Zach Congdon and his band Beirut have a backstory so charming it sounds like an episode from some dusty nineteenth century novel. As a teen he dropped out of college to spend months in Europe and returned to America ready to create an album of Eastern-European inspired folk music. A few years later he returned with another album of sophisticated France-themed pop, evoking visions of pâtisseries, cobblestones, the smells of wine and gauloises cigarettes. Now after a trip to Mexico he has released a new double EP. The brassy Mexican section is entitled March of the Zapotec. Its incongruous companion is Holland, a disappointing collection of five poor electronic songs.

Excluding its goofy brass-band-parade intro, March of the Zapotec contains only five tracks. “La Llorona,” despite its oom-pah-pah accompaniment, is a touching and pretty anthem, if not very memorable. Congdon’s gift for melody is evident but not overwhelming. He gets his mariachi on with the next track, “My Wife,” which sounds like something you’d accidentally come across while messing with your radio. “The Akara” is the EP’s very best track. A wailing band intro gives way to a sultry bossa nova beat; Congdon’s mournful, lilting voice sings out a sad farewell to some Latin lover as a chorus of trumpets bleat out a singsong melody. “On a Bayonet” is a beautiful instrumental arrangement, but its very short length makes it seem nothing more than a transition. March of the Zapotec ends with “The Shrew.” It starts out as just another Mexican-themed number, with strong lyrics and a passable melody, with a loud brassy interlude before the recapitulation of the theme. On the whole it is an interesting expedition into a new style for Beirut. Once you get over the weird novelty of the wailing antique horns, the melodies and arrangements are pretty strong. This EP definitely improves with time.

The same cannot be said of Holland, the second portion of the double EP, which is attributed to the pseudonym “Realpeople.” Beirut has dabbled in electronic music before—his first album included a chirpy little song called “Scenic World.” Strangely enough, Beirut later released a fantastic instrumental version of the same song, as if as an apology. He’ll have a lot of apologizing to do for Holland. The first two songs are uninspiring and uninteresting electronic ditties, not even really worth mentioning. With the acceptable third song, “Venice,” Beirut uses ambient electronic sounds to supplement a more characteristic piece based on vocal harmony. “The Concubine” is the only really good song on Holland; it’s not a coincidence that it’s also the least electronic song on the EP. With its strong, metered beat and great melody, it’s like an oasis in a wasteland of bad music. Holland concludes with a cheap, frilly little piece of electropop called “No Dice.” This side of the EP gets worse with time—once you get over the glossy veneer of electronica and production, you realize there’s not much here to like.

Beirut conveniently divides up his new material into two collections. Download the good EP; ignore the bad one.