Fleet Foxes
Helplessness Blues

“The Sorrows of Young Pecknold”

Can a song summarize the mood and themes of an album? According to the second chapter of the Seattle foxes saga, it seems so. In the title track, leader Robyn Pecknold clearly explains the anxieties and woes typical of the early twenties, expressing amazement at not being “unique among many, but merely a cog in some ‘super partes’ machinery”. Whether the references are social or subtly religious remains unknown, but the theme of growth and disillusionment seems to hover over the entire album.

An album that, let's be honest, if it loses immediacy compared to the self-titled one from 3 years ago (no “White Winter Hymnal” this time), gains depth. A depth, texts aside, manifested in the choice of more layered and thoughtful melodies, and varied instrumental solutions, thanks to the ample use of Moog, violin, harpsichord, harmonium, and assorted post-freak bric-a-brac.

Refinement, therefore, instead of more immediate and crowd-pleasing solutions. A choice that, if lacking in writing or thought, risks being an artistic harakiri. Luckily, the foxes have on their side (besides writing and thought, in my opinion) a fundamental added value that allows them to rise above the average of 60's folk-inspired groups: the unmistakable voice of Pecknold.

His voice may be liked or not, but it has a fundamental trait: recognizability. Once you've heard it, you can't mistake it for any other (well, maybe with Jim James of My Morning Jacket, but that's a personal obsession). And this is a crucial advantage in a context brimming with bargain basement revivalism and slavish reiteration of the sources.

Then, if the emotional aspect comes into play, well, just like me, you are caught. Like the cover art (named Mind Map), the album holds sensations and moods that are mostly otherworldly, like a cosmological expansion yet entirely internal.

It's interesting to note how the Fleet Foxes, while refining a previous folk formula, predominantly of American origin (be it CSN&Y or the less electric Dylan, the immediate references), add the other side of the moon, namely the Albion folk between the '60s and '70s: John Martyn, Fairport Convention, and more acid groups like Incredible String Band, Spirogyra, Forest. Exemplary are the two longest and most experimental tracks of the album: “The Plains/Bitter Dancer”, a slow crescendo that opens onto a sunlit field amidst ecstatic choruses and trailing flutes, then rolls down the slope; “The Shrine/An Argument”, a very Bert Jansch circular arpeggio, vocals ranging from angelic to angry, ending in dissonant free jazz. From the initial and anthemic “Montezuma”, through the reeds of “Bedouin Dress”, the sudden shift of “Sim Sala Bim”, the empathy of the title track, the joyous circularity of “Lorelai”, to the almost rock-folk of “Grown Ocean”, the color palette is complete.

The picture may be too colorful, even pretentious for some, but if the overall vision eludes you, diving into the discovery of the details might reveal unexpected joys.