A colleague who likes Fleet Foxes recently argued that the band’s
music isn’t meant for contemplating up close, that its soft edges push
it into the deep background and tend to keep it there, where it
belongs. This is interesting, not because I don’t like Fleet Foxes, but
because I’m a big fan of this approach. It’s also interesting as Fleet
Foxes, a folk-rock group who like Pet Sounds a lot, seem at
least as invested in songs that grab and hold; the daubed aural pastels
surrounding their basic, often acoustic focal points is just icing.
Basic may sound like an odd word for a group already so familiar
with recorded sound’s widescreen possibilities and adept at deploying
their own precise harmonies. But it’s also a word that kept coming up
when concentrating on Fleet Foxes. Phil Ek’s ambitious,
carefully wrought production (aided by the group’s own home demos, many
of which help furnish the finished product) isn’t quite like anything
I’ve ever heard—not even Pet Sounds. A track like “Quiet
Houses” plainly aspires toward the epic but retains the modesty at its
spiritual root, all while throwing in plenty of mid-’60s instrumental
touches.
So why is Fleet Foxes ultimately unmoving? That very
elusive wispiness they’ve captured in their sound is in the songs,
too—the parts are more memorable than whole verses, for example.
This is probably appropriate for an album so parts-y, but I stumble on
it anyway. The other thing—and I realize I will catch hell for
saying this—is the harmonies: They’re perfect, clear, a little
unearthly, and a little too choirboy-pure for my taste. And so is the
rest of the album.
French fries 
hash browns
instant mashed
Pringles
Fleet Foxes
Fleet Foxes(Sub Pop)
1/2