#523 Andrew Bird - Andrew Bird & the Mysterious Production of Eggs

Vaguely pretty, vaguely mushy, vaguely swooning pop crooning falling somewhere between Belle and Sebastien and The National, with a slightly artier edge, full of dissonant little touches and orchestral flourishes. The occaisional rollick, as on Fake Palindromes, inject a little bit of urgency, but for the most part things just lilt along, lithe but bloodless. The Thom Yorke nasality of Bird himself doesn't help, nor do forced little flourishes, like the whistling on Masterfade. This is an album that throws a lot at you, but for me, not a lot stuck 2.5/5