A BEIRUT gig is the sonic equivalent of being gently hugged for 90 minutes. Soothing and reassuringly human in their tremulous detail, the six-piece have a wide-eyed innocence that makes them impossible to resist.

Their hopeless romanticism takes the wistfulness of Sufjan Stevens and the intimate grandeur of Arcade Fire as a starting point for songwriter Zach Condon’s itchy-footed road trip that imbues their indie-pop with Balkan-influenced accordion, folksy ukulele and mock mariachi brass.

Opening track When I Die typifies the indie spectrum of this wanderlust. A cavalcade of homespun Eastern European trumpet and trombone sweeps aside Condon’s cathartic existentialism. “When I die/I want to travel light,” he reflects with timorous wonder.

They’re at their strongest as purveyors of world music, especially on encore The Gulag Orkestar. A woozily celebratory Spaghetti Western, it bears all the hallmarks of folk duo A Hawk and a Hacksaw, whose Serbian Cocek they cover as a traditional Balkan dance.

Between those two points the band, originating from New Mexico, weave subtle variations. The rippling synth line on No No No sits against a vaguely reggae-influenced rhythm section, while the title track from sixth album Gallipoli juxtaposes a military-style drum pattern with carnivalesque energy and the vocal harmonies on Fener borrow from 1960s soul.

There are moments when the set falls flat. Corfu is an incidental instrumental that might have accompanied a 1970s Open University programme and The Rip Tide washes too closely to generically tasteful indie.

Yet such lulls can’t undermine an evening that offers three-minute postcards from around the world and homely, upbeat bonhomie.

Beirut play dates in England and Ireland in August, details: beirutband.com