After all, the band’s success rides on their mellifluous Sixties sound. Every note they play feels familiar, like something half-remembered. But theirs isn’t just a careful appropriation of other people’s styles. They have serious talent. Battling against some decidedly dodgy acoustics and dealing with more than one tuning and technical problem, they opened with "Cascades", followed by "Grown Ocean", producing those soaring, startlingly beautiful melodies that won them a ready-made online audience via word of mouth before they were even signed.
They have been called America’s answer to Mumford & Sons, which is to do them a considerable disservice. Sure, there’s the obvious comparison to the high-pitched harmonising of The Beach Boys and The Byrds, but the area where this sextet have serious clout, unlike many of the "nu-folk" groups that have been showcased recently, is the pure storytelling of their writing.
The wattage of songs like “Battery Kinzie” and “Ragged Wood” is heightened live; the varied rhythms, layering of voices and multi-instrumentals is spine-tingling. On the former, Pecknold’s perfect pitch and control is comparable to that of another Sixties icon: Art Garfunkel. Supported by a cello, a ukulele, at times a flute, piano and a slightly overly enthusiastic drummer, the effect is as rich as cream.
Their second album, Helplessness Blues, may only have been released four weeks ago but there were plenty in the 5,000-strong crowd mouthing the words. But, as you’d expect, it was their better-known material, including “White Winter Hymnal” (see video, below), which drew the loudest shrieks and bursts of spontaneous applause.
Pecknold and co are not exactly showmen. They got through the occasional delay between songs, as tuning forks were proffered, by clearing their throats awkwardly. Every so often Pecknold would say thank you for something or to somebody, but mostly he inquired of the crowd, “How’s it going?" as if to say, "Is it all right?" which was quite endearing.
Fleet Foxes play "White Winter Hymnal"
Their rather rustic outfits made the six of them look as if they’ve recently been digging trenches on Time Team and only swapped their trowels for instruments at the last minute. You wouldn’t notice them walking down the street, but then perhaps that’s because they are all about the music and quite evidently couldn’t give a monkeys for the circus of grooming, fashion and celebrity which inevitably goes with it.
Just as their music manages to navigate the potential potholes of over-sentimentality, moroseness and pretentiousness that other bands of the genre fall into, Fleet Foxes appear unspoilt and genuine. The songs from their new album are a bit darker and less poppy than their eponymous first record, but the integrity of their sound and writing has been maintained within a more mature package, which is no mean feat.
The evening ended with the twinkly and bluesy “Blue Ridge Mountains”, another golden oldie from their debut, before a clamouring crowd demanded more and were rewarded with “Helplessness Blues”. For a band which sings of escaping from their lives and the dangers of success, I fear they’ll have to put up with some more of it for a few years at least.