#through years and years of perfectionism and creativity and brilliance where they were always seen as second (or third or fourth) best

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Charlène Guignard and Marco Fabbri win the ice dance gold medal at the 2024 European Championships in Kaunas, Lithuania

Bonus: Both of them being so very Italian when looking for a flag for the lap of honour

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Fleet Foxes

Civic Hall, Wolverhampton

Friday 24th November 2017 

Robin Pecknold picks up the thermos that has been left underneath the table to his side. He unscrews the lid and pours some of the contents into a mug before carefully putting it back. It is a routine he repeats at least three more times and at the end of the set and with his guitar being left to the roadies to deal with, he carefully carries the thermos off with him. This is rock ‘n’ roll, the furtive behaviour should be a clue to the intoxicating and illicit substance that are the contents of the flask but Pecknold isn’t your typical rock star. Nearly a decade ago his debut album cut through all the noise with perfectly crafted songs showing a real emotional depth. Another album quickly followed, suffering a little from second album syndrome but still doing enough to show that despite still only being in his early 20s, he was an extraordinarily gifted artist with a bright future in front of him. Then nothing, as the world opened up in front of him with all the trappings and temptations that would offer, he did the most un-rock ‘n’ roll thing he could and went to university. As well as gaining his degree, this gave him plenty of time to plan his next move and tonight shows that he has not been idle. And that flask, most likely nothing stronger than a herbal tea to coax his voice through the songs that push him to the limits of his range.

There are few songs that have such an impact that you can remember exactly the first time you heard them. For many years I have read Uncut magazine but mostly the accompanying CD has been played just once, the songs failing to register amongst all those others that compete for your attention everyday. Occasionally, however, one demands that you reach over and press the repeat button to check, was it really that remarkable. “White Winter Hymnal” was one such song, a beautifully sparse arrangement, exquisite harmonies, wistful lyrics that, even on that first listen, sounded as if it was a song you had known for years, something that should be as old as music itself. Surely, a song of such compelling melancholy must have been created by someone with a life time of experience to draw on, a snowscape half remembered from a childhood that was now receding into the distant past. The cover of the eponymous debut album from which it was taken displayed a busy medieval scene, emphasising that these romantic ballads were passed on through generations before being picked and recorded by a group of wizened old sages. There were no pictures of the band to challenge this impression but the voices singing those harmonies sounded pure and clear, the timbre showing little indication of the ravages of time. With the album having been played relentlessly and already forming a permanent musical imprint in my mind, I decided that I needed to hear it live and on a warm July evening I stood in almost the same place as I am tonight to see the Fleet Foxes for the first time. Even though most of the band wore heavy beards, there was no disguising the fresh faces beneath, young musicians barely in their 20s creating timeless music and appealing to an audience who mostly seemed old enough to be their parents. The music was, of course, exquisite but its complexity required that instruments were retuned in between every song making for a some what disjointed evening. A few days later I saw them again, this time supporting Neil Young in Hyde Park where their perfectionism made it difficult for them to hold the large festival audience, something that was made more prominent as they followed the brash showmanship of Seasick Steve.

Robin Pecknold is someone who doesn’t appear to do anything by halves so it is likely that his diversion into academia was motivated by a passion for literature and a wish to complete his education. His time away, however, has also allowed him to reflect on his stage craft and he now seems a more confident and assured presence than he was during the last tour. In particular, stage hands are ready to change over guitars whenever retuning is needed, which inevitably he takes to moments within songs as well as in between them. He can’t resist the temptation to fiddle, however, and as the set nears its end, he finds the tension in the strings doesn’t meet his exacting standards leading to a pause as he makes the adjustments. Overall, however, the set is sharp and focused, something that it needed as in his time away, his musical vision has become grander. So many ideas are developed, so many alternative pathways explored that the self imposed dam could no longer contain the creativity and the release has been spectacular. A whole album worth of themes and moods are condensed into a single song, the titles such as the opener, “I Am All That I Need/Arroyo Seco/Thumbprint Scar” revealing the breadth in the vision behind it. Another guitar is brought on, a ripple of applause tries to force its way into a brief moment of silence but before it has a chance to build the next song has started. “Cassius”, “Naiads, Cassadies”, one medley subsumed into another medley to form an epic whole. The scale threatens to be overwhelming but so carefully is it constructed, so well do the parts merge that it the effect is thrilling.

The meticulous construction of the sound could be seen as a reflection of Pecknold’s stint in academia, an application of theory that could be a PhD thesis rather than music to lose yourself in. Delving into the lyrics offers little respite, he is keen to show of the fruits of his studies and the title track of his latest opus, “Crack Up”, covers references to F Scott Fitzgerald, the American Civil War, ancient Egypt and a host of others I am insufficiently educated to pick up. For another song suite, “Third of May/Odaigahara”, Pecknold took to genius.com to explain what he was on about, it is tempting to suggest that the time would have been better spent making his thoughts a little clearer in the first place. Then, while some songs revel in their immediacy, others are slow burners that only reveal their mysteries slowly and after several listens. “Crack Up” certainly does just that and hearing it live helps to reveal a little more of the scope of Pecknold’s creativity. That said, however, the light melody and steady rhythm of “Fools Errand” felt like a clearing had been reached in the dense forest of much of the new album. Where he gets it right, however, the orchestrations add an intensity to create a mood that is simply breathtaking, particularly on the title track, where the different and competing musical ideas are forged to make a sound that is stunning.

For all its qualities, however, the early appearance of “White Winter Hymnal” draws attention to what “Crack Up” lacks, that attention grabbing moment of pop clarity. The lush melody, sung in a round, and perfect harmonies create a dreamy feeling that is enhanced by the abstract winter scenes projected behind the band. It had made its point in July but a bitterly cold November night enhanced its wonder. The first album is filled with such moments, the haunting minor key of ”Your Protector”, the tuneful “He Doesn’t Know Why” and the delicate acoustic “Blue Ridge Mountains” all add familiar tones and moods. There are fewer such moments on the second album but “Battery Kinzie” disguises it’s bleak message with another enchanting melody and “The Shrine/An Argument” builds from the delicacy of its opening to a startling dramatic conclusion and a brilliantly atonal sax solo. The early “Mykonos” is as charming as ever, showing how much of Pecknold’s vision was there from the start. For both “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” and the encore “Oliver James”, Pecknold is alone with just his guitar as accompaniment, adding an intimacy, that the complexity and scale of his recent music lacks, and pushing his voice to its limits. The lush arrangements may have been fascinating but here Pecknold shows that his songs can express their mood with the simplest of accompaniments.

A break of over half a decade so early in a career is not usually something that leads to longevity but then again, many of the rules by which the business works, don’t seem to apply to Robin Pecknold. Certainly, the nearly full hall indicates that he has not been forgotten and the mastery of his intricate and complex folk music helped to raise the anticipation for his return. He acknowledges his previous show at the Civic but I didn’t come across anyone else who had been there so most, I suspect, have been waiting for this opportunity since discovering the brilliance of that debut album. The set carefully places the well known songs in between the brooding intensity of his new ones meaning that when it does get a little heavy going, there is always something familiar, and mostly lighter, to follow. He does seem intent on taking the band into new terrain, somewhere were meaning is hidden by obscure references and labyrinthine orchestrations, something less fleet. It will be interesting to see where he goes next.