Fleet Foxes

by Jim Merrett

Taking church music back from the God-botherers

"There’s more spine-tingling moments here than a trip to the chiropractor."

There can’t be a worse advert for the Church of England than Songs of Praise. My childhood memories are scattered with flashbacks of Sunday evenings where a family member wasn’t quick enough on the remote control and the living room was filled with the depressing dirge of white, elderly God-fearing folk sounding not full of praise or even fear for their benevolent maker – just boredom. If you’re going to believe in fairytales, you should at least appear excited about the idea. 

Fleet Foxes is church music, but with two key differences. Firstly, it’s thankfully not even a teensy bit religious. And second, it’s stirring enough to make the gullible believe that there is a God after all. 

If Fleet Foxes are typical of Sub Pop’s second wind, that doesn’t make them any less of a revelation. The label garnered an international reputation thanks to the primal force of hometown Seattle’s grunge explosion. But since The Shins, the legendary imprint has seen a renaissance that favours melody over raw aggression. And Fleet Foxes might be the most magical discovery yet – like fairies down the bottom of the garden handed instruments and a record contract.

File with peers such as Arcade Fire, Band of Horses and Black Kids if you fancy but the lineage goes further back – the harmonies on offer are of Beach Boys-worthy indulgence. Think also Crosby Stills & Nash. Christ – one of them is even named after a Steely Dan tune. Often the instruments cut out and the four- or five-piece (depending on whether you believe the press release or the band’s own MySpace page, and I’m inclined to trust the latter) are left with only their voices to fill the gaps – and you barely notice that the backing has stopped.

Their debut offers so many standout moments that there’s little left for it to stand out from. Opening chapters ‘Sun It Rises’ and ‘White Winter Hymnal’ draw attention purely by getting in there first, but there’s more spine-tingling moments here than a trip to the chiropractor. By ‘Ragged Wood’, proceedings shift up from a trot to a gallop. And try ‘Your Protection’ for an alternative take on a Morricone score.

Prepare to experience that eureka moment when you first heard Arcade Fire’s ‘Funeral’ all over again. Only different this time, obv.  
Rich said on July 31st 2008 [report abuse]

Great review but why that bizarre last line? Yes top album.

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