Rarely would an opening act rate a separate post, but my thoughts on Joanna Newsom and Robyn Pecknold are night and day.
No matter what I felt about the sprightly harpist, I couldn't skip the chance to see the frontman for Seattle's Fleet Foxes and an author of my favorite record of 2008.
Thanks to the line and a roundly enjoyable journey through some expensive wines at the store Christmas party, we arrived mid-set, although Pecknold's resonant voice echoed through the surprisingly quiet Mercy Lounge.
It's rare that the crowd gives a musician a break, but Pecknold got one. Sure, a sea of smart phones and cameras captured every string he plucked a dozen times over, but the filming was conducted with some discretion.
Armed with his voice and an acoustic guitar, he made not attempt to reduce the Foxes' fuller sound. The tight confines of the Mercy Lounge, the wood-beamed attic that is a superior venue to the ballroom downstairs, didn't hurt.
Pecknold didn't bother to promote anything in his brief set, so whether these intriguing rough sketches appear on the next Foxes album, we can only hope. The melodies relies on simple finger-picked chords, but in the end, his voice was the star attraction. When he wraps a full band around those songs, I doubt anyone will complain about a lack of intricacy.
While the music was strong, it revealed Pecknold as a different sort of musician. The Fleet Foxes score critically acclaimed record on their first attempt, and instead of racing back to the studio, he grabs an acoustic and hits the road. That ethos takes a dash of Jeff Tweedy and a heap of Renaissance troubadour, and Pecknold never felt uncomfortable on his own.
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