For the Record Andrew Bird's 'Armchair Apocrypha'

Author: Melissa Marshall

"When men's minds seem narrow to you, tell yourself that the land of God is broad; broad His hands and His heart. Never hesitate to go far away, beyond all seas, all frontiers, all countries, all beliefs."

I closed the cover of a now worn copy of Leo Africanus - some of its final lines still ringing in my ears along with the side-effectual buzz from the change in altitude - and gathered a borrowed backpack, stretching my legs after an eight hour flight. Slipping back into the comfort of my headphones, I wondered at the insatiable human instinct to simply move. Whether it's the twisting of limbs to Fergie, driving through a suburbia of blurred lights to the sound of Adam Duritz's worn voice or sprinting past suits and briefcases in JFK International Airport to the beat of countless feet and the drumming of Dave Rowntree, we seem to search for the meaning of moments through motion with the help of music.

I suppose that's why I always wanted my life to have a soundtrack. It seems that during all the pivotal points in cinema, a song starts wafting in the background whose lyrics express the sentiments of the protagonist perfectly or whose melody conveys an emotional intensity beyond words. Unfortunately, I do not have the financial means to hire a fully functioning band to follow me around. I do, however, have Andrew Bird's new release, Armchair Apocrypha, on loop and that's almost just as good. With its stunning manipulation of the violin, multi-layered vocals tinged by a personal tone seemingly reserved for lovers or childhood friends and alternating bouts of cultivated explosiveness and elevated lethargy, Bird's sixth full-length release possesses an enthralling intimacy that creates the impression that he composed the album especially for you. Even if it does lack some of the innovation found on previous releases such as Oh! The Grandeur and Weather Systems, the Chicago singer/songwriter's first album with Fat Possum Records embodies a soothing coherency and disarming familiarity which Bird still renders unique.

Christened with a title bearing overt religious connotation, I cannot help but believe that it was divine providence which inspired the release of this album a mere four days before my spring break traversings. Featuring an expressive forward motion that is meandering yet incessant, Armchair Apocrypha reaches the conclusion that all flashes of our lives eventually reveal: the inescapability of our own mortality. From the charged opening track "Fiery Crash," whose upbeat guitar chords stand in stark juxtaposition to the song's darker lyrics, to "Heretics'" surprisingly catchy refrain, "Thank God it's fatal," to the reflectively somber yet hopeful instrumental closer, "Yawny at the Apocalypse," Bird's latest endeavor provides the perfect accompaniment to traveling - its sweepingly fluid violin advertising agitation while still encouraging reflection.

Perhaps the two most inspired tracks lie hidden in the middle of album, proving, that like in life, the moments which shape us the most are often the most inconspicuous. The epic, piano-driven, seven-minute long "Armchairs," boasting the line, "Time is a crooked bow," sung in a vocal style reminiscent of the crooning of Jeff Buckley, seems to be the rock that the rest of the record is built on. However, it is the three-minute "Cataracts" that is the most moving. Introduced by the instrumental piece, "The Supine," which refuses to let us ignore Bird's classical training in the Suzuki method, "Cataracts'" weeping violin, whistling-solo and acoustic guitar like a heartbeat almost provokes us to ignore Bird's enigmatic lyrics. Instead, the track's nostalgic melody encourages us to write our own words.

Armchair Apocrypha may reach completion just under forty-seven minutes, but listeners will discover that there are roads still left in the soles of their shoes. And whether you're doing a quick coffee-run to the Grille or climbing the stairs to the platform of the 6:45 train, Andrew Bird's soulful chords and confidential voice promise to swim from synapse to synapse, reminding us of the motion of the clock which keeps us moving, moving, moving.