#bird streets

[lunadarkphotography]

"Every positive feeling underscored by a frown, at war with my mind and I keep losing ground.."

[hollyweirdangeleno]

Pretty killer view

[hollyweirdangeleno]

[hollyweirdangeleno]

Up in the Bird Streets

[hollyweirdangeleno]

Up in the Bird Streets

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

Live Concert Photography: The Veldt with Blak Emoji and Bird Streets at Mercury Lounge 2/3/26 @VeldtThe @BirdStreets @MercuryLoungeNY @MercuryEast

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[mxdwn]

Album Review: Bird Streets – The Escape Artist

https://music.mxdwn.com/2025/11/21/reviews/album-review-bird-streets-the-escape-artist/

[dustedmagazine]

Bird Streets — The Escape Artist (Plastic Dreams)

Photo by Vivian Wang                                

In his third full-length, Bird Streets’ John Brodeur works at power pop’s hard/soft problem, spinning out dizzying melodies amid crunching guitars.  A rupturing blur of guitar overload meets continual drumming explosions, but the tunes are sweet, trebly, earnest.  He works here, again, with producer Jason Falkner, and that’s not a bad reference.  The Escape Artist offers much of the same earnest, anthemic catchiness of Falkner’s Author Unknown: hooks, clangor and yearning. 

The single, and clear standout, is “The Mistaker,” a Matthew Sweet-ish concoction of rainbow colored guitar play and insidiously earworm-y music.  The chorus unfurls in soft, inviting layers of massed vocals, as welcoming as an unmade bed, but a straight-up guitar-and-drum strut knocks you out of your reverie.  “Well I can't say it's not my fault/Cause I burn every bridge I walk across,” Brodeur keens against a luxuriant growth of guitar sounds, temporarily vulnerable, before rearing up for the payoff.  “Call me Mr. Self Destruct, but I prefer the mistaker.” 

“Fossil Eyes” is crunchier, taut with staccato strumming, vibrating with tremulous tenor, like Brendan Benson on a caffeine bender.  Muscle and uncertainty wrestle for dominance, as they often do in this kind of music, the self-revelation of the song balanced against every sort of rock band bravado.  Then “everyonewelovewillgoaway” sirens with surf-rock sinuousness,  an Arab twist in its all-American DNA helix; it’s urgent and reticent at the same time. 

This music has illustrious predecessors — Love’s baroque garage freakery, Teenage Fanclub’s wistful feedback explosions, Big Star’s radiant dream pop — but it doesn’t have a lot of current practitioners.  It’s not especially fashionable these days, but if you like your rock mayhem with a sugar buzz, it’ll hit the spot. 

Jennifer Kelly