Bright, vibrant whistling and stringed violin,
Stationary looping and roundabout
Amiable twists and malleable
Turns in the effervescent crescendo
That is, in due course, known as Andrew Bird.
Bird, first associated in his group
Of Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire albums,
Offers a unique blending of true rock
In an ever-honest sense of the blues.
Tangling spritely in the air, around ears
And into the drum that catches our sounds,
Filling us full with vivacious charm and
Somber and sobering wit, and it tears
Apart any poor preexisting and
Preconceived notion we may have had on
Spectacled players on the great bare stage
And leaves us with an utterly poignant
Sense, a cherish-able feeling, which may
Bear a fragile reminiscence to love.
The introduction the album presents
Seeps slowly in, gradually, and asks
To take your hand while gently you rest on
As he quickly begins to ascend you;
Thoughtfully though he inserts the warm rod
Into the orifice that which soon,
So obliged, receives: succumbing to ecstasy.
Before you know it, you are on the top;
Clanging and clamoring about in Jove
And a giftedly spirited nature,
That at one point you were fully untried,
And fall into a deep manic passion.
With every ounce of enthusiasm,
He lifts the bar and silently descends ,
Constructing superior feelings of
Captivating harmonic melodies,
Plucked violin notes and able whistling
In luminescent, psychedelic tones.
Pleasantly thankful and feeling refreshed,
We lead on, living our lives in charmed hymns
Silently believing the four-minute
(Rarely less or perchance a little more)
Songs will play on everlastingly so;
Apologetically it fades out,
Knowing full well that indeed we need more.
And we may carry our weight about us,
The coming nostalgia unremitting,
And collapsing, breaking down and crying,
We know what we must, but cannot do so,
And thus to break it yourself you may go.