FLEET FOXES
Sun Giant
(Sub Pop)
People often say that a band is a breath of fresh air, but rarely
does a band actually sound like one. Fleet Foxes are the clean, crisp
inhale you can only find outside of the city, high up in a mountain
field, or along a tranquil river. On their debut EP for Sub Pop,
Sun Giant, the band have so skillfully re-created a sense of
the great outdoors that all it takes is a pair of headphones and closed
eyes to be transported to their pastoral landscape.
Sun Giant begins with reverb-soaked, layered vocals, like a
hymnal rejoicing in the summer and spring, a communal yet solitary song
you could imagine Jeremiah Johnson singing to himself in his log cabin.
“English House” is a peaceful stroll through an open field, tall grass
and wildflowers under a bright blue sky. “Mykonos” is the sunset that
follows, darker but still undeniably beautiful, a track that could
easily have fit on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. Throughout the
album, Fleet Foxes’ classic folk rock is balanced by inspirations even
older—almost Renaissance fare—that give their songs a
unique twist. The result is more timeless than nostalgic.
The EP ends back where it began, with singer Robin Pecknold’s
magnificent, reverberated croon taking center stage, this time
accompanied by light guitar strums. At only five songs, the one problem
with the record is that it’s over too soon. As an introduction to the
band, Sun Giant succeeds completely, leaving the listener
wanting more, like a blissful vacation coming to an unwanted close.
Once Fleet Foxes have transported you to their idyllic world, it’s
dreary to open your eyes and realize you’re still stuck in the bustle
of the city… at least until their proper full-length comes out later
this year. JEFF KIRBY
EARTH, ROOTS
AND WATER
Innocent Youths
(Light in the Attic)
1/2
Earth, Roots and Water were the house band for Toronto’s Summer
Records, the reggae label already spotlighted by last year’s Summer
Records Anthology 1974–1988. This addition to Light in the
Attic’s series of Toronto reggae reissues is different: Rather than an
anthology, Innocent Youths is a straight reissue of Earth,
Roots and Water’s only album, a seven-cut disc initially released in
1977. There’s a backstory attached, of course (you don’t get an
obscurity reissued without one these days): Expat Jamaicans in Toronto
set up studios and labels, record music of variable quality and
distribution (Innocent Youths was originally only available in
an edition of 500; the band found much of their local audience in
Toronto’s punk community), then dissipate like their dubbed-up tracks
into ether, only to be resurrected by latter-day crate-diggers. The
question is whether that story resonates more deeply than the actual
music, and, by a hair, that’s how it is with Innocent
Youths.
Which isn’t to say the album is devoid of moments worth hearing.
ERW’s grooves are sturdy, especially noticeable when there aren’t any
lyrics around. Oddly, the vocal tracks tend to diffuse the listener’s
ear more than the instrumentals—peace-and-love song “Lou Sent
Me,” which blends roots skank and supper-club voice, is the oddest
example of this; the horn-driven “Zion” is the best. What’s most
notable is the three Augustus Pablo–like dub cuts: The opening
title track bobs by on its melodica lead, while “Jah Les’ Lament”
recalls Pablo’s electronic keyboard excursions circa East of the
Nile River. MICHAELANGELO MATOS
BEACH HOUSE
Devotion
(Carpark)
Beach House are the Baltimore duo of singer/organist Victoria
Legrand and guitarist/keyboardist Alex Scally. Together, they create
spare, gorgeous pop songs that are as picturesque as they are desolate,
like long-vacant versions of the band’s namesake. They belong, roughly,
to the same East Coast soft-rock school as Grizzly Bear, in that both
bands filter faded pop forms through fresh meshes to produce sounds at
once surprising and nostalgic.
At the center of Beach House’s delicate sound is Legrand’s dreamy
voice, which sounds like it comes straight to your earbuds from some
vintage, hanging microphone. Beach House surround Legrand with gentle
electric guitar, vibrato organ hum, and glassy keys, backed by
unobtrusive electric-organ preset rhythms made of lisping, shuffling
high hats, woodblock clicks, muffled kicks, and diffused snares.
Their sophomore album, Devotion, opens with the
Western-sauntering slow dance of “Wedding Bell” and the fainting
spell “You Came to Me” before getting to lead single “Gila,” the most
immediately arresting song here. Its reverberating guitar-twang melody
is eerily familiar but impossible to place—I’ll figure out what
it reminds me of five years from now—and its nearly wordless
chorus is benevolently haunting. “Some Things Last a Long Time” is a
lovingly faithful cover that—prepare for critical
embarrassment—I initially misidentified as a Built
to Spill
original (apologies to Mr. Johnston).
Elsewhere, Beach House are pleasantly inviting (“Invite your
sister/Into the garden,” “Come over to my house/I’ll pour some tea for
us”) and impressionistically vague. Some songs sound like dusky
dreamscapes, others like soft sunlight breezing through sheer window
shades. Whatever Beach House’s mood, the songs of Devotion stick with you long after the music is gone. ERIC GRANDY
Straight to Hell
Sid & Nancy
Tapeheads
200 Cigarettes