For the record

Author: Melissa Marshall

No, faithful readers - yes, I'm addressing all five of you (hi, Mom!) - I have not gracefully stepped down from my independently-labeled soapbox. If you've seen me walking in the dining halls, you'll know that first, gracefulness is not my forte, and second, I am not able to pass up an opportunity to pontificate on the social importance of the entire campus knowing what currently plays on my iPod. In fact, you should not only care what I listen to, you should spend the time to download it as well - college is a period of broadened horizons and self-improvement. So get thee to a music blog, post-haste. Not to say that my predecessors haven't done a fantastic job. And I'm sure that most of you are pleased to read about music from artists who are not white 20-something males armed with high-pitched voices and acoustic guitars (in my defense, I did write about 20-something females). But in their attempts to break out of a certain mold of "indie-music," my male counterparts have made a grave oversight that cannot go unheeded. Hey Jason and Alex, ever hear of someone named Andrew Bird? I'm sure you have, in your enlightened upperclassman status. But we have some freshmen - excuse me, "first-years" - who missed out on the Sepomana of yore when Andrew Bird took the McCullough stage and awed an audience with a whistle and an untucked button-down.

Since then, Bird has experienced if not mainstream fame, then at least a fan base extending beyond hyper-literate undergrads. In 2007 the cohesive "Armchair Apocrypha" cemented my love for the one-man band from Chicago - an adoration that started when a man behind a counter handed me a copy of "Weather Systems" five years ago. This long-term love affair hasn't blinded me to his imperfections, however. In fact, I wanted to dislike January's "Noble Beast," bitter at Mr. Bird for canceling his Higher Ground show and demolishing my hope to have my folk-pop hero as the last concert of my college career. But you can't deny greatness - and "Noble Beast" isn't just great, it's inspired.

His fifth full-length release and second record with the Fat Possum label, "Noble Beast," like the album cover itself, shows a return to a simpler, cleaner, more natural sound. It's not that the electronic presence of Martin Dosh on "Armchair" detracted from Bird's feel - in fact, Dosh's collaboration gave the album its polished, catchy feel and subsequent popularity. On "Noble Beast," however, it is refreshing to hear the classically trained violinist return to his roots. He continues to manipulate the strings, crafting a genre-bending style ranging from the swing jazz of "Not a Robot, But a Ghost" to the almost Caribbean feel of "Nomenclature." Hell, "Fitz and Dizzyspells" may even have those indie-kids dancing. In addition to showcasing his versatility, "Noble Beast" offers listeners Bird's finest musicianship to date: either by picking at the strings or by forming sprawling chords, Bird's talent for the violin on such tracks as "Masterswarm" and "Anonanimal" eclipses his reputation as a peerless whistler. And no, not all of the cuts from the album are groundbreaking: "Privateers" proves downright boring and the opener "Oh No" I could take or leave. But even if every other song was like "Privateers," Bird's crowning achievement, "Tenuousness," would be enough to gain my endorsement. With a steady clapping undertone and solid violin foundation, "Tenuousness" is classic Bird: clean, catchy and flawlessly crafted. Actually, my review could have been just one word - "Tenuousness" - but I thought 499 exclamation points were a bit much.

On "Anonanimal," Bird sings, "I will become this animal/Perfectly adapted to a music hall." And in response to his claim, we will answer back, "I know this song, I love this song." If Andrew Bird couldn't be my final college concert, I'm grateful that at least he could be my final column.