A Conversation with Andrew Bird

Andrew Bird has an incredibly soft voice.

When he speaks, his words are slow and crisp, each sentence clearly well thought out. The music that emanates from the multi-instrumentalist, then, seems to make sense — delicate, detailed and beautiful.

With his latest record, Noble Beast, Bird takes listeners on a musical hike through enchanted woods, complete with violins, guitars, hand claps and, as appears on so many of his records, whistled melodies.

Since Bird left his first gig — as a member of the swing revivalists Squirrel Nut Zippers — he’s been making music that floats between folk, rock and old-world jazz and blues.

Bird recently spoke to Gravity Rides Everything about music, his decidedly un-rock ’n’ roll life and the liquid state of songwriting.

Gravity Rides Everything: How much of what you write never makes it into a song?

Andrew Bird: I started off writing 25 or 30 songs for a record and cutting half of them. But that became such a heartbreaking process. Now I tend to take the same 10 or 11 songs and record them in like 10 different ways, putting them in different lights. Sometimes I’m writing three different songs at first and I realize they’re the same song. I put them together and cut off the fat.

GRE: Your songs often transform greatly from one live show to the next. How do you put together a set list?

AB: You’re tempted to do whatever worked the night before, but you have to work against it. Once you repeat the night before, there’s the potential for getting in a rut. When you’re playing every night, it’s a lot to ask of yourself, but you have to work to make the set more precarious.

GRE: Do you look back on your time with the Squirrel Nut Zippers nostalgically?

AB: It was pretty exciting to be a part of that. I was 22 or 23 playing for over a thousand people a night and hanging out with a hard-living, Southern, eccentric group of people. But it was a double-edged sword, because years after that, my own original stuff and the promoter of the show would say, ‘Come on, daddy-o, come down for a swing lesson.’ But my music had nothing to do with that scene.

GRE: What factors pushed you toward a completely solo career apart from [your former band, Andrew Bird and the] Bowl of Fire?

AB: Hitting the road really hard with five people and no support — all sleeping in one hotel room if we could afford it. And the pressure of being the host of a large band, and also just creatively not wanting to delegate parts to other musicians with their particular taste. I was writing bass lines in pizzicato in an octave pedal and playing whatever felt natural, not thinking like a bass player at all. There were no rules all of a sudden. I was just doing what I’d suppressed.

GRE: Where are you most at home — writing, recording or playing live?

AB: Playing music live is the most honest. A close second would be when I’ve a new song in my head. It can be very gratifying — the time before you bring it to anybody. It’s like this cool secret. Then the moment finally comes to show it to an audience, it’s a pretty special thing.

GRE: Do you carry around a recorder to get new melodies in your head?

AB: No, I figure if it’s worth remembering, it’ll come back. Especially with melodies — I like things to stay in a liquid state in your head for as long as possible. They stay more interesting there. Once they get out of your head, they start to solidify. That liquid magma state is the key to new songs.

GRE: So what’s next for you?

AB: A good solid year of playing shows almost every night. I don’t want to call it work, but it’ll be very demanding. I’m about my health like I’m about to do the Tour de France, putting myself on a specific training and diet regimen. It’s not the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle exactly. If I did indulge in that, well, I just wouldn’t make it.