The Finch at the Feeder

[Edit: I started this entry on Wednesday, September 30, and couldn't think of a good punchline to a joke that appears below. I put the entry on hold until today, so all of my readers would know how funny I truly am.]


Last night, Andrew Bird and St. Vincent played at The Murat downtown, and it was stellar. It has been a long time since a show really hit me, but this one did, in a big way.

Annie Clark, who basically is St. Vincent (sorry, other dudes who were there), is, as my hot fiancee put it, "fucking hot." She's not exactly my type (she's kind of a waif, and I'm into curves), but she does have some serious stage presence that demands your attention. I know for a fact that Stevi would run away with her in a heartbeat, and I guess I understand. She looks like a cross between Christina Ricci in That Darn Cat and Helena Bonham Carter in everything (except her stint on Miami Vice)--in other words, a Tim Burton cocktail. On the albums, St. Vincent is a by-the-book boxer: form and beauty mixed with calculated, effective punches. Live, they're more like a half-drunk street brawler--they come out swinging and never really stop. Their newest, Actor, released earlier this year.

When Andrew Bird took the stage, it was immediately obvious why he and Clark are touring together. This lanky gentleman treats his violin like a lover, from gentle caresses to--you know--the rough stuff. He alternately plucked, bowed, and straight up ravaged his instrument, and even took some time out to pick up a guitar or two as well. His extensive use of a loop pedal was surprising but fascinating, and he's got a voice like the purring engine of a European sports car. He also whistles. Save for his haunting version of "Why?" from his Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire days, he was at his best with his backing band (Martin Dosh, Jeremy Ylvisaker, and Mike Lewis), who ably kept up with Bird's passion, energy and musical godishness.

To summarize, you simply must go see Andrew Bird and St. Vincent if you have the opportunity. They are two artists that represent a (sadly) dwindling type of performer, the kind whose live shows transcend their already-great recorded work, illustrating the line between performance and experience.