28 June 2011, Manchester Apollo
A few moments before Fleet Foxes took the stage last night, just after 9pm, the lights darkened and ‘Nothing Special’, the opening track from Trees’ 1970 debut, The Garden of Jane Delawney, playing over the PA, was drowned out by applause. Perhaps it was coincidence that the band members lilted into position just after this – interrupting a fine recording by a band dismissed critically during their short heyday as Fairport copyists and now reissued as something quite different and unique. Fleet Foxes themselves are the opposite of this, suffering in their prime from sold-out tours, best-selling albums, critical acclaim, and young girls crying out from the crowd. But they know where they come from, and the music they love, it seems, is an altogether different beast from the place they now find themselves. And if we applaud Fleet Foxes, we applaud the music they love.
For the most part, they’ve kept their influences obvious: Beach Boys references abound, and there’s a Dylan cover available on mp3, for those so inclined. But there are also some more obscure moments. The Trees business above is one of them. Then, too, earlier in the Spring, Pecknold released a three-song, solo, download-only ep and it included a cover of Chris Thompson’s ‘Where Is My Wild Rose?’. Most won’t recognise New Zealand-born songwriter Chris Thompson, but his 1973 self-titled debut, recorded in the UK and issued by independent record label the Village Thing, put him amid some fine company, musically: John Renbourne, John Martyn, Bert Jansch, Wizz Jones. Only 101 copies of its initial pressing ever sold, the remaining 899 copies destroyed as part of a tax scam, reportedly. But the record has been reissued twice, and it’s from there, no doubt, that Pecknold has taken his cue. He’s a songwriter with a record collection. From his record collection, Fleet Foxes begin and travel forward. As further proof of what I mean, early in the show, Pecknold –- the only bandmember to speak to the audience throughout the two-hour performance –- remarked on how much money he’d spent at Piccadilly Records in Manchester’s Northern Quarter, though he didn’t go into any detail on his purchases.
No one would be bothered with a novelist who doesn’t read and love novels, nor a poet who doesn’t read and love poetry (you’ll find exceptions, I know you’ll find exceptions), but it seems at times music lovers put up with too many who seem to love their guitars, their own voices or the prospect of fame more then they love music. Fleet Foxes are the opposite of this, too. There’s a sense that the band are up there puttin out for the love of music.
As a band, they are about singing and arrangements (with the sole exception of drummer J. Tillman, who is also about playing). The centre is Pecknold’s sincere, simple songs. These songs develop out of a sense of western pop music of the past forty years or so –- the human voice at its core –- and sound like it. I’d forgotten just how many songs break down into acappella moments, and it reminded of the last and first time I saw the band play, in November 2008, and of the group of soused and knock-kneed louts standing to my left who seemed to be wondering aloud what they had gotten themselves into as the band opened their hour-long set with ‘Sun Giant’. It was then, too, during one of the set’s quieter moments, that singer Robin Pecknold blended a cover of Judee Sill’s ‘Crayon Angels’ into his own ‘Oliver James’. He’s always known where he comes from: Fleet Foxes are, in a lot of ways, a folk band.
Last night, what came through most was their genuine enthusiasm for the music they are playing. Tighter now, with a few tours under their belts, the band opened with Helplessness Blues album closer, ‘Grown Ocean’, and closed with the title track. In between, the live six-piece pushed their music forward almost effortlessly: four-part harmonies, elaborate structures, guitars, drums, bass, piano, accordian, mandolin, saxophone (!) – whatever is called for. If the arrangement of songs wasn’t as fulsome, they still sound better than their records – imagine – where the harmonies are muddied and less resonant when compared to the live experience.
Evan Jones is a graduate of The University of Manchester.