If there’s was some kind of wooded backyard to look at right now, I’d hope for a hawk. The feathered beast could just perch somewhere out there, like a weathervane, hanging around, cocking its head sideways and askew-like, with fluid movement, every time it thought that it heard something tasty. With no movement would the creature make a sound. It would be silent, with its beady, resolute eyes seeming rested and crystalline. While looking like a beautiful totem, a spectacular trophy or a majestic bird, the hawk is actually raging inside with a bloodthirstiness, an ingrained thunder for sinking its beak into some red, still hot meat. It’s all quite pretty in a lot of ways.

Patrick Watson, the spectacular singer and songwriter from Montreal, Canada, encourages us to imagine this hawk, with its latent thoughts and dreams shifting around in its skull, sitting there in our backyard, watching us, staring at us, as if we were the entertainment in its backyard and not the other way around. His achingly beautiful writing can make you feel vulnerable that way and yet, somehow it might feel nice to know that someone, or something, is that interested in your goings on, is literally watching you with fascination, even if the reasons are not healthy.

Watson is without a peer and the words and music of “Quiet Crowd,” off of his latest album, “Adventures In Your Own Backyard,” are evidence, as he sings:

“Would you rather be more than the things that you say Or just be the words that you sing to yourself in your head When nobody’s around Or would you rather be a part of the crowd or just a single sound Waiting to be heard Do you know what I mean Well you could be one of the lovers or liars Hiding all the things that they do on the back of their hands Well it’s just you and me ‘Cause everybody’s got a little wrong in all the right places Just depends on where you are While you’re hanging around Dear Mr. Quiet who’s got so much to say So much more than all of the sleeping parade If I could tie up a string to your mouths and make you scream All of the things that you keep to your self I’d love to get to know you better Dear Mr. Quiet I’d love to get to know you better When nobody’s around While we’re all staring at the end of the world Will everybody have their hands on their head while they say Well I told you so While everybody’s walking their own way through the quiet crowd All thinking the same old things If they only knew.”