Bird's latest album just as good as his last one
Published March 20, 2007
If expectations break artists, then this album was supposed to crack Andrew Bird. Bird's ninth album, the mysteriously titled Andrew Bird & the Mysterious Production of Eggs, gained him increased notoriety, insomuch that he's developed something like a cult. People either swear by him or don't know him at all. The world he creates is encapsulating, and more and more people are starting to sip the proverbial punch.
Armchair Apocrypha is Bird's 10th album, and it sees him eschewing the clear, relaxed folk of Mysterious Production for darker sounds and rougher textures. Internet promo banners depicted Bird turning into the owl on his cover and that transformation is rather appropriate: This album sounds nocturnal.
Furthermore, Bird has fleshed out his sound. Touring partner Martin Dosh takes a bigger role on this more percussion-heavy album, and Bird dabbles heavily in electric guitar and other conventional sounds. He hasn't forgotten his patented violin, but here it's used more sparingly. It's picked and plucked instead of "played," so listeners won't find anything as upfront as say "Fake Palindromes." It's a bold step for Bird, but if anything, after 10 albums, not only is he challenging himself, he's also challenging his audience.
It's a jarring listen at first, but Bird defines the term "virtuoso," so his indie rock doesn't sound like anyone else's indie rock. It's feeble, but not weak, understated but not wispy and powerful but not consuming.
This new approach seemed like a bad idea to me at first, but Bird pulls it off with ease.
Again, "jarring" is the word I'd choose to describe the first listen of Apocrypha's initial 15 minutes. Opener "Fiery Crash" is built on quick, succinct electric guitar chord progressions with Dosh's rudimentary (but appropriate) drumming at the forefront of the mix. If you listen closely, cloaked under all this is Bird's violin weeping in the background, setting the mood rather than being the protagonist.
"Imitosis" sees Bird employing pizzicato string techniques set against more rhythmic drumming, synth and glockenspiel interjections. The violin is used in quick spurts on the bridge, but it's the verses here that are breathtaking as Bird's angelic voice finally takes the spotlight.
"Plasticities" most resembles Bird's earlier best work. Not to harp on "Fake Palindromes," but it most reminds me of that song.
The first verse and bridge sound hushed, but it's obvious that Bird is holding back so the chorus can explode properly, and it does in handclaps, rapid singing and (more) glockenspiels.
The first four songs here rival only the new LCD Soundsystem album in terms of grabbing you by the balls, but just like that album, the back half of Apocrypha holds its own, sounding something like the wake after the storm. On songs such as "Spare-Ohs" and "Scythian Empires," Bird again intersperses what listeners might be expecting with his experimental side, but never does either take over the other or does the dichotomy become tiring. (And, oh, there is plenty of whistling.)
Bird always hooked me with his melodies, and they are just as strong here, but they're again veiled by the album's fuller sound.
Melodies that he would have flaunted in the open (like on "Banking on a Myth" or "Measuring Cups") now compete with guitars and drums, but they're sometimes even more rewarding.
Bird, on his 10th attempt, has again released a gem of an album. But here it sounds like he's grabbing and yearning for the spotlight. It's Bird no holds barred, take it or leave it.
Only a fool would choose the second option.