Upper Air

Bowerbirds shouldn't work. A boyfriend and girlfriend, he equipped with acoustic guitar, she with accordion, singing intensely earnest songs redolent of natural imagery that espouse with near-monomaniacal zeal a belief in the deep interconnectedness of human beings, animals, and the Earth. At a glance the whole thing smacks of hippie bullshit, but Phil Moore and Beth Tacular aren't trying to guilt you into making a donation to PETA, and they sure as shit aren't trying to take you on some lysergic-fueled trip. Certainly these guys have a particular worldview, but it's largely because of that purity of vision that the group's music succeeds, creating an immersive listening experience that can yield beauty and magic for anyone who isn't wholly given over to cynicism.

There’s a bit in Proust’s In Search Of Lost Time where he discusses eating a ‘petite madeleine’ soaked in tea, and the involuntary memories and feelings that the act stirs up in him, what he associates with the act of eating cake, with its taste, its texture. It’s arguably the most famous passage in the book; possibly because it’s near the beginning and few people make it through the first volume, but perhaps because almost everyone has had a case of involuntary memory caused by some act or other. It’s pretty common for people to associate certai n songs or sounds with certain times or experiences in their life, and regard a band or tune as more worthy of their attention because of what they associate it with, rather than its actual quality, or lack of. Whilst it may not be a completely objective way of describing a record, and despite people rarely being as poetic as Proust, it’s still a common way for records to be discussed, and Bowerbirds' second effort Upper Air is certainly no exception, if you’ll care to indulge me. In order to avoid being labelled 'pretentious' by any readers, and simply down to a lack of skill, I’m not going to attempt to mimic Prout’s writing style. Maybe.