I dreamed you were a cosmonaut/Of the space between our chairs/And I was a cartographer/Of the tangles in your hair, sings multi-instrumentalist, virtuoso violinist and self-proclaimed professional whistler Andrew Bird on ‘Armchairs’, a track from his third solo album, Armchair Apocrpyha. In many ways, it exemplifies Bird’s songwriting - it’s eloquent and complex, linguistically pointed and attentive, but simultaneously imbued with genuine romanticism, soaring idealism and exciting attention to detail.
If you’re anything like me, however, you might be slightly underwhelmed upon first listen. Essentially, Andrew Bird makes intelligent, literate pop that sounds mightily low-fi given the desire to soar his choruses seem to possess. Over a short time, however, it becomes apparent that this is the album’s greatest strength. The melodies are sublime, but at no point does any instrument jump into the spotlight. It’s not dominated by Bird’s looped violin and, vocally, the extremely talented Bird shows marked restraint throughout, given that he seems to be able to scale operatic heights with ease. It’s this restraint that makes the payoff that much more enjoyable - ‘Time’s a crooked bone,’ he sings on 'Armchairs,' and whatever he means, he believes it.
Throughout, Armchair Apocrypha has an air of quiet, understated triumph and humble optimism about it, something characterised no better than on ‘Cataracts,’ a downhearted song absolutely transformed at 1m40s, at which point Bird breaks into an uplifting, almost happy-go-lucky whistle. The result is nothing less than joyous. Closer ‘Yawny At The Apocalypse’ couldn’t be titled more accurately, as a cinematic violin plays resolute melodies over chirping birds. Sorrowful, perhaps, but simultaneously serene and transcendent.
It could be said that Andrew Bird (and this rings particularly true vocally) might bear some resemblance to Jeff Buckley, but without the aching romanticism and grandiose, funereal arrangements of Grace. The aforementioned ‘Armchairs’, for instance, plays out like an understated ‘Everybody Here Wants You’ for the hopeless romantic. Standout track ‘Plasticities’ has a rousing chorus, handclaps and plucked violin rallying around a simple guitar line while Bird assures that ‘We’ll fight for your music halls and dying cities.’ ‘Simple X’ is an interesting one - originally an instrumental penned by drummer Martin Dosh, Bird sings against a largely electronic backdrop of stuttering percussion and his trademark almost theremin-esque whistle. The following track, the minute-long ‘The Supine’ delves into classical music territory. Surprisingly, it flows effortlessly. Imitosis is a quirky Parisian affair evocative, strangely, of the Black Books theme tune, smart and upbeat.
Lyrically, Andrew Bird occasionally seems too smart for his own good, and though his wordy tapestry is full of bright and entertaining imagery, tangible lyrical themes sometimes get lost in a sea of playful phrasing, heady wordplay and opaque metaphors. Bird more often than not proves himself a compelling and clever lyricist, however, and his delivery is nothing short of captivating.
Armchair Apocrypha is one of the year’s finest releases, an engaging pop album crafted with integrity and an ear for a great melody. It’s upbeat without being light-headed; grounded, but not without a broad emotional palette, the ability to be profoundly moving and grand in scope, or a sense of humour.
