Chamber pop, indie folk, baroque pop—however you want to label The Mysterious Production of Eggs, it's undeniably gorgeous. Andrew Bird’s vocals, all drowsy and blue, live inside arrangements that unfold like landscapes in miniature; they somehow manage to be both vast and tiny. Amid crying violins, fluttering whistles, and twinkly percussion, Bird’s cryptic wordplay worms its way deep into your consciousness. You’ll find yourself repeating odd little phrases, like “I want to drill a tiny hole into your head,” for weeks on end.