The still sounds of Seattle’s Fleet Foxes are probably best appreciated in as intimate a venue as possible. It explains why the great space of The Roundhouse is a rigid block of people straining to be close to the stage, denying any access to the Johnny Come Lately barflys. So here’s the view from the back.
Unsurprisingly in a 1500 capacity venue, the louder, more upbeat songs from Fleet Foxes self-titled debut album work best. Quiet House and closer Blue Ridge Mountain ring out around the venue’s conical chamber. The drums crash, the organs swirl, the harmonies resound. For one song guitarist Skyler Skjelset creates a wonderful racket with a violin bow. The surf rock and lounge influences in their music are more apparent. It’s not all wistful Wordsworth-ian paeans to nature you know. Hell there’s even be a Byronic interest in girls.
Then there are the pin-drop quiet moments – a tough ask in a bustling venue. But even at the back, where the silences are intruded on by the bar staff crushing plastic glasses, the opening a cappella piece is lovely. Lead singer Robin Pecknold has two solo sections in the show with just his voice and guitar. The first one starts off a bit James Taylor-y but he recovers by belting out Oliver James to great effect.
His solo encore slot is less assured. The bizarre decision to sing and play an acoustic guitar without amplification might have been appreciated by those at the front but down the back, being unable to hear was only marginally less annoying than the people who attempted to silence the talkers in the crowd with their loudest shushes. A cover of Bob Dylan’s It Ain’t Me Babe is promising until he stops it after one verse. There should have been redemption with Tiger Mountain Peasant Song though we’re too much in love with the First Aid Kit cover to appreciate the original anymore.
The big disappointment of the night was White Winter Hymnal. Maybe it’s too ethereal a song, one best heard on headphones so it can entirely envelope your head and transpose you to another world. Seeing it performed live breaks that divine mirage, as if you arrived in heaven five minutes early to hear the angels all hacking and clearing their throats before they sing your glorious ascent to paradise. Or maybe Fleet Foxes aren’t as fond of that song as we are and rushed and rasped through it nice and early to get it out of the way.
Overall it was a performance of some quality though one surprisingly lacking in breath-taking moments. Perhaps being at the front would have helped.
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