I would have just had to see the album cover for Beirut’s 2006 debut album Gulag Orkestar to have known they would be something special.

As it was, I discovered the thanks to Spotify’s auto-curated playlist the app plays at the end of an album. Band of Horses’ debut Everything All the Time finished up and Spotify began picking songs based off that last selection. A song by Beirut came on, and it had my attention immediately. Accordion, Balkan-style brass, and a modern rhythmic sensibility. It piqued my interest to say the last. I dove in, choosing their second album based on the cover art itself:

“Cliquot” is a song of longing, a song of nostalgia, a song that is at once timeless and modern. “I didn’t know people made music like this anymore,” I thought when I first heard it, immediately listening to it again.

“Gallipoli” with its electronic opening sounds starkly different, and then the horns enter, and you start to notice a trend in Beirut’s music: brass plays the central. Cue the drums and you have a song that sounds completely different than “Cliquot” and yet strangely similar. The vocals enter, and you wonder if it’s not Morrissey singing.

So we’re on this journey into Beirut’s music together and you look at me and say, “I think we’ve found the common thread.” And I say, “Yes, but we haven’t heard the newest album, Hadsel from 2023.” The organ begins and sudden, it’s as if we’ve never heard Beirut before — totally different.

That angelic voice! Those harmonies! All weaving about the organ (a 19th-century organ in Norway). “This is a new side of Beirut,” you say.

And then the trumpet enters.

Lest one think one has cornered Beirut, there’s songs like “Fyodor Dormant,” which begins with an electronic intro that sounds more like eighties dance music before the horns come in, turning the relatively simple intro into a multi-layered Balkan dance tune.

It even has a drum machine! “A totally different Beirut!” I declare. You smile: you’ve given this a surreptitious listen before. You know — the trumpet is coming.

“East Harlem” is up next, and we’re in familiar territory: a squeeze box introduction. And suddenly there’s piano playing eighth-notes as rhythm. It’s a different side. A lighter side. And then the trumpet enters followed by the other brass instruments, and everything changes. Back to a new same old Beirut.

But where is that pure Balkan-flavored music we got a taste of with “Cliquot”? “Let’s go back to the debut album,” you suggest, and there it is.

“I wonder what Beirut would sound like trying to create a pop so with a catchy music video to go along with it,” you muse. Sounds impossible after “Prenzlauerber,” but if we’ve learned anything about Beirut it’s that nothing is impossible. Cue: “No No No.”

And finally, perhaps their finest moment to date: “Arctic Forest.” That music can be so calming, so beautiful, and yet have a beat that renders some kind of movement irresistible — even if you don’t have a dancing bone in your body — is a miracle itself. Add to that the gorgeous arrangement that seems to build but never overwhelm, and you have one of the most perfect songs ever created.

Beirut has been making music for over fifteen years now, and we’ve only now discovered this treasure. It could be worse: we might never have met with this perfection.

In short, the most original and creative musician currently working.