Review - Andrew Bird: Noble Beast

Originally published in Soundcheck Magazine (2/12/09)

Boy, does Andrew Bird make me feel stupid.

Having to look up words such as radiolarian and aubergine when Bird’s 2009 release, Noble Beast, is just three songs old makes me realize just how tiny a spec I am in this broad, vast universe of vocab mastery. But that universe can fit in the pocket of the expansive place that Bird creates with the music, a haunting warmth of quivering violins and slow-burning acoustic guitars that reverberates through the cranium like an open, unfurnished room. And that’s just it. No matter how grad-school-English-lit the lyrics get, the music beneath and above them sways with the same broad stroke of boundless, open-road freedom.

For every SAT Verbal wet dream of a lyric that Bird provides, there’ll be an analytical mind to digest it. I’m not one of those people, but I still feel like I get Noble Beast. Fat Possum Records, which is known more for servicing jagged blues personalities such as R.L. Burnside, Bob Log III, Junior Kimbrough and The Black Keys, have unleashed an uncharacteristically polished record in Noble Beast, an album that is as warm and welcoming as a log cabin in a snow storm.

Although Bird has developed his theatrical folk style over a career that spans more than a decade, this latest release recalls, more than any, a band that is every bit as green and unseasoned as Bird is reliable. That would be Fleet Foxes, whose mountainous sonic reach is matched valley for rolling valley by Bird here. Even Foxes lead vocalist Robin Pecknold shares an unmistakable similarity with Bird’s voice.

Whether it’s because Bird has developed a sort of expectation that he is supposed to meet or because his album just happened to come so soon after Fleet Foxes, Noble Beast will never reach the heights that album did. Alas, it doesn’t have to – despite the similarities, Bird’s creation still is its own unique animal.

For one, Bird takes his unparalleled violin skills through untraversed territory, avoiding the easy pitfalls of fiddle and bluegrass in favor of something that falls in between classical and Nick Drake-style folk. It’s demonstrated in all its beautiful, understated glory in “Masterswarm”. Bird finds other ways to keep things nuanced and fresh, such as the dynamic rhythms beneath “Not a Robot, But a Ghost” and the cheery whistling to close out “Oh No”.

Some albums are unfolding stories; some are emotions. Noble Beast is a painted landscape, a detailed panorama that isn’t so much inhabited as it is alive itself. With albums such as these, you might see better if you close your eyes.

-Andy Pareti