Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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74 of 81 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Hold me dear, into the night, June 4, 2008
The Fleet Foxes are a rock band that sounds like no other -- imagine a pastoral choir overwhelming a sweeping folk-rock band, in the middle of a sunlit forest in the spring.
That's about the sound of the Fleet Foxes' self-titled debut album -- it's a stream of lush, jangly folk pop, edged with a touch of baroque and country-rock. While their "Sun Giant" EP was an excellent introduction, it's nothing compared to the rough-edged grandeur of the full-length album, with its glorious instrumentation and vivid lyricism.
The only really offputting part of the album is the opening five seconds, when an off-key chorale sings, "Reeeeed squirrel in the morning/Reeeeeeeed squirrel in the evening..."
Then the song suddenly melts into a gentle acoustic guitar shimmering with keyboard. "The sun rises, over my head/Hold me dear, into the night/Sun it will rise soon in the morn..." Robin Pecknold sings with all the solemnity of a choirboy. His voice soars over the steelier riffs and thumping drums, only to settle down with, "The sun rising, dangling there/Golden and fair, in the sky..."
Wow. When an intro is that lovely, just imagine what the songs that follow are going to be like.
In this case, it's the shifting folky "White Winter Hymnal," with its kettle drums and beautiful campfire harmonies ("I was following... I was following... I was following the pack/all swallowed in their coats/with scarves of red tied 'round their throats"), followed by the endearingly energetic rocker "Ragged Wood" ("You should come back home/back on your own now!").
It gets no less endearing after that: Gentle bluesy ballads, jangly folk-pop with lots of squiggly mellotron, sweeping pop chorales, bouncy countryish rockers with lots of intertwined guitars. Things get quieter near the end -- "Fleet Foxes" ends with a trio of lower-key, folkier ballads, sometimes with nothing more than Pecknold's voice and a guitar.
There's something very warm and welcoming about the Fleet Foxes' music, and there's hardly a song on their self-titled album that doesn't contain that sunniness. And though the bittersweet songs focus on the usual topics -- family, love, lost friends -- there's a strong feeling of pastoral beauty, especially since they're sprinkled with meadowlarks, wood-women, "quivering forests," Tennessee and grassy graves.
In fact, the lyrics are crammed with vivid ("And, Michael, you would fall/and turn the white snow red as strawberries") and striking language ("I hold a cornucopia and a golden crown"). At times, the band's lyrics are pure poetry ("Wanderers this morning came by/Where did they go?/Graceful in the morning light/To banner fair/To follow you softly/In the cold mountain air...").
These songs are wrapped in lush melodies of striking music, which happily swirl together folk, classic earthy rock, pop, baroque and a bit of country. And an coustic guitar is the lead instrument here; sometimes it's all by itself, and sometimes it's intertwined with a smooth mix of other instruments -- hollow drums, rippling mellotron, steely guitar, and a hint of harp being plucked somewhere.
And finally there's Robin Pecknold. He sounds a little off-key in the spare ballads, but in the more complex songs he sounds sweet, strong and truly beautiful, especially when he does that soaring thing. And I have to say, I'm a sucker for the band's sunny chorale sound -- the harmonies really make those melodies sound exquisite.
The Fleet Foxes' self-titled debut is one of the best albums I've heard all year, with its blend of styles and bittersweetly lovely songs. Haunting and truly lovely.
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31 of 34 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
the Beach Boys of Winter, August 28, 2008
I heard something on WXPN that stirred me from my coffee and newspaper, but all I caught aside from the almost shape note singing was the name Fleet Foxes. Then someone I've been sharing musical knowledge with put in quite a few good words regarding this and Sun Giants. I eventually got around to picking this up at the local independant music store. I played it through a couple times and threw it on the pile. Then I started hearing it in the distance. A soft baroque chiming in the back of my head. Not the Zombies not Procol Harum nor Left Banke. Oddly rootsy. Sad like the last days of Summer. I ended giving it my full attention and played it over and over with special attention to Hymnal.
It was then I realized that they were the Beach Boys of Winter.
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Fleet Foxes, August 19, 2008
These guys are the indie darlings of the blogosphere right now, and truth be told, they deserve just about every damn bit of the praise being heaped upon them.
Hailing from the city that birthed Hendrix and Nirvana, it is a stunning accomplishment that Fleet Foxes have crafted a debut that recalls vintage CSNY, sun soaked Beach Boy harmonies, late 60's psychedelic pop, and even Appalachian Folk....and yet they manage to transcend a gratuitious homage to any of them.
If their lyrics, song titles, and 16th century Renaissance cover art are any indication, this is a band that revels in bucolic and pastoral settings, say in a meadow just beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. Off the 11 tracks on this 40 minute LP, 6 of them have them titles that read more like Wordsworth poetry than what you'd expect from a band on the Sub Pop label.
But no matter. Four part harmonies are flawlessly executed, melodies soar amongst the reverb, and the instrumental performance shimmers in the glow of jangly pop tunes. Neil Young, Jim James, and Brian Wilson are all smiling proudly.
Standout tracks like "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song", "Heard Them Stirring", and "Oliver James" are all fine examples of top notch songcraft. If experience holds any weight here, these guys will be playing circles around other bands by their next release. Hopefully, they'll stick to current instrumentation though, and avoid going the way of the shaum and hurdy-gurdy.
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