Andrew Bird - Words from a Whistling Gypsy

This was a typical chaotic show where nothing is working right before you're supposed to play and you have to rewire everything. And, yourself, you're wired too. So that translates to your songs. I end up singing a lot higher and louder and it ends up being as far from studio recording as you can get.

Having just intercepted Andrew Bird, sipping gratefully on a cold beer backstage at a Glasgow show, the guy looks beat. Panda bear eyes, sweat gushing from his brow and his loosened tie cast midway down his half open shirt. But, as anyone who has bore witness to one of his frenzied live sets will testify: Bird is a performer to behold. Over almost ten albums in as many years, his violin-based sound, defined by his whistle solos and loop replication, has earned him a reputation as one of the most interesting and entertaining artists in his field. The Mysterious Production Of Eggs (2005) and last year's Armchair Apocrypha in particular have taken the cast of singer songwriter and breathed new life into it, remoulding it into something more sophisticated than many of his peers: a brilliant blend of classic and contemporary. It's surprising then, given the relative prolificness of his output, when he tells us the studio just ain't for him.

"I've never felt fully comfortable with recording. I feel more comfortable on that wild stage than I ever do in a controlled studio. I'm not a knob twiddler who likes sitting in the basement for hours. I dread it to be honest."

Despite having a bachelor's degree in violin performance to file alongside his hugely impressive list of collaborators and associates (ranging from My Morning Jacket to Bonnie 'Prince' Billy), Bird's attitude suggests neither rockstar nor virtuoso. Instead, he comes across as some sort of nomadic busker; his lackadaisical conversation at odds with his frantic stage persona, his lust for the road harking back to a romantic age of performance all but swallowed up by acquisition hungry record corporates. Some musicians dread touring; Bird however is "sadly addicted to it."

"Anything can happen in a performance," he explains wearily, "even if it's a disaster, I enjoy the situation it creates." Bird does little to banish the quixotic self portrait he has thus far painted when quizzed on his extra curricular activities. "I just like to ride my bike," comes the dreamy response. "When I get time off, I just wanna take off across the Mid-West for a few days, me and the open road, just riding."

As we speak, Wilco, famous sons of Bird's hometown Chicago, are playing in the background. "I really like Wilco; I'm a massive fan of Jeff Tweedy's songwriting." But as the conversation turns to his compatriots' commercial activity, Bird the Wilco fan is replaced by Bird the all whistling, all cycling conversationalist: Tweedy and co struck a deal with Volkswagen last year which gave the German company the rights to use six songs from their Sky Blue Sky album in car commercials.

"I have publicly vowed not to do a car commercial because we're against car culture," his forehead is instantly ploughed into furrows at the very thought. "I think people ought to get on their bikes more. It's good that bands are being given a hard time for it: I don't think it should be accepted. Touring all the time, travelling on buses and planes spewing out exhaust fumes and this general wastefulness in our culture is wrong. And I think religions which have been abandoned should be replaced by conservation. Whatever we put into that should become a cultural thing, not just this faddish 'green' stuff."

Needless to say, he wasn't invited to the inaugural Live Earth fiasco in London last year. Indeed, a brief mention of it leaves him shaking his head in disgust. Bird, it seems, is happy waging his own war. He takes the stage for one of the final shows at the final Triptych Festival at the Classic Grand on April 27th, an opportunity to see the Birdman in his natural habitat that should not be missed.