Here's a new sub-genre for you... Alt-Appalachian.

You know how they say never to judge a book by its cover? I'd like to add a corollary to that often true cliché - and you're probably expecting me to say that you should never judge a CD by its cover, either. Which is mostly true, though in the case of the album I'm about to review, you probably should judge it by its cover, because the album is work of art, and the cover is, literally, also a work of art - detailed, colorful, precise, and yet slightly whimsical and seemingly timeless. That describes the music of the band Fleet Foxes pretty well. But what I was about to say is that you shouldn't judge a CD by the people who like it. Because there are some critics who are far more demanding than I am about the music they listen to avoiding mainstream cliches and overproduction and so forth - people who seem to celebrate whatever has an "indie ethos" to it and abhor anything too polished, too perfect. You know, the "Pitchfork Media" types. Fleet Foxes' music appeals to that crowd. It appeals to some friends of mine who prefer their folk music a lot more sparse, homespun, and world-weary than I do. And by all accounts, their descriptions of this band make it sound like something I wouldn't really be able to get into. So when it was suggested (during some fairly irrelevant argument about some other Indie rock favorite such as My Morning Jacket or whoever) than I listen to Fleet Foxes and tell them when I thought, I dug my heels in. I didn't want to have another disagreement to argue about. I was sure they weren't for me.

And I was dead wrong. Thank God I finally relented, or I'd never have discovered one of the best albums of 2008.

You see, the guys in Fleet Foxes, a five-piece folk/rock outfit from Seattle, create the kind of music that sounds immediately timeless - you can pick out the folksy and bluegrassy instruments and immediately be whisked away to heavily wooded mountainsides far from civilization, and you can also hear the uncluttered, spirited performances of a 70's-era soft rock band in their prime, while a rich array of vocal harmonies makes certain pieces sound almost like madrigals, whisking you back to a time long before any of us were born, when much of the Western world probably looked like the 16th century painting on the album cover. And yet there's a keen ear for a melodic pop hook driving most of these compositions, and the sound of it all is gloriously clear - the band might have recorded their album at friends' houses and so firth, but this isn't the type of lo-fi, tape-hiss-heavy, need-to-keep-adjusting-the-volume sort of listening experience you might expect from a group of guys from the Alternative Music Capital of the World who set out to make an acoustic rock album on their own dimes. It's as crystal clear of a recording as I ever could have hoped for, but due to the overlapping skill set of the five band members, it never feels like anything was overdubbed or double-tracked or obviously added in later. Now maybe I'm just naïve, and maybe some amount of futzing around in the studio was needed to make these songs feel so large and spacious and positively legendary, but I'd like to think these guys just found a few bathrooms or kitchens or basements or whatever that had some really freakin' awesome acoustics. In any event, what matters to me is that every instrument, every word, every note comes through loud and clear despite the baroque layering of all of these different elements, and that it does so without sounding like a bunch of rough edges were smoothed over by some overbearing producer worried about what the general public might think. It is what it is - there was no need to add fake depth to it, or to self-consciously subvert the group's sonic depth and turn it into lo-fi mush. For this, I am extremely grateful.

For all of the persuasion and cajoling that it took for my friends to finally make me sit down and listen to this band, I will say that a few of 'em had one fairly strong criticism, and that had to do with the band's lyrics. Which is not to say that Fleet Foxes write bad songs. Far from it. But there are times when the listener gets so awash in all of the musical colors that the lyrics do seem like a bit of an afterthought - All it takes is a few glorious "Ah-ah-ah"s from all five guys at once, and you're likely to let an entire song whiz by without even realizing what's being said. This means that the album's lone "instrumental" track might not even register as one on first listen due to its heavy reliance on wordless vocals, and the most lyrically repetitive (and possibly inane) song on the disc can also sneak by you without you being fully aware that the entire song only has nine words. A few other songs also consist of a lone verse or two - the band has a habit of subverting the typical verse/chorus structure and letting the instruments and the sound of their voices do a lot of the communicating in place of actual words. But where the lyrics are more plentiful, they strike me as rich and worth delving into. Lest you think the band's just overusing their knack for vocal harmony as a distraction, allow me to point out that two of this album's highlights appear to consist of nothing but lead singer Robin Pecknold and his acoustic guitar. This band can be just as haunting in "restraint mode" as they are on full blast. And I think that shows their talents to be well-rounded. So while I may not be able to point to my favorite songs and talk about how deep and meaningful the lyrics are, that's only because the performance and overall atmosphere of each song is describing a place and time to me that is difficult to explain in mere words.

Nevertheless, it can't hurt to try to describe what I'm hearing... so here goes nothing.

Sun It Rises
Hold me dear, into the night
Sun, it will rise, soon enough...
Don't let the brief, lo-fi chorus of "Red Squirrel" at the beginning of the album fool you - this album goes from grainy black & white to full-quality Technicolor as soon as the first guitar notes come trickling in. And what a beautiful, stunning song the band chose to open with - it unfolds carefully, plucked out on acoustic guitar and banjo in an unusual rhythm of 9/8, soft voices ascending to the heavens, celebrating the intimate, peaceful experience of a simple sunrise. The electric guitar represents the sun in this song, suddenly pouring generous beams of light into the shadowy landscape. When the song reaches its climax, subtly switching to 6/8 time for a lovely guitar solo, it's like emerging from an Appalachian forest at the top of a hill with a breathtaking vista. And just when you think it couldn't possibly get any better than this, the band switches back to their original rhythm, dropping out all of the instruments for one last verse with nothing but voices, after which the electric guitar does its gentle dance during a brief coda that seems almost tacked on from another song, but that segues us into the next track rather nicely.

White Winter Hymnal
I was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats
With scarves of red tied 'round their throats
To keep their little heads from fallin' in the snow
And I turned 'round, and there you go...
Lyrically, there's very little to this short piece - it's simply a single verse of evocative poetry about a child all bundled up for the winter, slipping and falling in the snow and getting a nosebleed. (That's my interpretation, anyway. It certainly sounds much more beautiful to say, "Turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime.") What really makes this one leap out of the speakers is the way each voice joins in one by one at the beginning, the different vocal harmonies layering on top of one another over the repetition: "I was following the I was following the I was following..." This gives way to the first and only verse, but in between repetitions of that simple verse are some colorful guitar solos, to which the guys hum along. Once again, the band opts to end with nothing but their voices for the final verse, the layers dropping away until Robin Pecknold is left all by himself, barely audible as the last words fade out.

Ragged Wood
The world is alive now, in and outside our home
You run through the forest, settle before the sun
Darling, I can barely remember you beside me
You should come back home, back on your own now...
"Whoooooaaaa..." This song breaks in suddenly and gorgeously, each voice in synch with the other, signaling a musical celebration to come in the form of Fleet Foxes' most rock-oriented song. I say that because the drums and electric guitars are most prominent here, giving the song a rather fast-paced roll that makes it sound like it could have been an upbeat radio hit in the 70's, but still allowing room for a lovely acoustic guitar melody to trickle throughout. Pecknold's high notes and impassioned cries of "Come back home" really stand out here - he seems to want a wayward lover back so much that he doesn't mind admitting, as the song slowly begins to wander off and then comes back as a bass and guitar-driven dance in 6/8 time, that he doesn't even want to know where she's been or how she really feels about him. "Lie to me if you want, any old lie will do", the guys sing, and as twisted as a line like that might sound, coming from these guys, it's as if these were the most romantic words ever uttered. It's rare that a piece can be so delicately performed and yet get my blood pumping the way that this stellar song does. It's the standout track on an album where nearly every song provides tough competition.

Tiger Mountain Peasant Song
In the town one morning I went
Staggering through premonitions of my death
I don't see anybody that dear to me...
Up to this point, the band has been all about dazzling us with an array of voices and sunny guitar melodies. Here, Robin plays the lone bard, sitting in the quiet spotlight, with just his voice and some deft but solemn finger picking on an acoustic guitar, mourning the loss of a friend whose ghost won't leave him alone. Even in this vulnerable, naked context, his voice expands to fill the room, making his question of whether he's turned himself into a demon that much more poignant. Perhaps the most chilling moment is the part you can barely hear - his voice fades way into the background as his "La la la"s finish off the song. It's like he himself is the ghost, finally disappearing into the afterlife, never to be seen or heard from again.

Quiet Houses
The "70's soft rock" sound comes back strong on this tune, which throws in a little splash of organ to add some extra flavor to a piece dominated by intertwining acoustic and electric guitars. It's mostly an instrumental workout for the band - the vocals are loud and clear and every single word is sung in unison, but since the entire song consists of the lines "Lay me down", "Don't give in", and "Come to me" repeated several times, there's really not much to analyze a bit. It's beautiful to listen to, but it might be one of a few pieces where the band's focus seems to wander a bit. A fuller set of lyrics might help it to feel more important, but it still does a good job of evoking a feeling of peace and security despite how little it actually has to say.

He Doesn't Know Why
See your rugged hands and a silver knife
Twenty dollars in your hand makes you hold so tight
All the evidence of your vacant life
My brother, you were born...
The band relaxes the tempo a bit for this one, but a mellower feel doesn't mean that the song loses its grasp on the listener's attention. The cascading "Ah-ah-ah"s that start this one off, zig-zagging their way into the heavens, make certain that the band has got the listener's full attention. The lyrics are fairly impenetrable here - there's a vague theme of destitution and desperation, but I can't quite make it out. There are a few points where this song's rhythm seems to drag a bit, but it's also interesting how rhythmically fluid it is - it detours a bit from what you'd expect given its full-bodied introduction. It actually caps off with a short piano interlude that seems in no way connected to either this tune or the one after it, which is a bit unexpected, but lovely in its own way, acting as a sort of intermission before the second half of the album.

Heard Them Stirring
This would be the "instrumental" piece on the record, in that it has no words, but all of the sweet "Ooh"ing and "Aah"ing makes it just about the only instrumental piece you could ever hope to sing along to so effortlessly. They really upped the "medieval quotient" on this one - there's a mandolin or lute or some sort of old-school stringed instrument being plucked here and there, and I can't quite guess what it is, but the overall effect is that I feel like I've been transported to Sherwood Forest for a few minutes. The composition is structured in such a way that the vocals back off just enough to give the talented finger work of Skyler Skjelset ample room to shine, before coming back in for the big climax and eventual fade-out. It's easily as attention-getting as any of the songs with words.

Your Protector
Tell your brother to be good
Tell your sister not to go
Tell your mother not to wait
Tell your father I was good...
One of the most arresting ballads on the project is introduced by the sound of a gentle flute, as if beckoning a weary traveler into a roadside cottage for a bowl of hot soup and chance to warm up by an earthen fireplace. A wandering woman is once again the focus of the lyrics here, with a man describing himself as her "protector" and promising he'll wait for her despite all of her cavorting with the devil - he's sticking to the whole "until death do us part" thing come hell or high water. Nicholas Peterson's percussion - largely a supporting instrument that keeps time and stays out of the way aside from the song "Ragged Wood" - is notable here, with a steady bed of toms giving the song structure and momentum. I love how this song unfolds from something mellow and domestic into such an epic, tragic, heroic sound. It creeps up so gradually that it takes a few listens to really become aware of the intensity of it.

Meadowlarks
Hummingbird, just let me down
Inside the broken ovals of your olive eyes
I do believe you gave it your best try...
The vocals on this gentle song seem quite different than Pecknold's usual - I almost wonder if someone else in the band got to take the lead here (since nobody is credited with specific parts for specific songs in the liner notes, I can only wonder). You can pretty much picture a wise, grizzled old man standing in a forest glade here, with various birds flying down from the trees, standing on his shoulders, chirping in his ears, and attempting to make nests in his massive beard. It's a simple poem in which the man sings back to the birds that provide him company. Perhaps he's gone slightly mad, but there's nothing but warm tranquility expressed in the music here. This man is king of his own wooden castle, and all is right in his world so long as his feathered subjects continue to sing to him.

Blue Ridge Mountains
You're ever welcome with me any time you like
Let's drive to the country side
Leave behind some green-eyed look-a-likes
So no one gets worried, no...
By now, I've all but forgotten that Fleet Foxes are from Seattle. They didn't have to name anything geographically specific for me to imagine that they had come up with these tunes while on a months-long hike along the Appalachian trail or something. But this is the tune that really clinches it - a dramatic, climactic moment for the album that sprinkles in just the right amount of mandolin and piano, lulling me into submission with its gentle intro of "Lie down with me, my dear", before kicking into high gear with its steady, minor-key guitar strumming and a rather insistent piano melody that calls out into the woods after a long lost brother. I can't even begin to crack the code of this song's rich imagery, but I've long since passed the point of worrying about that. It knows how to rise and fall at exactly the right moments to give it the biggest dramatic punch without ever being an obvious tug at the heartstrings. Mountainous, melodic choruses full of soaring vocals and tumbling percussion drop down into windy canyons where only a lone voice and a few angular guitar chords can be heard. It's about as "scenic" as one could ever expect an audio recording to be.

Oliver James
On the kitchen table that your grandfather did make
You and your delicate way will slowly glean his faith
And you will remember when you rehearsed the actions of
A innocent and anxious mother full of anxious love...
The final track reverts to the "lone man and a guitar" formula, and sometimes, it even leaves out the guitar, as Robin Pecknold trades the gentle stream of finger picking for simple, percussive finger taps on muted strings to keep time where no other instrument is present to guide him. This song is either a celebration of baptismal rebirth or a eulogy for a man who drowned - I honestly can't tell which, but the simple chorus is haunting either way: "Oliver James, washed in the rain, no longer". It's the way those last two words - "no longer" - ring out long and loud that really seals the deal. By the time the song is over, he doesn't even need his "guitar percussion" to keep time, using only his voice to deliver the final refrain, just one man's cries of either pain or joy echoing off into the night.

Last year, my absolute favorite record was Iron and Wine's The Shepherd's Dog. Musically speaking, Fleet Foxes have come up with an album that mirrors pretty much everything I like about Iron & Wine times five, and the only thing stopping me from having an even higher opinion of this record than Iron & Wine's is its shorter length and its tendency to be lean on the lyrics here and there (I&W is more verbose and subversive than Fleet Foxes have dared to be thus far). The two artists could definitely learn a lot from one another, and it would be quite tantalizing to see them tour together or collaborate on an EP. (They're both on Sub Pop. It could happen!) In keeping with that observation, I will heartily recommend these guys to any fans of Iron & Wine, as well as fans of more "organic" sounding rock bands from back in the day that relied more on the strength of several voices than on rough and rugged guitar heroics. It's thrilling to see critics from so many different corners giving Fleet Foxes their due, and while I might be a bit late to the party as I add yet another glowing review on top of the rest of them, I have no regrets about jumping on the bandwagon for a band that I could literally picture riding in a wagon.

ALBUM WORTH:
Sun It Rises $2
White Winter Hymnal$1.50
Ragged Wood $2
Tiger Mountain Peasant Song $1.50
Quiet Houses $1
He Doesn't Know Why $1
Heard Them Stirring $1.50
Your Protector $1.50
Meadowlarks $1
Blue Ridge Mountains $2
Oliver James $1.50
TOTAL: $16.50

Band Members:
Robin Pecknold: Lead vocals, guitars
Skyler Skjelset: Guitars, backing vocals
Craig Curran: Bass, backing vocals
Casey Wescott: Keyboards, backing vocals
Nicholas Peterson: Drums, backing vocals

Website:
http://www.myspace.com/fleetfoxes