CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’: Bobby Birdman with surfboard and hedge-trimmers. IMAGE: Scott Sternberg

Bobby Birdman never intended to be a crooner. He didn’t grow up listening to Frank Sinatra or impersonating Morrissey. “My parents had a lot of Andy Williams and Bing Crosby Christmas records,” he says, trying to trace the roots of his vocal stylings. “I guess it just seeped in there.” Despite his early records’ ambient departures and the crushing dance beats of his more recent jams, Birdman (born Robert Kieswetter) has a smooth-as-butter voice and an uncanny knack for melody that separate him from the experimental pop pack.

So strikingly cool and confident on record is Birdman that one almost expects snobbery or aloofness from him in conversation. But speaking from his Los Angeles home via telephone, he’s plainspoken and open, dropping the occasional Southern California “like” as he discusses the challenge of translating his recorded work into live performances. “It’s been kind of a constant struggle,” he admits. Because while computers have always been integral to his recording process—Bobby Birdman songs contain layered, complex vocal harmonies and passing clouds of atmospheric sound both organic and electronic—a laptop can be a clumsy backing band. “It’s really easy and economical to do it by myself, but in my ideal world I’d probably have a whole crew of singers and percussionists and dancers,” he says.

Birdman, who moved to Portland in the late ’90s before returning to his native California in 2003, has been known to improvise a choir or dance troupe out of his audiences. But he’s also been known to play guitar while his friend Jona Bechtolt from YACHT mans the drums—or even to sing with no accompaniment at all, gathering his crowd close and cross-legged on the floor like a scout leader playing a new campfire tune. No one—including Kieswetter himself—is entirely sure which Bobby Birdman they’ll get until a show starts.

The affinity for improvisation comes in part from his years playing with indie-folk outfit Little Wings and his experiences on tour with iconic singer-songwriter Will Oldham. It was Wings godhead Kyle Field—with whom Kieswetter lived, surfed and played music in college—who gave Kieswetter his Bobby Birdman nickname-turned-stage-moniker. But Field also gave him an appreciation for the element of surprise, as each Little Wings performance was different. “Especially in the early days, the show could take a turn into a totally different…vector. Pretty much anything would go. I definitely try to keep some of that in Bobby Birdman shows.”

Musically, there’s no clear connection between Little Wings and Bobby Birdman. In fact, though Kieswetter has mentioned Neil Young and Jim Croce as early influences, Bobby Birdman’s music is so much its own animal that it’s hard to draw musical comparisons to much of anything. The first two releases for Hush Records, Let Me In and Born Free Forever, contain slow-motion breakbeats and reversed samples, with Birdman sliding dreamlike across a jagged orchestra of unidentifiable instrumentation. In subsequent releases, he has leaned more heavily on pronounced beats—2006’s Giraffes and Jackals EP standouts “Steal Yr Face” and “I’ve Been Away Too Long” find him crooning over bouncy, electropical drum patterns and bright island-beat samples.

But it’s on his forthcoming disc, New Moods, that Birdman demonstrates both his craft and range. The intricately built drum-’n’-bass blasts of “Dust Design” and the Cure-esque pop-’n’-clap of “Only For a While” would be almost unrecognizable if it weren’t for Birdman’s honey-sweet crooning drizzled on top. “Truth Be Told” approximates “Unchained Melody” in tenderness and scale—and again his vocals bubble in multiple over a typically aching, gorgeous melody. When a fuzz bomb shakes the latter into momentary chaos, our captain steers the ship back to safety: “I couldn’t believe what I saw/ What I see before me, I still can’t believe it, truth be told.”

One could apply the same lyric to New Moods. It’s that good. “I’m just becoming more confident in myself and my songwriting,” Birdman says. “Those early records feel self-conscious to me. It was easier for me to make somber, serious music at the time. Not to say I’ve grown out of ever having a somber feeling, but I was younger and trying to figure stuff out. Now I’m older, wiser—I live in a happy home with my girlfriend and our cat, Elliot. I’m more comfortable in my own skin.”

So is it just coincidence that it took leaving Portland for Bobby Birdman to craft his strongest and most positive work to date? “I absolutely love Portland, but I think you may have hit the nail on the head a little bit. I couldn’t really handle the weather, I’ll admit it. And I guess you could draw a line between somber songs and gloomy weather. So yeah, I guess that could be the case.