rush of new adventure, of forward movement, speeding into the unknown.