Fleet Foxes – Roundhouse, London 24/02/09

In the space of nine months, Robin Pecknold and his merry band of bearded harmonisers have seen their profile explode beyond their wildest dreams. From the miniscule Hoxton Bar and Grill in May to this three-night residency at the 2000-capacity Camden Roundhouse, they’ve achieved the kind of success the vast majority of bands can only dream of. But with their warm, timeless pastoral folk accessible enough to appeal to the mainstream but well-crafted enough to attract the muso vote, perhaps it’s not that surprising they’ve captured the hearts of so many. It’s a sentiment borne out in the first few seconds of the live show, when the harmonies of ‘Sun Giant’ hit the ears for the first time and wash over you in their splendour. Although the sound mix at the Roundhouse seemed to restrain rather than augment the celestial vocal displays at times, the initial wow-factor they invoke with their impeccable talents is hard to deny.

It’s a shame then that they struggle to recapture the aura of amazement invoked by their opening salvo. For the most part they were very good, at worst merely pleasant and Robin’s enthusiasm and obvious sense of wonderment at playing such a massive venue could carry a show on its own. But the sad fact remains that they rarely delivered the transcendent highs you‘d hope for. Whilst fellow indie-folk sensation Bon Iver pulls such moments out of the bag with staggering ease, Fleet Foxes only truly hit the mark on two occasions. The first was the celestial ‘White Winter Hymnal’, which was every bit as luscious as on the album – I challenge anyone to remained unmoved in the face of its acapella intro. And of course, there was Robin’s unaccompanied, unamplified rendition of ‘Karen Cruel’. To hear his unadorned voice reverberate around the Roundhouse purely on its own strength was truly magical; even the chattering morons colonised around the bar were rendered speechless (or they realised they’d be lynched if they didn’t stop talking, either way, it had the desired ‘you could a hear a pin drop’ effect). Beyond that, even with Robin’s extended forays into solo material, there really wasn’t much in the way of stylistic or tonal variation and for those not entirely sold on the hype the unchanging formula may have got a little wearisome. But as the roar of impassioned applause filled out the venue at the end of every song, it was clear that at the very least, they were giving the punters what they wanted.