The sounds Bird coaxes out of his instrument, whether plucking or shredding, are worth the price of admission.
Parker Evans
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Parker Evans is an economics senior and Mustang News music columnist.
In another life, Andrew Bird is ghostwriting for Miley Cyrus and One Direction. Even from the early days in the late ’90s backed by his Bowl of Fire band, Bird’s songwriting acumen and ear for melody have always been tremendous. Fortunately for us, he has put his gifts to work within the context of his accented, meticulously-crafted sound instead of writing hooks for top-40 radio fare.
It’s impossible to accuse Bird’s music of being derivative. As an accomplished violinist, nearly all of his arrangements are heavy on the strings and light on guitar and drums. Over the course of his past few albums, Bird has experimented with looping textures, but the charmingly audible click of his violin’s loop pedal is his weapon of choice for his I Want to See Pulaski at Night EP. Combine that with his prodigious whistling ability and dense, literary lyrics (both of which are sparse here), and you’ve got an artist whose unique stamp is apparent from the first note.
At just seven songs and 25 minutes, I Want to See Pulaski At Night lacks the whimsical flourish that permeates much of Bird’s catalog. There are no calypso interludes or power-pop detours or extended metaphors here; this is a November album through and through. As an Illinois native and Northwestern alumnus, Bird knows a thing or two about cold weather, and the album’s spiritual setting of Chicago gives the listener a startlingly powerful sense of place and time.
The EP’s song “Pulaski at Night” derives its name from one of the city’s main streets that travels parallel to Lake Ontario and its short intro “Logan’s Loop” is another bit of local geography. “Come back to Chicago, city of lights,” he pleads. Bird’s Chicago isn’t Sufjan Stevens’ Metropolis stand-in or Chief Keef’s drug-fueled warzone. Over a dramatic violin hook that brings to mind the music of the Polish community from which the street takes its name, “Pulaski at Night” paints a vivid picture of a snowy, wondrous American Paris on the lake.
Outside of that track, we’re left with Bird’s violin, his loop pedal and little else. Unfortunately, the decision to make a largely instrumental album strips Bird of one of his most effective tools. The gorgeous imagery of Break It Yourself (my favorite release of 2012) is noticeably absent. Bird has an uncanny ability to evoke powerful images and emotions in a limited space (see this past year’s “Desperation Breeds … ” for a particularly striking example), but I Want To See Pulaski at Night seems more concerned with violin loops than making meaningful connections with the listener.
That’s not to say the instrumental majority isn’t worth listening to. The sounds Bird coaxes out of his instrument, whether plucking or shredding, are worth the price of admission. The looping on opener “Ethio Invention No. 1” is some inspired stuff even before considering the bow-destroying technical ability. Still, I don’t think there’s anybody left questioning Bird’s violin credentials, and the first couple of tracks can’t help but feel like warm-ups for something bigger. When the whole picture is taken into account, Bird is a master musician, brilliant songwriter and captivating live performer, but I Want to See Pulaski at Night can at times be little more than rote exercise.
“I write you a story, but it loses its thread,” he sings in one of the short bits of insight he allows himself. It seems strange to label such a wintry, sparse release as indulgent, but it’s hard to shake the same criticisms that have followed Bird since the beginning. I Want to See Pulaski at Night is beautiful but impersonal; smart but detached.
