257. Song No. 3,844: “Give It Away,” Andrew Bird
Break It Yourself, 2012

Of course my favorite Andrew Bird album is going to be packed with songs that’re already standing out throughout this project not only for their comparative well-worn and warmly welcome familiarity in a sea of forgotten treasures but also for just being one small part of something bigger that I love so much and know so well that they feel almost jarringly out of place when they’re unmoored from equally as familiar bookends and lead-ins comprising an utterly perfect complete sequence of one flawless album that’s probably a sin to play in reshuffled fragments.

Separated from the pack or not, it’s the playfulness of this track’s musicality that makes it such a joy to spend four minutes, 28 seconds and a couple-three repeats with an easily flowing melody and casually drawn-out notes and staccato plucking (which, under normal-play circumstances, eventually yields to its immediate neighbor and thematic twin I love and unabashedly play over and over again even harder). Plus, I just love some well-executed strings like I love some piano-rock, and Bird’s almost mischievous instrumental stylings are tailored perfectly to this tune’s wry and frankly confronted self-awareness.

I read an interview where Bird’s summation of this song is literally no more than “I thought it would be a duet but pronouns get confused in a conversation with yourself,” and my infinitely unspooling inner dialogue felt awfully seen in that moment. The fights between the artist and the art, the creator and the creative drive, doing what you love and doting on who you love are the wages of turning passions into paychecks, and giving all that a voice and validation here feels like touring my own brain as a guest and wondering how anyone can live like this without going absolutely batshit from forever (and voluntarily!) serving two masters and the paralyzing guilt that feeling like you’re not giving enough of yourself to either so easily inspires. Art is pain: Whether it’s the muse or because of the process, professional creatives are almost always in some state of existential agony, and it makes even the most well-adjusted of us a nightmare to love and be loved by.

At some point, I’ve also read some interview with Richard Simmons, whose high-octane enthusiasm effectively blotted out any hint of a heart that he described as not having a lot to offer to one person but, instead, having a lot to offer to a lot of people, which I also keenly felt. And I think that’s the plight of the artist so well-defined here, with “Give it Away” both elaborating on and agonizing over in an internal tug-o’-war so bitterly fought it spills into the meatspace to feed the creative fire before materializing as lyrics themselves, muddled pronouns and all:

“Did you give it away for free
What would you have us pay?
I didn’t know that your love was a commodity
What about appreciation
That depends on your depth and density
What about inflation
Your charts and graphs don’t mean a thing to me
In your nation with its worthless currency“

Would that commoditized love be better off entrusted to one person in an exclusive intimate exchange, concentrated within someone who proportionately reflects all the singularly focused energy you shine back on them? Is the prismatic exuberance of love ricocheted in all directions the objectively better approach, mutually beneficial in supporting the art-slinger while their incalculably dispersed seedlings take root in fertile hearts personalizing that love for amplified significance and deeper connections before paying it forward and propelling it onward to share with others? Or is what matters most simply loving at all and pairing that imperative with knowing how your place and passions can be the vessel the highest function of the human heart deserves, creating the things that promulgate love and joy in others by plowing your tiny patch of land to share the best of yourself with others?