He pulled off his black boots to reveal gray/white striped socks and placed a stuffed monkey (the size of a skinny 1-year-old) in front of his revolving speakers. Only then did he begin to play his violin. And guitar. And xylophone. And the toy that, when you pull the lever and aim into the background mic, makes the sound of farm animals (for the sake of dissonance during opportune and quiet moments of course).

Oh… and then there was his pitch-perfect whistling.

Somehow, with their collage of instruments and sounds, Andrew Bird (and band) tore it up last night at Boulder’s Fox Theatre.

Bird owned his nearly two hours of stage time and square of stage space. He seems like one of those guys who just loves music, not because of the spotlight or the fans, but because he’s mesmerized by the unique rhythms and sounds he produces on his violin. I felt like I was peeking through a window into his private world of instruments and toys and thoughts and compositions. And that when he noticed I was looking, managed to offer some insight into his thinking by way of poetic and sometimes aloof statements.

It was a great and rare show at the always winning Fox.

(Plus, I only had to pay $5 for a magnet that says “dear dirty, me carbon neutral.” A small price to pay for customized ABird artistry and the warm feeling I get knowing I’m helping save our planet.)

His latest album is Armchair Apocrypha:

I wrote this song for her last Tuesday, but was unable to give it to her…

Sometimes you write with the intention of expressing something specific. That’s how this song started. I wanted to tell her that, if I could, I’d ease her mind, hold her hand and take her somewhere beautiful. After letting the song take its own course, through the music and melody, it turns out that instead of the lyrics being an expression of what I’d do for her, the words really represent (in a weird metaphorical way) what she did for me.

You can listen by clicking here.

BLUEBIRD
By: Leora Gardner (c)2007
(4/4, A)

V1
If I could I’d be a bluebird, just for you.
Fly round and round and stop right at your window
If I could I’d sing a sweet song, just for you.
Hum sweetly in your ear until you sleep.

C
Fly away, I would
Fly away.
Fly away, I would
Fly away.
Fly away, I would
Fly away.
But only when you’ve fallen into dreams.

V2
I’d take your hand in mine on nights like this one,
Where the day stretched on forever, scarlet skies.
I’d look into your eyes on nights like this one,
And tell you that we’re about to fly.

C
Fly away, we would
Fly away.
Fly away, we would
Fly away.
Fly away, we would
Fly away.
Into a night of stars and lullabies.

(BRIDGE)

(CHORUS)

Being with Sheryl was like sitting in a garden, quietly and long enough to watch flowers bloom before my eyes.

Being around her, just being within feet of her, caused me to be instantly at peace. Everything was right with the world and everything would be right with the world. When I was with Sheryl.

It’s enough for someone special to listen to me when I cry, to feign empathy and understanding. But Sheryl would take on my tears and cry for me. Sometimes she would cry more than I would. Because she cared.

Sheryl proved to me that I was beautiful and valuable. She forcefully proved to me that my mark, the mark that I’ll leave, will be unique. But the force she used was always her hugs and the way that she’d take both of my hands in both of her hands and just hold them.

Sheryl made sure I was never hungry when we talked. She would always bring me strawberry salads, her favorite and eventually a favorite of mine.

Brushing shoulders with Sheryl was brushing shoulders with eternity and seeing more of God. I was one of thousands whose life she changed, but feel like one of one.

Sheryl died yesterday and I will miss her. We were told she’d be here longer and I was counting on that time.

Yesterday, I finished a song I’d written for her. I was planning on giving it to her today, but will not be able to. It’s a simple song. Not about life or death or heaven or hell. It’s just a song about what I’d do for her if I could.

It’s called Bluebird.