His budding career
is no whistle stop

Music Row
By Brian Rademaekers

I’m pretty sure that Andrew Bird has another name, one his mother and father passed on to him without any thought of the sweet sounds that would one day waft up from his innards.
If so, Bird did well to adopt the feathery new moniker. After all, he is a self-described "professional whistler," and he’s not bad at all when it comes to using his human voice.
Bird first ruffled my interest when I came upon his 2005 debut on Ani DiFranco’s Righteous Babe records, The Mysterious Production of Eggs. A big fan of DiFranco and Righteous Babe picks like Drums and Tuba, I was curious to see what the modern folk icon heard in Bird. It may be a naïve assumption to think DiFranco has that much oversight in what her label peddles, but considering her notorious penchant for micromanagement, I’m probably not that far off.
At any rate, it didn’t take me long to figure out what I liked about Bird.
In addition to his superb whistling, which goes far beyond novelty and deeply into beauty, the Chicago-based musician wields a mean violin and isn’t bad on the guitar or glockenspiel, either. If you’re starting to wonder where all this whistling and violin-playing is heading, don’t despair; Bird has a sharp pop sensibility and dispenses both bow and lips smartly in the context of luxuriant melodies, topped with compelling lyricism.
All these elements, with funky little twists of sound not heard on most pop albums, combine to make Bird a striking artist. Even were it not for the wonderfully constructed songs, Bird’s warm voice, an alluring blend of M. Ward, Thom Yorke and Pavement’s Steven Malkmus, would be enough to make his work stand out.
Once you get past all of that, you’ll notice songwriting that’ll have you backtracking to soak up the significance. The songs on Eggs aren’t exactly uplifting, as they drift through topics like accidental suicides and over-prescribed materialism, but then again, life isn’t all lollipops and laughs. And artists like Bird fit the bill on the days when you need some companionship in finding a reason to battle against cynicism.
Before his debut with Righteous Babe, Bird put out nine albums stretching back to 1997. The Bird discography is an eclectic mix, dipping in to kitschy Americana, Gypsy folk, New Orleans’ jukebox jams and downright pop. Not included in that stack of albums is a brief stint with the Squirrel Nut Zippers. It’s an impressive library and goes to show Bird’s pliability and genuine love of the musical craft.
With that prolific decade behind him, Bird is finally coming into his own and breaking out to bigger audiences. For a career that began with the 20-year-old putting out an album of ethnic fiddle music, last month’s appearance on David Letterman’s The Late Night Show seemed like quite a milestone and a triumphant moment for weirdness.
That show, where, in addition to playing his Rickenbacker guitar, Bird sported a teeny mandolin and did some fine whistling, has some people comparing him to the king of late-’60s freak folk, Tiny Tim. Bird isn’t all that odd, but his lanky frame — exaggerated by the micro-size string instrument — did conjure images of Tiptoe Through the Tulips.
Since 2005, Bird released Fingerings 3, his third in a collection of live performances, and just dropped Armchair Apocrypha in March. This time, Bird, who seems to be quite a label jumper, appears on Fat Possum Records. Though Fat Possum is best known for scooping up a mind-blowing stable of formerly unknown bluesmen during the 1990s, Bird is one of the label’s newer, more rock-oriented artists and falls in line with other successful performers like the Black Keys and Dinosaur Jr.
Armchair Apocrypha is a continuation of Bird’s ascent into evermore appealing songs. Thankfully, he refuses to leave behind the more sinister, quirky elements that make him much more than a poppy singer-songwriter. That’s evident within the album’s first track, Fiery Crash, yet it is still a set of songs that you could throw on in a room full of people without sending everyone for the liquor cabinet.
Bird and his band are playing on Friday night at the Theater of Living Arts on South Street, now known as the Fillmore at TLA. I’m a bar creeper, and I usually don’t put down more than $10 for a show, but this one is well worth the charge. ••

Check it out . . .

Who: Andrew Bird
What: A whistling dynamo and compelling crafter of pop.
Where: The Fillmore at TLA, 334 South St.
When: Friday, May 18. Doors open at 8 p.m., show starts at 9. Tickets are $17 in advance, $19 at the door.