You know that really short song that bands sometimes play on stage between songs? It's got about four notes and no lyrics and all the band members with a guitar kinda play it together at the same time. They all fiddle with knobs and after a while, all the instruments sound nice together and then everybody in the band giggles at each other. Then the audience sighs, shifting their weight impatiently. It's not a very good song, but everybody seems to play it. I think it's called "The Tuning Song." Well, Bluebird put a short cover of it on their new album, The Two. If it sounds amateurish to you, don't be surprised.

On its own, this rendition isn't an entirely damning death knell for the record. But it's the placement of the thing that gets under my skin. Bluebird, in a failed attempt to "put you in a live show setting," I suppose, stuck their version of "The Tuning Song" right smack dab in the middle of their record, at the beginning of what turns out to be one of The Two's few fully enjoyable songs. "Low Gear" feebly showcases Bluebird at their avian best; a scuzzy bass leads into a saucy throb-groove and for precious few moments, the rumbling swagger of an early-era Girls Against Boys number punches through Samuel James Velde's vaguely meaningful, vastly trite lyrical missteps. "Salivate and fantasize," he screeches, "with stars in your eyes and of course money signs." The lyric reaches about as far as Braid in a phone booth. And that's one of the good parts.

"Low Gear" is a song you might not mind hearing this Bluebird warble but it's handily shot down by bad timing. Sandwiched into the mire of the record's middle, its meager impact is scattered like a nest in a tornado. Elsewhere, Bluebird is hindered from soup to nuts by Velde's incongruous stylings. Vocally, he's as dubiously capable of mocking the worst of Trixter's (or maybe Dangerous Toys') tease-combed, bleached-blonde set as he is at irritating us in the most annoyingly familiar ways.

True, Bluebird migrates in a Dischord-erly direction and remembers to pack a pretty relentless pair of guitars for the trip. Unfortunately, Velde is not world's only vocalist who might benefit from the understanding that Guy Picciotto's tried-and-true breathy whine and howl only carries when a band as inventive as Fugazi plays along. And it wouldn't hurt to have something to whine about: in the aptly titled "Birth of Inertia," Velde settles for "I wish my skin was thick, dumb, dull and insignificant." By my count, this song satisfies three out of those four requirements.

Bluebird's rotten egg isn't fully hatched until "Silver Torch" flutters into view. Here's a healthy slab of anthemic prog-metal that willfully assigns itself meaning through ponderous length and lyrical brevity-- anyone who remembers Metallica's "To Live is to Die" knows just how challenging these listens can be. With the none-too-stirring (and oft-repeated) complete lyric "Words unspoken, hearts are broken/ To find forgiveness, look inside," this is one torch that begs to be put out.

Problem is, I find myself returning to that early image of Bluebird live. Theirs is the brand of noise-punk that invariably comes off worlds better in person. It's not that they fail to flat out rock at points-- it's that their attitude and lyrical bravado promise more than Velde's voice and the band's no-more-than-competent wattage are able to deliver. Maybe it's a de-tuning they really need-- a dribble of the sonic catalyst that just might get them molting and growing new plumage unlike that of the many bands with which Bluebird shares a common feather.

If this riffing and punning on words bird-related and otherwise drove you, um, cuckoo, it's only because I accepted The Two's irresistible invite. Bluebird pretty much shits on itself with cover art depicting a lonely birch, scarred by a lover's memorial, "Me + You," etched into the white bark. Not obvious enough for you? Try the back cover, which features the song titles encircling a tree that mysteriously burns. It's just this type of obvious metaphor and general uninventiveness that pigeonholes Bluebird in the end. After cracking this many eggs, they could have at least fixed a better omelet.

-Judson Picco