Last year in a period of extreme accumulation of CD's due to imbalanced psychological urges I happened to buy Andrew Bird And The Mysterious Production Of Eggs solely due to the artwork. I had never come across him at all previously. But that album became completely inseparable from my CD player. Fake Palindromes (stream it here..) became something I used to throw myself around any available space to. The Untitled tracks used to coarse and soar no matter how bad quality the sound of my speakers gave them. And, well, Opposite Day actually had the power to reduce me to tears just in the glorious foresight of it all.
So when my best friend presents me with a cheeky copy of the new album, Armchair Apocrypha I was delighted to fill my ears with that voice again.
The difference of Armchair Apocrypha and Andrew Bird's previous album is something almost ineffable. Tinged with a deeper melancholy Bird produces something darker and more subtle than the last. Listened to in the right way its beauty is something that could be impossible to surpass for a very long while in today's current climate.
And to hear that the reviews it has received so far have been that it is not, I can barely bring myself to say it, not, not as good as the previous album, its just beyond ridiculous and perculiar. I have held back from viewing such reviews for to do so may provoke an angry mob within myself. And it gain knowledge of a name of a said reviewer may stir my pitch-fork (no pun intended) wielding ways to maybe do something as radical as scowl viciously at their name.
Give the two tracks on the Andrew Bird MySpace a listen. They are the first two. And imagine more beauty and reverb, I know it is hard, but try, and at that point you may have an idea of how truly exquisite it is.
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