CityLife

Fleet Foxes

Fleet Foxes- timeless harmonies

HOW many litres of liquid does it take to lubricate the larynx of a falsetto Fox?
 

Not a contender for a Peter Piper-style tongue-twister, just a reflection on the ramshackle distractions around Fleet Foxes frontman Robin Pecknold.
 

Between songs, when he isn’t excruciatingly tuning his guitar he is swigging from a  series of giant mugs and tumblers laid out at his feet, pausing on one occasion to advocate the merits of green jasmine tea. As shows go, this is no-show.
 

All is forgiven by a swooning crowd each time he and his crew unleash mesmerising classics such as White Winter Hymnal, English House or Drops In The River, ethereal harmonies that sound like they are soaring into some cathedral-like forest canopy.
 

Timeless template

The gorgeous Your Protector, wears its ‘Fleetwood Foxes’ (Mac not Fylde resort) influences on its ragamuffin sleeve without diminishing its yearning grandeur and magical benchmark Mykonos from the Sun Giant EP still sets the timeless template for Foxes and their imitators.
 

Yet there is a suspicion of Fox fatigue about this end of tour show, the novelty wearing thin for the band that banished the ghost of grunge from Seattle, even if fans are obviously still captivated by their Beach Boys do Bringing In The Sheaves sound.
 

Certainly the scant new material sounds very much work in progress.
The five-piece Fellowship of the Foxes remains evident in the way members, particularly drummer Josh Tillman – a great singer-songwriter talent in his own right – sit in to bolster equally beardy support act Blitzen Trapper.
 

And this terrific feelgood Basement Tapes-inspired outfit reciprocate later with much maraca-shaking during the Foxes’ barnstorming Blue Ridge Mountains finale.
 

Rustic wellsprings

But increasingly Pecknold hogs the limelight as if he is straining towards a solo career, his lone acoustic guitar and spooky falsetto for Tiger Mountain Peasant Song particularly powerful.

For the encores he comes on alone at first to sing trad classic Katie Cruel off  mic, then a hushed a capella Oliver James, his own composition but from equally deep, rustic wellsprings.
 

For a band whose word-of-mouth conquest of the world came through the wonder of their three-part harmonies, it all struck an elegiac note. I hope I am mistaken.