You’ve heard it before: Originality is dead. Recycled ideas have become the norm in modern music. And yes, a few seconds into Seattle’s Fleet Foxes self-titled debut, you may recall the reverb filled melodies of Tennessee’s My Morning Jacket. And that—you may think—is that. However, in no way is that that. Please call to mind the first time you heard My Morning Jacket and how you couldn’t help but pinpoint influences of ‘70s root rock like Crosby Stills Nash and Young and the Band.
Whether Fleet Foxes sound like MMJ or CSNY won’t matter. Honest emotion is what will have their debut on many top ten lists in December of 2008. This band wears its heart on its sleeve.
But again, in no way is that that. Though not on the surface, Fleet Foxes are in fact original. Along the journey that is their debut LP, they are at once modern and retro; hip and nerdy; dark and brilliant.
These hidden treasures will take time to show themselves. But be patient because they will. Everything on this album happens slowly but the reward is huge.
Without your realizing, its melodies will tattoo themselves onto your brain. You’ll wonder where these random fragments of songs came from and wonder when you can hear them again. It is quite magical when a tiny segment of a tune pops into your head at an inopportune time. On this record, it will happen often. Though the disc grows with each listen, you will miss these moments. More grandeur follows as you make friends with it.
As you spend more time with Fleet Foxes, you learn that stark madness lines the album. It flows like an illusion, or a dream—a dark forest with haunting, yet familiar creatures. Possibly the album’s best track, the contemplative “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” takes you “through the forest/down to your grave” in a way that will bring a tear to your eye and simultaneously inspire you to sift through your parent’s record collection. Imagery that reads like a darker Tolkien novel reveals itself on the devastatingly beautiful “White Winter Hymnal.” With its circling melody and darkly gorgeous lyrics like, “I was following the pack/all swallowed in their coats/with scarves of red tied ‘round their throats/to keep their little heads from fallin’ in the snow,” it is bound to be song of the year throughout the blogosphere.
The highlights are difficult to pick out because there is not a bad song in the entire bunch; we need more LPs like this.
The wonderful “Oliver James” concludes the album with the lyrical line “Oliver James washed in the rain, no longer, Oliver James” and the album fades away. But instead of an ending, it feels more like a hiatus. One whose sequel we should be very excited about.
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