Neither Fleeting Nor Helpless: Fleet Foxes’ Instant Masterpiece

A couple of years ago as I assessed what I considered to be the best 50 rock albums of the last decade, I had this to say about the Fleet Foxes:

On paper, it shouldn’t work. A bunch of young dudes milking the best elements of old-school rock and folk, full of ambition and self-consciously reverential toward the icons they are emulating (Neil Young, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, etc.). Sounds like a recipe for a strained, pretentious abomination. And the fact is, many other acts who don’t have the heart, talent or integrity to pull it off fail spectacularly. But few acts (aside from My Morning Jacket) are as obvious with what they are after, and who they have been inspired by, so the stakes are not inconsiderable.

In the case of Fleet Foxes, everyone knows how this one turned out. Their debut was one of the critical darlings of 2008 and they were one of the more discussed acts on the scene. And, kind of like Grizzly Bear in 2009, the hype was warranted and appropriate. More to the point, an album like this one epitomizes the inexorable conundrum of writing about sounds: ultimately, one just has to use their ears to understand. This fully successful debut promises bountiful riches we can expect from Fleet Foxes, but even if they never play another note, they’ve already made a magnificent, lasting document.

Bountiful riches, indeed.

Have you checked out Helplessness Blues yet?

What are you waiting for? Listen:

I can hardly stop listening to this new album. I’m trying to think about the last time this happened and I realize it’s been a long time.
I also am already confident I’m not going to hear a better album in 2011. (If you write about music you should always be wary about making statements like this, or at least save them for special occasions. Like this. Plus, it’s a bit of a win/win: if someone out there does make a better album than this, there is a hell of a lot to be celebrating, music-wise, in 2011.)

I am happily, humbly in awe of what Robin Pecknold (the lyricist, singer and perfection-driven leader) has accomplished here. I usually am obliged to reserve that sort of awe for music made many decades ago, or by jazz musicians. This is art, being expressed by a young man who knows exactly what he was after, but is likely unaware of precisely how much talent and genius he is truly tapping into. It’s almost ridiculous to imagine what he will come up with next, or how he can conceivably match the work he’s done here. It’s certainly something to look forward to.

I may have more to say, at some point, but I think the best thing I can do is encourage anyone reading this to pick up this instant masterpiece. (Yeah, I said it.)

Prediction: I’ll be referring to this post in late December/early January when I’m confirming that Helplessness Blues was, indeed, the best album of 2011.