Andrew Bird at The Civic Opera House
Somewhere in the middle of Andrew Bird's set at The Civic Opera House on Thursday, the thought occurs that Andrew Bird has become a brand. After all, the native Chicagoan, clad in a skinny suit with an even skinnier tie, spends most of his time plucking away at his violin, whistling, and taking breaks to mirror the notes on his glockenspiel while dark, ominous Victrola horns loom in the background. Bird's music pulls the best from soaring, room-filling classical concertos, underscores it with haunting whistle vibrato, and fills the void with highbrow wordplay and NPR-caliber historical references. ("I've been trying for a while to write a song that talks about the Luthitania," he casually mentions at one point.) They're all a part of the puzzle that is the undeniable appeal of Andrew Bird (not to mention he plays only after taking off his shoes), so when those Victrola horns are spotted, everyone knows what they're getting themselves into.
Last night's show, though, shook that brand right at the foundation. Bird was rockin' to "Fake Palindromes" (the head-shaking, feet-pounding way he did for every song) and when it came time to quickly ditch the violin and sling his guitar around from his back, something different happened this time. Bird was moving too fast, the guitar part coming up too quickly, and the violin slipped from his hands, crashing to the ground. "Oh no," he uttered. The band froze in place—a wave of palpable sympathy hit the crowd. A range of Bird's younger fans and older opera aficionados were suddenly shaken from their previously subdued state. Bird surveyed the damage. "It's okay," he told everyone, though mostly himself. "It was a clean break." The crowd aww-ed upon sight of his instrument, snapped at the neck. Bird, visibly distraught, stood there, hand on his chin, pondering his next move, when the audience suddenly laughed. "Well, it's a good thing I taught myself guitar two years ago," Bird added, grabbing his guitar and whispering "The Giant Of Illinois" to his bandmates. Upon finishing the song, Bird received a standing ovation, ended the set, then returned for two more violin-less ditties. They were some of Bird's quieter songs, but the audience, still standing, was rapt. (Who knows what he'll do for tonight's show with Haley Bonar.)
Last night's show was a testament to Bird's strengths as an all-around musician (he can still wow a crowd even without his core instrument). Despite the violin crash, the show had gone off without a hitch, which is an incredible feat given each song's complicated nature and twisted lyrics. Bird made liberal use of his looping machine, starting songs often with the violin, then whistling, followed by his signature, smooth vocals; looped together, the tracks created a natural build to each song. (The whole time, Bird ran around his little area in the middle, tapping buttons with his foot and stepping up to multiple microphones.)
Then it was on to the guitar and the rest of the band, where Bird could really rock out. "Fitz & Dizzyspells" became even more up-tempo; the finishing guitar and drum punctuation on "Nomenclature" became that much more pronounced. He gave fans of his new Noble Beast something different by changing the pace and keys on songs like "Natural Disaster." Coupled with the Victrola horns, one of which spun at the push of a button, the show would have been a spectacle if it hadn't been so tight. And without the violin, Bird could have been written off as a novelty act—a collection of quirks pounded into a CD. But when Bird admits that he's wanted to play this opera house since he was a kid, you get the sense that Bird is a rare breed: a real-deal musician who loves his poor, poor violin.
