The Bird and the Bee

Two years ago, a Los Angeles singer-songwriter named Inara George burst onto the scene with a remarkably polished debut album called All Rise. The daughter of Little Feat frontman Lowell George, Inara was blessed with an effortlessly pretty voice and a Suzanne Vega-like knack for imbuing simple folk-pop with loads of atmosphere and minor-key foreboding. All Rise owed maybe a little too much to forebears like Vega, but it was one of the 2005's more promising debuts.

Rather that immediately record a followup, George decided to work on a new project with one of her players from the All Rise sessions -- multi-instrumentalist Greg Kurstin, best-known as a longtime Beck sideman. It was a smart move. Calling themselves the bird and the bee, George and Kurstin make music that is simple, catchy and unabashedly retro. It's as if Burt Bacharach and Hal David had spent a few months hanging out in L.A.'s jaded hipster bars, then went home and wrote a record about it.

Kurstin and George announce their retro-pop agenda right from the start, with the handclaps and fuzz bass of "Again & Again" leading the way. Ballads like "Birds and the Bees" and "I'm a Broken Heart" keep the vintage Bacharach vibe alive, while more uptempo numbers like "F*cking Boyfriend" give George a chance to brandish the same sardonic wit that made "Fools in Love" one of All Rise's highlights. The combination of sunshine pop, gorgeous vocals and sass-mouthed cynicism ("Say my name, say my name, say my stupid name," George commands on "Again & Again") is hard to resist.

For all its deliberate evocation of '60s and '70s AM pop, the bird and the bee has more than a few shrewdly modern touches. On "Because," Kurstin cribs his backbeat from minimalist hip-hop producers like The Neptunes; on "Preparedness," he evokes the jittery beats of Postal Service. Never, however, does Kurstin let the production overwhelm George's vocals (which are often multi-tracked), keeping her and the duo's sweet melodies front and center.

Like their Canadian counterpart Leslie Feist, Inara George and Greg Kurstin find fresh inspiration in the sounds of classic pop songwriters, and deliver an album that's miles ahead of what passes for pop in the James Blunt era. - Andy Hermann

As a label, Blue Note has been changing its focus, drifting closer and closer to mainstream pop material -- not that there's anything wrong with this, but it is a bit of a shock that the name label in jazz since 1939 is looking for hits with Elisabeth Withers and a third Norah Jones offering. That said, the Metro Blue imprint of the label is as adventurous as ever. The self-titled offering from the Bird and the Bee is about as eclectic as it gets. The Bird and the Bee are vocalist and songwriter Inara George (for music historians, she is the daughter of the late Little Feat singer, guitarist, and songwriter Lowell George) and multi-instrumentalist/producer Greg Kurstin. Inara George issued her solo debut, All Rise, to little notice in 2004, and Kurstin handled keyboard and drum machine chores on that one. The duo's debut album is a showcase for ten small, elegant, and strangely sophisticated pop songs that incorporate French pop (and Europop in general), some tropicalia and samba, and a postmodern form of space age bachelor -- and bachelorette -- music. Yet, the end product is more musical and complex than all of them. In its own way, this is as strange as anything by Jane Siberry or Brigitte Fontaine, as quirky as Jill Sobule or Jane Birkin (during her latter Serge Gainsbourg period), and much drier than (while remaining as confessional as) Sam Phillips during her Martinis & Bikinis phase. All of that said, mood music or a backdrop hanging sound isn't the point or the end result. Inara George is more than simply hip -- she's savvy, poetic, and quick-witted: "A pretty idiot is kissing/Everyone she doesn't know/And the pigs are eating popcorn/Selling tickets to the show." The shimmering pop samba in "My Fair Lady" could have been in Breakfast at Tiffany's if the film had been made in 2007 and starred Dorothy Parker in the lead role: "I need someone to show a little kindness/If he can turn his head, a little blindness/I know I might seem a little aimless/And I can also be a little shameless." Kurstin wraps these irony-filled lyrics in layers of skeletal keyboards and beats. The music shimmers, shakes, slightly jerks, and shimmies. This is the place where smart little drinks and hidden emotions find their adjoining playgrounds. And ultimately, this music is playground pastiche, but that's far from a criticism. The sheer instinct and musical dexterity at work here make the album irresistible -- and in particular "I Hate Camera," with its rounded and warm skittering loops and faux harpsichord keys keeping pace with jangling keyboard sounds and sputtering vocal effects. This is a record that gives up its secrets slowly, while being charming and delightful at every turn. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide