"Useless Creatures"
Andrew Bird
4.5 stars
"Useless Creatures" is best described as a frolic through the psychedelic backwoods of the mind. Here, whistling folk minstrel and violin virtuoso Andrew Bird conjures up enough repetitive rhythms to lull you into a state of hypnosis, the pulse of Bird's glockenspiel in place of the swaying pocket watch. Bird has called "Useless Creatures" his "ambient experimental record," and the album is as eclectic as he describes. Bird enraptures the human body's internal rhythm with the sounds of nature: gusts of breeze, hooves of a meandering horse and hums of an insect jumble together to create the organic counterpart to electro trance.
Bringing us back to a time when Bach was a rock star, Bird showcases his mastering of classical style violin throughout. By no means is this album a purely classical work, but rather, a contemporary comment on the conflict and harmony between man and Mother Nature. Initially, though, the record seems like a more complex and pleasurable form of the standard ambient sounds programmed on alarm clock radios. But after a few listens, the music burrows deeper, penetrating your mind with dense waves of bass vibrations and tender cries of violin. Bird uses these tactics to seduce you into his world of mysterious tree nymphs and eternal babbling brooks.
"Master Sigh" disarms all hostility and summons a level of relaxation beyond meditation or yoga breathing. On this song, Bird leads us down his shaded trail on a strolling horse with supple "oohs" and sweet whistles, the only vocalization we hear from him. "The Barn Tapes" enunciates the album's primitive roots, composed entirely of raw recordings taken one night in his barn outside of Chicago. On "Spinney," a 46-second audio disturbance, screeches into the brain briefly, then propels the listener further into the next song, "Dissent," which lulls the mind through a sea of moaning whales. And to think he called these poor creatures useless.
