Andrew Bird is one of those names you hear a lot around the traps. People who ‘know’ music – self-confessed ‘indie’ types – heap a wealth of superlatives on this fellow, but so many of us know precious little about him. He supported Joanna Newsom – that says something for his indie appeal – and he plays the violin… so I know two things about the man. These two things are, however, enough to get my attention.

To begin with, don’t approach this album expecting anything in particular, because most expectations will be unfulfilled. If you’re after a simple pop album, the songs are poppy enough, but you’ll probably be overwhelmed by the musical quirks of the record. Similarly, if you want left-field, avant-garde musicianship, the songs themselves may seem too slight. What Bird offers us is a collection of unashamedly indie-rock tunes, garnished superbly with his own styling: a bit of synth here and there, plenty of strings and the occasional shot at whistling, are but some of the small idiosyncrasies on offer.

‘Fiery Crash’ opens the record on an interesting note, as this isn’t a song that immediately impresses, but a gem that sneaks up on you during your third or fourth listen. The heavy drumming, mixed with a decisively rocky guitar riff sits nicely with Bird’s mumbling vocals. If, like me, this is also your first impression of Bird, you may be sceptical of his supposed greatness. Although it’s undoubtedly listenable – there’s an apparent simplicity that only further listens serve to subvert – the song is not as monotonous as it at first seems. Although this is a tight, well-produced rock song, there’s spaciousness about the way Bird goes about his songwriting, as strings flow in and out to give added weight, and vocal tracks weave their way around guitar licks and whistle solos, giving birth to a sense of sonic fluidity. ‘Fiery Crash’ is gracefully controlled, and so understated in its vastness that at first it flies under the radar. So much of Armchair Apocrypha, like this track, has to be slowly digested, but it’s definitely worth the effort.

Whether it’s the inescapable rhythm that drives ‘Imitosis’, the beautifully plucked strings that open ‘Plasticities’, or the lush violins and harmonies in the chorus of ‘Heretics’, each track continues to offer little snippets of brilliance that are revealed gradually through well-written and catchy tunes. Perhaps this is the most impressive part of this album, that while showing his knack for quirky musical arrangements, Bird never sacrifices the ‘song’ for the sake of showing off – as is most evident in the epic ‘Armchairs’, Armchair Apocrypha’s centrepiece. Beginning with an atmospheric synth/string arrangement, then breaking down to a jazzy verse of only guitar, drums, vocals and an inescapably pretty piano part, this song eventually encompasses all that I now admire about Bird’s music. There aren’t too many seven-minute tracks in which the artist doesn’t sound painfully self-indulgent, but this is one of the exceptions. So well-controlled and perfectly structured is this song that the listener is literally aching for the crescendo once Bird finally sings his cryptic lines: “Time’s a crooked bone.” We are never met with a questionable guitar solo, as Bird only includes the essentials, and he controls the song to its end, never once giving us an idea that it is anything less than meticulously crafted and thought-out.

With subtle melodies that are often echoed by other instruments (guitar on ‘Plasticities’, piano on ‘Armchairs’), Bird uses his voice as an element of a song, not the driving force. Although the vocals are utterly engaging – his lyrics ranging from the poetic ‘Armchairs’: “I dreamed you were a cosmonaut/of the space between our chairs/and I was a cartographer/of the tangles in your hair,” to the whimsical “morbid fascination” with the board game Operation in ‘Dark Matter’ – the instrumentation of the album is Bird’s shining attribute. The instrumental tracks, ‘The Supine’ and ‘Yawny And The Apocalypse’, are the heart and soul of Armchair Apocrypha: violin-based, they are the stripped-down, soul-baring musical foundation for Andrew Bird’s brilliance.

I’ve got terrible timing with things like this. An artist always finishes their tour of Australia the moment I start liking their music. While there are singer/songwriters out there producing pretty, yet often tedious records – Damien Rice’s 9 springs to mind – Andrew Bird has gone largely unnoticed, and the fact that I, and many others had never heard of his intelligent, innovative songwriting before now is a crime of the highest order.

Now all I need to do is scour the city for the Andrew Bird back-catalogue – waiting for his next tour.