The word "apocrypha" references a series of religious texts of uncertain origin that are worshipped by a select few but rejected as false by most.
Given this fact, we can conclude that the title of Andrew Bird's latest LP, Armchair Apocrypha, doesn't make very much sense at all. Or, if it does, Bird's intended meaning is mysteriously cloaked in his dense, impenetrable vocabulary.
But that's Andrew Bird for you: Whether his hyper-literate witticisms make any sense to you or not, they are part of the package that comprises his musical career. And, as many fans are hoping, each aspect of the Andrew Bird we know and love makes a triumphant return on his latest record.
It's all here, from his excellent grasp of composition to his delightfully neurotic twists on otherwise straightforward songs. His professional whistling skills are back in full form, and so are his delicately arranged violin melodies. As song titles such as "Imitosis," "The Supine" and "Scythian Empire" might suggest, his erudite, book-wormish lyrics saturate the album's liner notes.
In fact, not much has changed at all -- Armchair Apocrypha finds Andrew Bird in much the same form as he was on his previous record, The Mysterious Production of Eggs, albeit with one major distinction.
Somewhere between the creation of Eggs and Armchair Apocrypha, Bird discovered he loves playing electric guitars. Thus, there is somewhat of a superficial distinction between his old material and his new material. Though Bird doesn't explore any new song structures or innovative writing techniques on Armchair Apocrypha, the new electric instrumentation lends a thicker, more layered feel to his traditionally acoustic ballads.
Ultimately, this approach doesn't work in Bird's favor: While his previous work drew great strength from its quiet intimacy, his louder, noisier guitar doesn't pull listeners in quite the same way. Nonetheless, the actual melodies are as strong as ever, and even his simplest songs have interesting flourishes (such as the brisk bongo-rhythm propelling "Heretics," or the intriguing hip-hop flare that opens "Imitosis").
Furthermore, when it comes to Andrew Bird, the lyrics are almost as exciting as the music itself. Armchair Apocrypha is about as cleverly depressing as one might expect for a record from a man previously obsessed with the economic ruin, the inevitability of death and psychoanalysis.
His wry words (i.e. "What is mistaken for closeness / is just a case of mitosis") are evocative and intriguing. They address a variety of themes from the heterogeneous nature of pop culture ("Plasticities") to the history of ancient empires ("Scythian Empire") to the technological clutter that permeates our modern lives ("Imitosis"). Once again, Bird proves himself one of the most thoughtful and eloquent figures in indie music.
Even if Armchair Apocrypha shows Bird falling back on his established sound, he retreads old ground in a distinctive way that no other artist does. It's impressive that, in an industry increasingly saturated by bland singer-songwriters, Andrew Bird continues to release albums that stand out from the crowd.
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