Fleet Foxes
HMV Hammersmith Apollo, London
02/06/2011

Although their second album has been warmly embraced by both critics and the record-buying public, there have been more than a few murmurs of backlash directed at poor old Fleet Foxes. Antiquated lyrics about toiling in orchards and, erm, ruffling the fur of a collie ’neath a table haven’t helped and, thanks to their exposure on Radio 2, a sizeable chunk of their burgeoning UK fanbase seems to be the kind of person who grabs a Paolo Nutini album in Sainsbury’s along with their weekly shopping. Despite being critically lauded and extremely good at what they do, Fleet Foxes are in danger of becoming uncool.

Judging by tonight’s show, the foxes themselves seem slightly uncomfortable with this level of success. Frontman Robin Pecknold, who during their early UK shows exuded a talkative, perma-smiling stage presence, seems awkward and timid when forced to address the sizeable crowd. “Wow, you guys go way back”, he nervously exclaims as he squints towards the faraway rows of the venue’s circle, before engaging in some uneasy chatter about whether the woollen garment he’s wearing is a jumper or a sweater. In terms of showmanship, Fleet Foxes are a band who haven’t quite worked out how to deal with the big stage.

It’s the strength of their musicianship, however, that sees them hold the adoring crowd rapt. Their trademark harmonies are nothing short of sublime, with the peaks in ‘Montezuma’ and ‘Mykonos’ enough to make the hairs on your neck stand firmly on end. The full band numbers are wonderfully augmented by the insistent rumble of J. Tillman’s drumming, while the beauty of Pecknold’s voice shines through on solo tracks like ‘Oliver James’ and ‘Blue Spotted Tail’. No matter if they’ve fallen out of favour with a few cooler-than-thou taste-makers, tonight’s show resoundingly proves that Fleet Foxes remain a musical force to be reckoned with. 

Francis Whittaker