Andrew Bird - ArmchairApocrypha

Thu 29th Mar, 2007 in Music Reviews

I know now that Andrew Bird and I got off on the wrong foot – not once but twice.

Courtesy of a coincidental bargain bin forage I first became acquainted with the Chicago singer/songwriter/violinist/professional whistler through his 2001 album The Swimming Hour, released back in his Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire stage. Not unlike the faux-menacing band title, I found the record to be an overly forced attempt at something it was not. It sounded too much like an eclectic artiste trying to do classic pop just to show he could.

Then when I unfortunately missed Mr. Bird’s support slot for Joanna Newsom’s tour of earlier this year it seemed our relationship was destined for the scrapheap, or some other such dead-(fri)end.

It turns out, though, that we just hadn’t been properly introduced. Let it be known that our man certainly makes quite an impression with his latest release, Armchair Apocrypha. It is pop, but pop done Andrew Bird-style as opposed to Andrew Bird done pop-style. It’s a difficult concept to get your head around but give it a spin and you’ll find that Bird borrows and builds on the past, rather than steals and becomes indebted.

The opening half of this album is especially welcoming. Unusual without being off-putting, Armchair Apocrypha is like the friendly stranger who bandies about candy but stops short of offering a lift. Bird’s smooth vocals, at times reminiscent of Jeff Buckley and David Byrne, lend fitting sophistication to the literate, ornate proceedings. Maturity is written all over it and but for an overriding sense of fun and daring, a number of songs could almost be considered adult-contemporary.

But, just what are labels when the music is this undeniably good? Atop a self-styled symphony – heavily layered violin, distant whistling, intricate guitar, glockenspiel and shuffling drums being the main players – Bird utilises his versatile voice to both soothe and surprise. Lyrically he evokes the sort of deep-thinking not often associated with popular music. Take the swelling, mortal-baiting opener, ‘Fiery Crash’:

“You’ve gotta learn how to die / if you wanna be alive / To save our lives you’ve got to envision / The fiery crash.”

Laugh or cry? Truth is Armchair Apocrypha is full of such dichotomous musings; social commentaries that don’t so much provide any closure but induce further confusion. On the topic of death laughter may well be the best option – why worry about the inevitable? On tracks like ‘Heretics’ and ‘Imitosis’, Bird hides intellectual text behind a catchy façade. On ‘Dark Matter’ Bird weighs up the possibilities from a scientific perspective:

“When I was just a little boy / I threw away all of my action toys / while I became obsessed with Operation…”

Bird’s music works in a similarly calculated fashion, never playing up to any one of Bird’s many strengths – this is not a virtuoso performance but a cohesive statement. While at first the album appears decidedly reserved, it later reveals itself to be intimate. If it weren’t you could almost call it preaching, but in the end Bird is only spreading the good word that, yes, it is OK to do things your own way.