Artist: Andrew Bird
Album: Noble Beast
Year: 2009
Grade: 2.5 pretzels
Andrew Bird’s has a unique take on this indie rock thing all the kids are talking about these days. Classically trained on the violin and apparently able to master any other stringed instrument under the sun, he creates accomplished, well-crafted little tunes. Drawing on a suitably scattershot group of influences, ranging from good-ol’-timey folk to jazz and blues and even the occasional bit of rock, he has an easily identifiable sound, full of hushed violin plucks and his warm, slightly warbling voice. He’s one of those virtuoso musicians, who have this clear vision for the music and can accomplish it easily with their tremendous musical talent. He also has a tendency to drive me up the fucking wall.
Bird’s music tends to draw me into some weird debate over how important instrumental talent is in music. He’s clearly very good at playing a wide range of instruments. This is beyond debate. However, I also find his music astonishingly boring. Bird’s classical training shows right through his music, with a capital “C”. His songs are like beautiful chiseled stone statues: extremely well-crafted, but rigid, unmoving and lacking in dynamic. As a listener, I get the sense that Bird is an impossibly calm and controlled man, methodically adding piece after piece to his songs. There never appear to be unrestrained moments, where Bird goes nuts on his violin or lets loose with some moment of primal abandon. He’s the exact opposite of my favorite rock violinist, Warren Ellis of the Dirty Three and the Bad Seeds.
Noble Beast doesn’t really do anything to change my conflicted mind about Andrew Bird. This is mostly because it sounds just like every other record he’s made. Bird sounds like he’s found his little musical niche and is perfectly content to exist fully within in, without nudging at the boundaries of anything else. This isn’t to say that Noble Beast is a bad record, but it sounds like a record that existing fans will like without winning over many new ones. Bird’s cautious restraint again dominates every song, along with his extraordinary ability to work multi-syllabic or unexpected words into his music (I challenge you to find an album with this many uses of the word “macramé”). Too many songs on this record end up overstaying their welcome, with four exceeding five minutes and only one of them (the brilliantly fuzzy, percussion-led “Not A Robot, But A Ghost”) actually earning those extra minutes.
Andrew Bird is an acquired taste. I know many people who really like his style, with his mix of formal training and folksy inclination. Like I said, he’s certainly a unique artist. However, I still can’t really accept him as my cup of tea. Perhaps I like visceral music too much. Perhaps I’m just too in love with electric guitars. But Andrew Bird’s music still sounds stiff and over-thought to me. The man sounds as calm as Switzerland. One of these days, he has to finally snap.
Bird’s music tends to draw me into some weird debate over how important instrumental talent is in music. He’s clearly very good at playing a wide range of instruments. This is beyond debate. However, I also find his music astonishingly boring. Bird’s classical training shows right through his music, with a capital “C”. His songs are like beautiful chiseled stone statues: extremely well-crafted, but rigid, unmoving and lacking in dynamic. As a listener, I get the sense that Bird is an impossibly calm and controlled man, methodically adding piece after piece to his songs. There never appear to be unrestrained moments, where Bird goes nuts on his violin or lets loose with some moment of primal abandon. He’s the exact opposite of my favorite rock violinist, Warren Ellis of the Dirty Three and the Bad Seeds.
Noble Beast doesn’t really do anything to change my conflicted mind about Andrew Bird. This is mostly because it sounds just like every other record he’s made. Bird sounds like he’s found his little musical niche and is perfectly content to exist fully within in, without nudging at the boundaries of anything else. This isn’t to say that Noble Beast is a bad record, but it sounds like a record that existing fans will like without winning over many new ones. Bird’s cautious restraint again dominates every song, along with his extraordinary ability to work multi-syllabic or unexpected words into his music (I challenge you to find an album with this many uses of the word “macramé”). Too many songs on this record end up overstaying their welcome, with four exceeding five minutes and only one of them (the brilliantly fuzzy, percussion-led “Not A Robot, But A Ghost”) actually earning those extra minutes.
Andrew Bird is an acquired taste. I know many people who really like his style, with his mix of formal training and folksy inclination. Like I said, he’s certainly a unique artist. However, I still can’t really accept him as my cup of tea. Perhaps I like visceral music too much. Perhaps I’m just too in love with electric guitars. But Andrew Bird’s music still sounds stiff and over-thought to me. The man sounds as calm as Switzerland. One of these days, he has to finally snap.
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