20110504
20110503
Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues
Ten songs into the twelve-song playlist of the psychedelia-tinged folk rock of Helplessness Blues, something interesting happens. Robin Pecknold, the hippie poster-boy for the soothing harmonies and pastoral imagery of the folk revival that Fleet Foxes helped usher in two years ago, gets angry. He gets angry, and it's the most arresting moment the group has put to record.
Two releases ago, Fleet Foxes emerged with the Sun Giant EP, already brimming with harmonies and folksy highs and lows, sounding like the folk version of the Beach Boys. Their sound was so fully formed for the EP that on continuous listens, it's easy to miss the change from Sun Giant and their debut full-length. Not that that's a bad thing--Fleet Foxes are the best at what they do (in fact, Fleet Foxes is the reason I don't like Mumford and Sons. They just set the bar too high), but the Sun Giant/self-titled combo needed no follow up. Contained therein was a world of green fields and yellow sun and budding trees and a golden hue to everything (even when singing about winter). And to be honest, after a while, all that summer started to wear on me. After too much time in its earshot, I grew lethargic, like after a day at the beach without sunscreen. And to be honest, the thought of a follow up frightened me. All that was good and pleasing about Fleet Foxes was contained in that album and a half. How could an attempt at a follow do anything but overripen their sound?
Two releases ago, Fleet Foxes emerged with the Sun Giant EP, already brimming with harmonies and folksy highs and lows, sounding like the folk version of the Beach Boys. Their sound was so fully formed for the EP that on continuous listens, it's easy to miss the change from Sun Giant and their debut full-length. Not that that's a bad thing--Fleet Foxes are the best at what they do (in fact, Fleet Foxes is the reason I don't like Mumford and Sons. They just set the bar too high), but the Sun Giant/self-titled combo needed no follow up. Contained therein was a world of green fields and yellow sun and budding trees and a golden hue to everything (even when singing about winter). And to be honest, after a while, all that summer started to wear on me. After too much time in its earshot, I grew lethargic, like after a day at the beach without sunscreen. And to be honest, the thought of a follow up frightened me. All that was good and pleasing about Fleet Foxes was contained in that album and a half. How could an attempt at a follow do anything but overripen their sound?
By growing, apparently. However spacious and thick the first record, Robin & Co. somehow found room to get even bigger--and at times ominous. The first track opens with Robin asking questions of worth and maturity and accomplishment, with much the same passive acceptance as in "He Doesn't Know Why" where he sings, "There's nothing I can do." As the record spins on through tracks like Bedouin Dress and The Plains/Bitter Dancer, it slips seamlessly between the familiar sunshiny folk rock thick with harmonies and minor-key swells with a similar tone to the Biblical prophets. The title-track contains the most bittersweet sentiment on the record, with Robin admitting that he would forsake uniqueness to serve something greater than himself, in the most familiar-sounding track. The album's instrumental, The Cascades, follows, showing that, in addition to widening his lyrical themes, Mr. Pecknold has also gotten better as a guitar player, ripping through breakneck arpeggios effortlessly.
A few pleasing tracks later, we finally reach the record's masterwork: The Shrine/An Argument, an eight minute breakup song filled with imagery of apple trees and pennies in fountains and the aforementioned anger, manifest when Robin sings in despair, bitter gloating, or jealousy, "Sunlight over me no matter what I do." The anger quickly gives way to a blissful key change, but it's impact is still felt. It's the type of moment that reminds me why I got into music in the first place. The opening section soon gives way to a cymbal-crash and organ pound that makes the explosive sections on "Mykonos" and "Blue Ridge Mountains" seem tame, until it ends with one final crash, the lone acoustic guitar hanging, with the organ and a sound like rubbed glass swelling to join as the Foxes layer their harmonies on as Robin sings about apple trees and being washed away by the ocean. Soon, in the albums largest wtf moment (and my favorite moment), two saxophones stolen by John Coltrane's Ascension sessions burst in screaming and cracking and flailing about, as a string section and drum set wax psychedelic underneath.
The last two tracks adequately bring it back to center after such a far wander of their 'signature sound,' with "Blue Spotted Tail" featuring a lone Robin Pecknold doing what he does best before "Grown Ocean" brings the whole band back to close with the closest Fleet Foxes has ever come to initiating their own wild rumpus, bringing the album to well deserved and satisfying close.
A few pleasing tracks later, we finally reach the record's masterwork: The Shrine/An Argument, an eight minute breakup song filled with imagery of apple trees and pennies in fountains and the aforementioned anger, manifest when Robin sings in despair, bitter gloating, or jealousy, "Sunlight over me no matter what I do." The anger quickly gives way to a blissful key change, but it's impact is still felt. It's the type of moment that reminds me why I got into music in the first place. The opening section soon gives way to a cymbal-crash and organ pound that makes the explosive sections on "Mykonos" and "Blue Ridge Mountains" seem tame, until it ends with one final crash, the lone acoustic guitar hanging, with the organ and a sound like rubbed glass swelling to join as the Foxes layer their harmonies on as Robin sings about apple trees and being washed away by the ocean. Soon, in the albums largest wtf moment (and my favorite moment), two saxophones stolen by John Coltrane's Ascension sessions burst in screaming and cracking and flailing about, as a string section and drum set wax psychedelic underneath.
The last two tracks adequately bring it back to center after such a far wander of their 'signature sound,' with "Blue Spotted Tail" featuring a lone Robin Pecknold doing what he does best before "Grown Ocean" brings the whole band back to close with the closest Fleet Foxes has ever come to initiating their own wild rumpus, bringing the album to well deserved and satisfying close.
In the end, we never should have been afraid of what a group of Seattlites who are completely enamored with music and the making of it would create--the record is fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that in the year preceded by one in which Mumford and Sons and the Avvett Brothers were nominated for Grammys and Arcade Fire actually won Album of the Year, I would be surprised if Helplessness Blues wasn't at least nominated for Album of the Year.
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