It's anyone's guess how to define jazz in the 21st century. Most people's conception of the genre these days seems to be some conflated version of New Orleans, bebop, and fusion-- a traditionalist view catered to by most of the jazz clubs still in business. For those who see jazz as a constantly evolving organism, arguments can be made that the sound's spirit either survives in the places where avant-garde meets noise, or has been dissected and spliced into the DNA of hip-hop or electronic music. Even jazz's flagship label, Blue Note, can't really decide where the genre's current form lies, having placed bets equally on soft-pop like Norah Jones, curatorial nostalgia acts like Wynton Marsalis, and now modern-minded kids like the Bird and the Bee.
This isn't an unwilling mantle for the band; beyond their noteworthy label allegiance, Inara George (daughter of the late Little Feat singer and guitarist Lowell George) and Greg Kurstin are eager to claim themselves as the present face of jazz: They started out covering standards and have since dropped the j-word all over their MySpace and promo materials. The group throws back to mixed-doubles teams like Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto, with Kurstin whipping up the instrumental backdrops to buttress George's vocal talents. But as far as following the classic rules of jazz, the Bird and the Bee are loose interpreters, only nicking a vocal melody or tic here and there (the "do you know the way" from "My Fair Lady"), and tossing in a scattered few horn parts and bossa nova presets.
For the most part, the Bird and the Bee's heart-on-sleeve reference points are more recent (but not too recent), like the Pet Sounds pastiche "I'm a Broken Heart" and the heisted Moon Safari retro-futurist keyboards that hold up "La La La". Meanwhile, shimmery acoustic opener "Again & Again" is a good thesis for Kurstin's aesthetic, a slick electro-acoustic hybrid that's dense without feeling cluttered-- pop music that reads modern without threatening any barriers. Bits of atmosphere, however borrowed, are executed well, such as the wintry Kid A microdot percussion of "Preparedness", or the robot-bleep Stereolab synths that pepper the choruses of "Fucking Boyfriend".
George herself proves a malleable talent, riding whatever combination of sounds Kurstin throws her way and willingly allowing for some very un-jazzy vocal practices like overdubbed self-harmonizing and effects processing. That flexibility allows her to easily slip into certain roles, like the conflicted coquette of "Again & Again" and the soft-psychedelic depressive of "I'm a Broken Heart", or even doing a bit of "Fitter Happier"-style Speak & Spell on the clockwork mission statement "Birds and the Bees". George's limitations are revealed only by material that calls for her feathery voice to present a harder edge; she half pulls off the Lily Allen sass of "Fucking Boyfriend", but can't quite sell the brattiness of "I Hate Camera" or the brooding "Because".
Even these tracks aren't offensively poor, just a byproduct of the safe and sterile approach that holds The Bird and the Bee back. The record fits snugly into a certain nameless musical genre that can be found in martini bars and designer-label boutiques the world over, a mish-mash of recognizable sounds and influences that's enjoyable but ultimately hollow (see Brazilian Girls for another example). For all the detail and talent invested, the songs rarely seem to reach beyond serving as mere background music-- ambient decoration for commerce and cocktails, mostly lacking in the adventure and innovation that was once (perhaps mythically) an essential prerequisite of jazz. On the modern Blue Note label where Norah Jones is the franchise player, this lack of ambition is no great shock, but as an entry in the definition derby for modern jazz, its wallflower demeanor is disheartening.
