While everyone had predicted Ryan and Sergio would one day hook-up, many were nonetheless surprised by their love-child, Birds & Souls, as it bore little sonic resemblance to either parent.
Ryan Crosson, currently of Berlin but with connections to Detroit, was known as a talented young producer who tended toward darker rhythmic explorations. Sergio Giorgini, a somewhat dedicated school-teacher and baseball coach, was known, if known at all, for his inclination toward mellow Caribbean sounds and angular, lo-fi 90s indie rock.
Yet Birds & Souls is neither low-fi, nor indie-rock, neither dark, nor minimal. If anything, Birds & Souls fantasizes less about the dancefloor and more about the rock arena, with its gigantic sing-along choruses and its tawdry fans tossing their nether-garments, beer bottles, and dignity upon the tattered stage. And while it's true that Birds & Souls may float upon an arena-rock fantasy (one cannot help but be at least midlly amused by the classic rock trope of synchronizing group name, album title, and single), there is, of course, enough dance magic to go around here. Like some spiritual seeker amid the Himalayas, the title track and the band quest ever upwards, seeking enlightenment along arpeggiated climaxes.