As soon as I sat down knowing that I intended to write about Andrew Bird, I smiled. The man has the kind of charisma that no one can touch, love him or leave him, his type of bravado can only be matched recently by the likes of Stephen Malkmus and/or Rufus Wainwright.

You certainly don't need to have heard Bird's previous albums to fully appreciate Armchair Apocrypha, but as additions to your library, they're each assured to help you dance more wildly around your apartment alone then you'd ever dare to do in public. With a degree in violin performance from Illinois' Northwestern University, Bird has consistently continued to open up and redefine the potential contexts for the instrument in the rock world. While his previous albums were palpably swing influenced, they never seemed to completely commit to the genre in the more predictable, repetitive senses. His downright literary, playful take on our prosaic anticipations has always set him apart from the rest, perpetually managing to engage the listener, turn for turn, with poetic surprises. Armchair is in no way lacking such lyrical bombshells, although perhaps inserting more overwhelming sincerity, but still at very unexpected moments. The result is at times refreshingly heart-wrenching.

I will now indulge a personal preference and advise listening to Armchair Apocrypha straight through the first time. To hear it as a whole, while not being necessary in the concept album sense, is to appreciate the emotional expanse it ranges. That said, let's move on to some highlights of the record.

If you have a portable music-spewing apparatus, then "Fiery Crash" is the first song you play when you close your front door and head out to start your day (because hey, good walking music isn't necessarily the same as driving music, right?). Bringing back that good old existential crisis to your everyday interactions, this first track bares a beautiful comparison, juxtaposing a warning ("Fatal premonition / And to save all our lives you've got to envision / The fiery crash") with a conversationally missed connection ("oh the line was starting to break up / just as you were starting to say / something apropos I don't know"). Bird's enticing inflections on "Imitosis" flash some serious swagger, and once you know the song by heart, it seems impossible not to pause whatever you're doing and lip-sinc his flair with Mick Jaggerish hip-to-hand gestures. The lyrics appear to continue the fatal questions of "Fiery Crash" - "we are all basically alone". In regards to my 'advice', I've found that the first four tracks lift, leading you up a dark staircase with sweet eagerness. Kind of like that scene in Sleeping Beauty where she follows the green bobbing light. The center features "Armchairs" and "Darkmatter" - two epic anthems back-to-back, forming the apex of the album. "Armchairs" is, dare I say it, the best song in the set - a very Rufus Wainwright sweepingly luscious tragi-triumph, the likes of which I unabashedly covet in my heart of musical hearts. The repeated line "Time's a crooked bow" towers with strangely exultant grief. In a way, "Armchairs" is just the kind of song long-time fans of Bird have dreamt of without really knowing it. That is to say, when his misery reaches it's most desperate croon, while he finally utilizes his incredible voice the way we always longed to hear, he hits back with that quintessential plea for playfulness as tactic or respite, "We'll get back at them all / with a box and a pair of pliers." When "Darkmatter" punches through, we are whisked to the precipice. Wind-blown and wise, as anthems go, here the journey feels more complete; where other albums tease, Mr. Bird is no longer afraid to deliver the coup, short, sweet, and whole. After that, the last six tracks feather us out the window of the tower and back down to touch ground with delicate poignancy. Throughout, Bird demonstrates a dazzling ability, a lyrical way of enriching, rather than merely exposing, our most base suspicions about human nature, all the while pooling his diverse repertoire of melodic influences.

Armchair Apocrypha separates itself from his previous albums with a long-awaited grandeur, and a more perfect succession of songs, trading wacky for flight. Working diligently for higher builds rather than catchy hooks, it displays rich movements, manipulating tension with a uniquely loaded expertise. Overall, Armchair successfully fuses the talent with the traditional mystery of Andrew Bird, bringing the unfailing revelation of his lyrics home to their deserved, more polished accompaniments.

For your viewing pleasure, check out these two videos of Andrew Bird serenading the streets of Montmartre :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gt7fuzgYrc4

And

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsR0uyPxqxI

And here is a fantastic live performance at Bonnaroo :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRk2iHkOcNE

(posted by B-Bear)