The Michigan Daily - michigandailycom
Tuesday, March 6, 2012 - 7
The Michigan Daily - michigandailycom Tuesday, March 6, 2012 - 7
Bird abandons complexity
The tunes of
trekking home
'Break It Yourself'
veers to the simpler
side of songwriting
By KATIE STEEN
Daily Arts Writer
Fans of Andrew Bird who
pride themselves on their abil-
ity to understand the violinist's
enigmatic mus-
ings may want
to find a new
hobby. Bird's Andrew Bird
latest LP Break
It Yourself is Break It
pretty easy Yourself
listening -
straightfor-
ward and
pleasant. While the peculiar lyr-
ics and shifting melodies of Bird's
older albums prodded his listen-
ers to pick the mind of the com-
plex artist, his newest work is less
brain, more barebones.
In a way, Bird caved in with
Break It Yourself In describing
his motivation for the album to
online magazine The Quietus, he
explained how he surrendered
to the lures of frankness. "Some-
thing happened when I was writ-
ing this record," Bird said. "I got
a little tired of the poetics in a
sense. And I wanted to just make
a more direct record." While this
approach allows for a slightly
more relatable and easygoing
record, it leaves listeners longing
for the exotic excursions of past
albums such as Andrew Bird £t
the Mysterious Production of Eggs
and Noble Beast.
Break It Yourself starts off
deceptively eerie with "Despera-
tion Breeds..." (even the song title
is a cliffhanger). It begins with
unhurried plucking - a classic in
any given Bird album - and unin-
telligible, spacey murmurs in the
background. But the track quickly
clears the fog, falling into a pulse
that is calm but punctual, eventu-
ally evolving into a more hopeful
sound. The song seems reassur-
ing in tone, and as the introduc-
MOM + POP
"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."
tion to the album, it appears that
listeners can expect the capri-
cious work of Bird they're used to.
The subsequent track is
"Polynation," a wordless 45-sec-
ond buffer for future disap-
pointment. It's simultaneously
haunting and cheery, ending with
a baby's babbles. The start of the
album is a bit of a red herring,
serving as a stark contrast for
much of the rest of Break It Your-
self Though some tracks such
as "Give It Away" and "Sifters"
begin with impressive pizzicato
that seems to hold promise for
the rest of the song, they end up
falling into a rut of tired choruses.
When Bird is left to solely
instrumental experimentation,
the sound is precise and expertly
crafted. There is no denying his
extraordinarytalentwith the vio-
lin and beyond, so when he begins
cozying up to the simple com-
forts of the folk genre, he seems
strangely laidback. Listeners are
accustomed to Bird's ability to
make his one-man symphonies
seem effortless, but if his sound
becomes too casual, you might
find yourself reaching for a pillow
and craving the dreamlike other-
worldliness of Bird's past work.
When even the angelic vocals
of St. Vincent (Annie Clark) in
"Lusitania" fail to inspire, it's an
indication that the music is get-
ting a little too down-to-earth.
But reality need not be dull. In
"Near Death Experience Expe-
rience," Bird sings that "we'll
dance like cancer survivors." For
a track that talks about some-
thing so terrifyingly real, the
artist maintains an assuredness
and jazz that affirms fearless-
ness against death. More impor-
tantly, it has an energy that
makes listeners want to dance,
regardless of medical status.
"Eyeoneye" is another widely
relevant track as Bird discuss-
es standard issues like broken
hearts. He doesn't attempt to
add metaphors to the point of
incomprehensibility - he wants
listeners to understand and
relate to him. The song avoids
cliche with simple but charming
guitar melodies and, of course,
Bird's signature whistling.
Unfortunately, the majority
of Break It Yourself feels down-
sized, as if Bird didn't feel like
putting in the effort of crafting
the poetry his fans have come
to expect. There's a rational,
content sound to the album that
makes for good background
music but ultimately dissatisfies
if you're looking for the ethe-
real creations Bird is capable
of. For instance, "Anonaminal,"
a five-minute track from Bird's
last album, constantly changed
shape, resulting ina wonderfully
bizarre creature. At one point in
the song, Bird completely aban-
dons the melody, pausingto sing,
"Hold on a second, don't tell me
this one you know, I know this
one, I know this song." The Bird
of long ago might seem indig-
nant at the idea that a listener
would fully figure out his music.
But with Break It Yourself, most
songs are comfortable and pre-
dictable. Bird needs to spread
those wings.
Twelve a.m. on a Mega-
bus out of Pittsburgh,
it looks like Picasso's
"Guernica". Midnight light and
the glow of a single laptop reveal
snoring bod-
ies contorted
every which
way. People
with their
foreheads
jammed into
the seats
in front of JOE
them, drool- DIMUZIO
ing on their
shoes, while
headphones echo faint rhythms.
Too caffeinated to sleep, I put
in my headphones, shuffling
around acid house and William
Basinski before settling on the
new Burial record - tailor-made
for staring out windows at pass-
ing lights in some form of public
transit by night. I'm headed to
New York. I'm visiting my sister
in Brooklyn. It's my last "spring
break." I press play.
The turnpike choreographs
some accompaniment. Distant
valleys of porch lights, zooming
SUVs, blinking satellites. "Kin-
dred," the first track, thuds and
pulses around a vocal sample
chopped into anonymity. It
sounds like Whitney - or at least
her ghost. I run with that. I have
seven hours to contemplate it.
During my first full day in
Manhattan, I meet my cousin
Larry in front of Trinity Church
after a falafel breakfast, the sun
shining. We walk past the World
Trade Center, Wall Street, Zuc-
cotti Park. We grab coffee and
sit on a bench, and inevitably,
he recounts old family stories.
He tells me about my mother,
things I'd never heard. Her
brothers, in their makeshift
basement clubhouse, playing
Paul Anka ("who's Lebanese," he
points out) loudly, making her
one-year-old cheeks bubble over
to "You Are My Destiny." He
recalls my family in the kitchen,
in a circle before a meal, parad-
ing her around the floor, chant-
ing Arabic. "It was so strange,"
he said, laughing. "Your mother
knew how to dance before she
could walk."
We walk over to J&R Records,
chatting about Marvin Gaye,
Yusef Lateef's Detroit, free jazz,
record stores disappearing...
"Keep listening to Ornette," he
tells me as we part ways.
I meet some friends to walk
across the Brooklyn Bridge at
sunset. I notice my friend always
seems to hum under her breath,
tone-free, almost whispering.
We talk and take pictures, heli-
copters and tugboats drifting
past us, as I begin to realize
this constant noise, this end-
less reverberation. Subways,
airplanes, taxis, music ... in New
York, there's a perpetual roar
behind everything.
The next day, I'm in Green-
point for doughnuts, records
and maybe some kishka (which
means "guts" in Slavic). Drop-
ping into a Thai place for lunch,
I can't ignore the music as I'm
chowing fried rice. It's an online
radio station, playing slow stuff,
safe stuff. "Only love songs"
it says, after aslush, orchestral
swell. I listen for contradictions
in the songs and find none. I
begin to think that every song
ever written is a love song,
knowing I'm wrong.
I find my way to a junk
shop with a whole basement
of 12-inch dance records piled
to the ceiling. I think it might
be heaven, but I'm not patient
enough to find out. One man
wears a surgical mask as he
fingers through pile after pile.
I spend an hour findinga nice
stack before crumbling out of
neck pain and dust inhalation.
New York City
is alive with the
sound of music.
In Brooklyn Heights I find
Halcyon, a shop somewhere in
between a Zen garden and Wax-
poetics' wet dream. The guy at
the counter notices I've picked
up an Andy Stott record and,
while cashing me out, waxes
over seeing him play in Berlin. I
can't hear his story because the
store's speakers' bass is turned
up so high his voice is drowned
out. But he smiles, losing his
words and nodding after staring
into some distance. I thank him
for the story and receipt before
getting lost again.
I'm lugging my bag down
the Pittsburgh Strip as the sun
comes up. After twilight, on a
seven-hour layover, I've given
myself 20 minutes to catch the
Detroit-bound bus. A solitary car
speeds past and I catch a snippet
of a Shirelles tune but it might
be nothing. My brain exploded
two or three hours ago over hot
sausage and slimy coleslaw at
the 24-hour Primanti Bros. on
Penn Avenue, after sippingcof-
fee for five hours. What's left of
me pushes toward the last leg of
my trip.
I meet an old high-school
friend by chance, waiting for the
bus, headed home. Her break's
kicking off as mine ends. I laugh
as I tell her this is my last vaca-
tion for a long time. The bus
kicks off toward Cleveland.
People slip on their headphones.
The sun turns everything into a
shadow. I fall asleep like a baby.
Dimuzio rides buses more
poetically than you. To learn how,
e-mail shonenjo@umich.edu.
Lesser-known American Idol'
albums reveal talent of contestants
By GREGORY HICKS
For the Daily
Many followers of indie groups
- hipsters excluded - sit in frus-
tration, trying to deal with the
fact that their favorite artists
will never get the recognition
they deserve. But believe it or
not, artists who premiered on the
most-watched television show in
America, "American Idol," have a
great deal of undiscovered trea-
sure as well. Hipsters, you may
now find it acceptable to listen
to pop music. Take a gander at
these albums that stayed relative-
ly under the radar, despite their
singers being quite reputable on
the show.
DavidArchuleta's The Other
Side ofDown
I was absolutely disgusted
when I heard the promotional
single for this album. The auto-
tuned, bubblegum mess that was
"Something 'Bout Love" had me
thoroughly convinced that Archu-
leta's career was over after the
success of his self-titled album
and "Crush."
That was before Archuleta
made an appearance on my Face-
book newsfeed, insisting his fans
listen to the track "The Other Side
of Down" from his new album. I
obliged, then instantly shared it
with everyone in the immediate
area. The voice, production and
lyrics all embodied great, pure
malepop, and not some fake, mod-
ern-Enrique-Iglesias-R&B-style
song disguised as pop.
Shortly after that, I gave the
whole album a listen. I felt myself
"Stomping the Roses" as arrogant
friends of mine refused to change,
while at the same time trying to
figure out "Who I Am," only to
"Look Around" and realize I'm in
a "Good Place" and can't "Com-
plain." And if you can complain,
find "The Other Side of Down"
and know "Things Are Gonna Get
Better." Get ready to relate and
relive your adolescence.
It's a cheesy album, but Archu-
leta makes it work with his
innocence and talent. Sadly, the
promotional single and other-
wise lack of promotion killed the
album's chance at success. No
songs charted.
Jordin Sparks's Battlefield
Sparks's promotional single
for the album, "Battlefield", was
the only song to chart - actually,
it became a top-10 hit - which I
found quite misleading, seeing as
it's one of the more boring tracks
on the album. You can also ruin
the song for yourself by listening
to the faint, wobbly synth in the
background (commence banging
head against wall).
You have to
listen deeper
than the singles.
IfArchuleta's album is refresh-
ing for its style, Sparks's album is
refreshing for its lyrical origi-
nality so often lost in pop music.
The first track on the album,
"Walking On Snow," could easily
be a top-10 song. Not only is it a
catchy, original melody, but it's
also a catchy, original metaphor,
with love being like "walking on
snow without leaving a trace" -
makes more sense than certain
artists with the last name Perry
feeling like a plastic bag that
wants to start again.
"No Parade" is another well-
executed metaphor, narrating the
fairy tale ending that didn't come
when the end of her relationship
came swooping in out of nowhere.
Battlefield has a nice variety
in its amount of electronic pro-
duction. It's lighter on songs like
"Faith" and heavier on others
like the sampled "S.O.S. (Let the
Music Play)." This tune was fairly
popular on the dance charts, pos-
sibly for its phenomenal Jason
Nevins remix.
Blake Lewis's
A.D.D. (Audio Day Dream)
Runner-up to.Jordin Sparks in
season six, Blake Lewis's debut
album invokes amazingly individ-
ualistic style with a mainstream
sound. Lewis continues using his
famous beatboxing skills while
also utilizing the songwriting and
producing skills of Ryan Tedder,
lead singer of OneRepublic.
Upon hearing the album for the
first time, I was slightly confused
as to why it had died so quickly. It
clearly had high production value
from quality songwriters and pro-
ducers - Lupe Fiasco even makes
an appearance. And it had the
edgy, electronic-pop style that is
so popular nowadays.
That's when it dawned on me:
2007 was the year of Beyoncd's
"Irreplaceable," Avril Lavigne's
"Girlfriend" and Maroon S's
"Makes Me Wonder." Electronic
music still had negative connota-
tions until it caught on like wild-
fire the following year.
Many of the songs that were
formerly reviewed as abstract are
currently quite normal. And as
for the rest, Lewis has a soothing
*NSYNC quality to his voice -
especially with former *NSYNC
member Chris Kirkpatrick doing
backup vocals for the album - that
leaves listeners reminiscing on the
era of boy-band heartthrobs.
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