Fleet Foxes
Sub Pop
Fleet Foxes comprise five guys in their early-20s from Seattle who make music that’s honest and beautiful at a time when such virtues are in short supply. Yeah, this is a tough spell for the working class, unlike anything most young adults have previously experienced. Government mendacity and corporate greed have all but crushed the latest generation’s quest for the American Dream. The same money-changers that send 18-year-olds to fight crooked wars overseas feed them inauthentic pop music that renders human voices cold and robotic — reinforcing the idea, if you’re a thinking person, that nothing is trustworthy.
Fleet Foxes, on the other hand, offer the sonic equivalent of warmth, beauty and integrity. They make timeless music that lovingly harks back to such 1960s titans as Brian Wilson, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Paul Simon and John Lennon, all of whom, and more, are mentioned in the “deepest thanks” section of the liner notes. Yet rather than being some catch-all revival band, Fleet Foxes craft a strikingly original sound by employing oblique, sometimes chamber-esque, melodies and the occasional odd-meter rhythm.
Robin Pecknold, whose singing evokes a cross between Neil Young and My Morning Jacket’s Jim James, leads Fleet Foxes. The other members are also capable vocalists, and the quintet collectively delivers stacked harmonies worthy of a Beach Boys or vintage Phil Spector record. The lyrics are slightly obscured by the dreamy way in which Pecknold stretches syllables like taffy — but that’s OK, or I should say I’m OK with not being able to distinguish each word.
In fact, in this case I prefer it. I enjoy the way the vocals wash over me like soothing memories of romanticized good old days or visions of better days waiting up around the bend. This is music of hope. Fleet Foxes’ innocent, earnest “ooo’s and aww’s” are as moving and, yes, poetic, as the cleverest lyrics.
All the instrumentation is organic and majestically subtle. These young men do not posses superior chops, but you can hear them aspiring to a level of expert musicianship they may reach by, say, their third album. Another huge plus is that each track was expertly recorded to sound like it’s emanating from a living room, where some of the album was actually cut. “Music is a weird and cosmic thing,” reads the liner notes, “its own strange religion for nonbelievers.” I’ll gladly worship at Fleet Foxes’ temple. 4 stars
This article appears in Jun 25 – Jul 1, 2008.