If Andrew Bird had lived in the middle of the 20th century, he might have been an American folk legend. Either that, or he would have traveled the countryside wearing a campy multi-instrumental one-man band contraption on his back. Strangely enough, Bird’s music exudes both the classic, Americana feel of the former image and the throw-everything-into-the-pot diversity of the latter. Though his latest album, Noble Beast, provides enough of Bird’s tried-and-true eclectic recipe to delight longtime fans, it fails to distinguish itself as a unique or essential addition to his discography.
Bird’s songs consist of deeply layered medleys of violin and guitar, accompanied by whistling and lyrics rife with sardonic witticisms and collegiate-level diction, often supported by backing vocals and a cacophony of handclaps thrown in for good measure. Bird is more than a one-man band. He’s a one-man symphony.
“Masterswarm” opens with a simple arrangement of Bird’s vocals and guitar before escalating into a storm of frantic handclaps, meandering violin drones and pizzicatos, and his piercing whistle redolent of Morricone-scored spaghetti westerns. “Fitz & Dizzyspells” appropriately creates a sense of dizzy euphoria with rapid-fire violin moans and sighs left to swirl in space with Bird’s ever-adventurous whistling.
By the end of the album, however, these tricks sound all too familiar, bland even. While the best songs, like “The Privateers,” are condensed and tightly constructed, the worst are congested and busy messes (“Not a Robot, But a Ghost”) or pleasant, though not particularly interesting, guitar-centered pieces (“Natural Disaster”).
Still, a man who writes lyrics about aubergine and innocuous plecostomi should be able to get away with a couple of imperfect songs. The fascinating mystery that defines Andrew Bird is still intact on Noble Beast, though you might have to slog through a few middling tracks to uncover it.
Voice’s Choices: ““Masterswarm,” “The Privateers,” “Anonanimal”
