4/5
If 2007’s Armchair Apocrypha was Andrew Bird’s attempt to flock masses with lip-smacking pop appeal, Noble Beast is clearly the stuff that keeps them coming back, filled to the teary brim with classic Bird tenderness. His overlay of hand-clapping on an impressively whistled melody recalls a spray of wildflowers, each puposeful beat barely traceable from the melodic swarm but always merging seemlessly with the next, threading a carefully woven sonic plush.
Beast charts an idyllic springtime landscape, where barely a quiet pessimism dares to linger. ‘Squint your eyes/ And no one dies,’ croons our generation’s Pied Piper in ‘Oh No.’
But ‘Anonanimal’ shakes the Bambi pleasantries with anxious violin pizzicatos and harplike swells. At any moment, in these waves of moody string surges, it seems as though all might give way to thundering storm. But just in time, Bird expertly reigns in the waves of tension without catharsis for a full five minutes, never letting us tip too far over the edge. Besides, ‘Anonanimal’ is phenomenal for its multisyllabic wordplay: ‘See a sea anemone the enemy will see the sea anemone/ And that will be the enemy,’ Bird effortlessly rattles atop a heavily crashing string quartet. Here, the internal rhythm of language overwhelms its dribbling meaning.
There are no obvious hits on Beast, which would suffer if not for the sheer dexterity and wisdom of Bird, more than enough to keep us patient. The album is a masterpiece of subtle complexity ‘mdash; emotional, not sentimental; smart, not smarmy.
Andrew Bird will perform live at SOMA on Feb. 15.