Fleet Foxes w/ Natalie Prass
Paramount Theatre, Seattle, WA
09.15.17
I remember the first time I saw Fleet Foxes live, nearly a decade ago. It was 2008, and the group – bred in the suburbs outside of Seattle – were leading the charge of the indie-folk explosion on the power of their Sun Giant EP and self-titled full-length debut. During their show at Seattle’s historic Moore Theatre, lead singer/guitarist Robin Pecknold stepped away from the mic, solo on the stage, for a goosebump-raising rendition of “Oliver James.”
If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed about the group – despite a 6-year hiatus since their sophomore album, Helplessness Blues and this summer’s Crack-Up – it’s that Pecknold’s vocal chops are still there. For the second night in a two-night stand at The Paramount, Fleet Foxes shone in many of the same ways they always have. There were the intricate, resonating harmonies and the layered instrumental soundscapes. There were plenty of old favorites like “Your Protector” and “Mykonos,” and there was Pecknold, solo for an encore of “Oliver James” in front of an adoring crowd.
So what’s changed? Pecknold has spoken openly about his time off being a necessary element in creating the band’s latest work. He went to college. He surfed. He did the things that touring with a suddenly-massive band didn’t leave time for. And it has taken the band in a fascinating new direction.
From quiet to crashing, the density of newer tracks presents a tumultuous side to Fleet Foxes’ sound, one that occasionally devolved into swelling, near-psychedelic instrumentals that seemed to stretch to infinity. Every member of the band seemed to pick up a plethora of instruments during the show, but most especially, Morgan Henderson’s expertise was apparent as he swapped upright base for guitar for flute for maracas.
Pecknold kept up a good rapport with the crowd, at one point even singing a thundering “Happy Birthday” to a fan. And between their trademark gorgeous melodies and sonic experiments, their set was an epic one that never really dipped, holding the crowd’s attention for nearly two hours.
Opener Natalie Prass impressed in her own right. Her name might not be the first rolling off the tongue of pop-fiending youth, but Prass’ work has definitely garnered critical praise. Bathed in a rose-colored light, she and her four-piece band delivered confidently with none of the feigned humility of certain singer-songwriter contemporaries. Her performances are never in-your-face, but they are certainly earnest.
Her sound is that of a well-educated musician, built on a wealth of musical history, prancing piano mingling with jazzy guitar work. Prass smoldered in a semi-circle of her bandmates, glowing in all white as she worked her smartly-crafted tunes and tossed her uber-soft-looking hair from one shoulder to another. Brutally honest lyricism became entirely approachable in her sweet voice, delivered somewhere between influences, with a side of inventiveness.
Review and photos by Stephanie Dore
Fleet Foxes
Natalie Prass
