Andrew Bird @ TheSpielgeltent, 06/01/2008

Thu 10th Jan, 2008 in Gig Reviews

I have to begin by crowing that I have a big problem with reality. So thank god I can toss it aside in the dust where it belongs as I enter The Famous Spielgeltent. As far as intimate, world-wide, travelling wonderlands go, this sumptuous 1920s “antique mirror hall” comes close to a real-life sweet dream. Steeped in a rich and romantic history, it would be obstinate to try and define its inimitable charm purely by one aspect for it lies in a myriad of them.

With thanks to Helene, I walk through its phantasmagorical entrance where the cosy banquettes await you with plush brocade, the mystery of self reflection, through a surplus of mirrors, and a ritzy bar. Tonight, the evening sunlight slowly dissipates through lead glass windows and murmurs of a by-gone era stir the imagination. But lavish surroundings and a heightened sensory experience do not divert you away from the significance of its events. More to the point, it enhances the thrill.

Andrew Bird, travelling troubadour and spreader of new meanings in sound, comes to us with an enquiring mind that probes existential themes and small pockets of history with stylistic leanings of indie folk/rock. A multi-instrumentalist, his prowess as a violinist elicits heartfelt melodies that are awash with layers of heavy reverb guitar, touches of piano and tinkerings of the glockenspiel. His sound scatters along a spectrum of classical music with twinges of jazz, blues, gypsy and swing and, while comparisons are loathsome, the similarities are there in the mind-expanding tradition of Sufjan Stevens, Rufus Wainwright and Devendra Banhart. Yet he manages to find a sound unique unto him and, with a surname of Bird, he sure whistles a lot.

To applause, he slinks out alone, violin in hand, and delicately opens with “Why” from Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire, The Swimming Hour. As a searching critique, his low, whiskey kissed vocals query, “Why? Why’d you do that?/_You shouldn’t have done that_” with an ambiguous hook of “Damn you for being so easygoing”. But his voice gives way to a pitch that could rival Thom Yorke as it ascends from the depths to far off planets. By song’s end, and through time’s passage, it stretched to fifteen minutes. I take note: people in paroxysms of excitement are catching their breath and it has only been the first song.

Ah, to be lost in instant reverie, and by sheer sleight-of-hand Bird, with confidence, keeps us there. The appearance of drummer, Martin Dosh, and guitarist, Jeremy Ylvisaker, adds a further skilful dimension and together, “Fiery Crash” is played out as just one of the highlights. And I say this positively – this song, live, could soundtrack those defining and gorgeous moments of your life that supposedly precede your demise as they flash bittersweetly before your eyes.

The crowd appreciate his mutterings in between songs of well adjusted pet chickens at home, his delirious jetlag and, in fixing a violin string half way through, he is feeling “too tired to be concerned”. With something equally vulnerable and haphazard about Bird’s presence they blur in interesting ways. Our romantic hero reflectively consults the mind yet his stage movements are randomly chaotic as he navigates through issues of mortality, superstition, premonition, ambition and nervous tickers. Yet he is tender, practically wistful, and his throwaway lines offer more about him.

With crunching rhythms and shifting tempos his show is touched with clever impro and shadowy radiotronics that furtively emanate from somewhere. It all fits snugly within usual song arrangements, yet he seems determined to quash the monolithic rock construct as well.

Tonight I think we all understand Bird a little more as he translates so well to the stage. His live sound almost takes on cinematic flights of fancy and there is no fair guessing that I dare say that this is how he finds his followers. He found me.