At the risk of breaking my leg to jump on the bandwagon of the emerging buzz, you can go ahead and mark me down as a fan of Seattle’s Fleet Foxes.
The tipping point probably came when singer Robin Pecknold opted to sit at the front of the stage, sans microphone, to sing Oliver James, a gorgeous tune that will be on their full-length Ragged Wood, due out in the summer on Sub Pop. His voice has surprising power and undeniable warmth.
So this must be the part where the inevitable Crosby, Stills & Nash comparisons go. And I guess there’s something to it. There’s definitely a certain, well, ’70s spirit to the sound â€“ but they’re not hippies, damn it. But, you know, I didn’t really grow up listening to my dad’s Crosby, Stills & Nash records (Cat Stevens and Willie Nelson is more like it), so it seems irresponsible of me to make the comparison. (Hey, I just believe whatever Pitchfork tells me.)
I do know this: Fleet Foxes are further proof of the power of the beard.
Fleet Foxes | Mykonos