It's Alive!

Perhaps a Noble Beast can be fully described only by its creator. Andrew Bird, on The New York Times music blog "Measure for Measure," described his aspirations to make, "a gentle, lulling, polyrhythmic, minimalist yet warm tapestry of acoustic instruments," with "no solos, just interlocking parts." I can only conclude that he succeeded. Newly released Noble Beast is exactly this.

Bird uses every device at his disposal to craft his careful "tapestry." The lexicon is a familiarity, in which he uses words like "salsified"(as in "salsified remains") that aren’t quite ‘real’ but make sense and convey meaning expressively because they are built from parts of real words (perhaps salt + calcified = salsified). Bird derives some of the rich and evocative vocabulary of his songs from his day trips around Chicago to places like the Field Museum, where he spent hours picking out good flora names. What I appreciate about his songs—and what he clearly intended, according to his writing—is that there is no need to grasp for meaning behind the lyrical ambiguity. The words and notes meld together and the lyrics resonate abstractly in historic, physiognomic, psychological, and biological tones, creating meaning that is atmospheric rather than concrete.

Before I let things get too complicated, remember he was aiming for minimalism. It is for this reason that if you were to ask about any of his songs, Andrew Bird would likely be able to describe the precise, simple, and striking experience that prompted it. I strongly recommend that everyone see him in concert, first of all to observe how much of a consummate musician he is, but most importantly in order to hear him discuss the intriguing backstories behind his songs. At Koko in London last November, I heard him tell the story about "Spare-Ohs" from Armchair Apocrypha. That song came from his childhood experience living on a farm when he saw many sparrows making nests out of the feathers of dead chickens that he had failed to protect from predatory animals. Writing on "Measure for Measure," he describes in detail the origin of "Oh No," revealing it was inspired by a child sitting with his mother on an airplane in the aisle in front of him, and how the child kept crying "oh no" in a way that "only someone who is certain of their demise could . . . "

His new album is effective, more so than 2007’s Armchair Apocrypha, or 2006’s Mysterious Production of Eggs precisely because he draws from these highly varied inspirations from all disciplines of his life. His well measured and inspired poetry, his keen observational sense (especially of people, science and nature), as well as his exceptional musicianship and unlikely instrumentation all align perfectly to create exactly the album he intended. He lulls us with his gently clicking record, warmly and simply. What is outstanding, however, is that this style seems so profoundly natural. Noble Beast was the album Andrew Bird was born to make, and he knows it.

After a few first listens, Noble Beast feels rather easy, because it seems to be interspersed with catchy tracks ("Fits and Dizzyspells," "Nomenclature," and "Not a Robot but a Ghost") that require little concentration at all to get into. Yet, it has been my experience with previous Andrew Bird albums that, while I continue to appreciate the catchier tunes (for example, “Heretics” or "Plasticities" from Armchair Apocrypha), repeated listening graduates my attention to the songs that initially sounded plain, whose subtleties didn’t emerge right away. It’s still early on in my acquaintance with Noble Beast, but I have a feeling this is a prime example of what Andrew Bird does best— craft an experience that grows slowly, its sound gradually expanding; ever alluding to an expanse of sonic, imaginative space beyond the surface notes.