Andrew Bird -- Armchair Apocrypha

Andrew Bird
Armchair Apocrypha

The purposes of these reviews are not specifically to be topical nor timely. They are, rather, to introduce artists of certain prestige that this reviewer finds it important or relevant to the proper setting. Now that I’ve made up a wordy excuse for reviewing Andrew Bird’s already one-year-old Armchair Apocrypha, I shall begin said review of Armchair Apocrypha.

Primarily a violinist (and whistler! Andrew Bird can WHISTLE!), Suzuki method-trained Bird’s songs are truly compositions, carefully constructed, though not without surprises and symphonic turns. Consistent with his other work, Armchair Apocrypha (Bird’s fifth studio album) starts slow; Bird seems to enjoy allowing the listener to ease into the album. The opening track, “Fiery Crash” is calming, in antithesis to the title’s intent. However, the album opens up with significant tension in the plucky “Imitosis,” and widens further with the meticulously constructed “Plasticities” (the only song where Bird does not overload on the lyrical imagery and reference and, also, one of the most lyrically compelling).

Nearly obscured between cautious compositions is the charming “Heretics” (question of integrity: does Bird get bored with the constant claims of “thank God it’s fatal” toward the end, or simply exhausted at the repetition from the other concerned?). In “Armchairs,” following, one must ask: is Bird being too cautious? Is he obscuring himself by his training—or is it all “intentional” façade? I suppose you could say that those questions are answered in the blasted crescendo at the end, but still: consider.

Another valid question this album raises can be found in Bird’s structuring on Armchair Apocrypha; it’s almost like a fifth grade poem structure—as learned, ABAB schematics. To clarify, Bird seems to switch back and forth between the songs that are easy to swallow—the toe tapping sound of “Heretics,” the funny “Dark Matter”—against sandwiched between the mournful “Armchairs” and the social commentary found in “Simple X.” This brings me to my primary (and really, only) complaint to be had against Andrew Bird, which could probably be best articulated to Bird himself in the phrase, “yes, Andrew, we realize that you are smarter than us.” Bird’s lyrics condemn (or propel) him to be every condescending baroque-pop, indie-snob’s wet dream. For example, in “Scythian Empire” (in it’s defense, the most beautiful track on the album), Bird sings “Scythian empire/horsemen of the Russian steppe/archers of an afterthought/routed by Samaritans/thrarted by the Thracians/kings of Macedonia and the Scythian empire.”

Come on. What? Historically accurate, yes, but the mere fact that Bird has the audacity to reference this relatively brief-lived middle-Asian empire of nomadic pre-Persians, let alone construct an elegant and driving composition as a condemnation of neo-Manifest Destiny (just one interpretation) around the Scythians automatically ostracizes a large population of music-listeners (although, hell, he did call the album Armchair Apocrypha; maybe it’s just a matter of knowing your audience). Lucky for Bird, construct he does, and well; “Scythian Empire” stands out boldly on this record.

Bird should be known for his lyricless numbers. The closing track on Armchair Apocrypha, thematically titled “Yawny at the Apocalypse” could not be named any more appropriately; simply imagine the contexts of the invitation to be a bit underwhelmed at the apocalyptic commencement—the swells of Bird’s strings fit perfectly.

Armchair Apocrypha is certainly not a front-loaded album, but there are noticeable splits; it seems there are three distinct parts that become progressively more complex and, to a point, difficult. This only accentuates Bird’s ability to construct an Album, rather than a collection of singles and fillers. Every track is impressive, if a bit undistinct at times; it takes several listens to find the differentiation and subtleties that create an Andrew Bird album.

Really, Armchair Apocrypha can be enjoyed on many different levels, and perhaps that is the entire point. Andrew Bird has created a frighteningly complex yet undeniably likable and appreciable record—it just might take a few listens to come to that appreciation.