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Fleet Foxes: "Beinginterviewed by the NME is likebeing interrogated for acrime"

Robin Pecknold, the 23 year old frontman of the folk band Fleet Foxes, has complained that “Being interviewed by the NME is like being interrogated for a crime you didn’t commit. Every question is a set up” after the news of his ‘support’ for illegal downloads hit the web echo chamber.

Pecknold took to his band’s Twitter account to explain that his words had been misinterpreted. “I said music has no inherent CASH value,” Pecknold clarified, “Why the sensationalism all the time? Cash value of all ‘art’ is subjective is all I was trying to say. A Pollock is worth millions for cultural reasons, not for cost of paint. Why is it news that I’m ok with file-sharing? To not be is to waste energy on something you can’t do anything about.”

NME’s questions about downloading may have set a trap for Pecknold, but they do follow Pecknold’s history of advocating free music downloads. Earlier this year he gave away three songs he’d recorded, including a collaboration with Ed Droste from Grizzly Bear. And back in 2009 Pecknold told BBC News that “I’ve downloaded hundreds and hundreds of records – why would I care if somebody downloads ours?”

In the 2009 interview Pecknold noted that “I think it’s disgusting when people complain about that, personally. As much music as musicians can hear, that will only make music richer as an artform. I think we’re seeing that now with tons of new bands that are amazing, and are doing way better music now than was being made pre-Napster.

“That was how I discovered almost everything when I was a teenager – my dad brought home a modem. That was how I was exposed to almost all of the music that I love to this day, and still that’s the easiest way to find really obscure stuff. I’ve discovered so much music through that medium. That will be true of any artist my age, absolutely.”

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grattan

grattan said on the 4th May, 2011

Seems that NME didn't like getting called out by Fleet Foxes - here's their review of the album


It was Conor Kiley of glam-metal reprobates Holy Ghost Revival who gave the world the term ‘fucking canoeing music’ to nail the flaccid faux-outdoorsy sonics of Fleet Foxes. Conor, babes: you wuz right. Fleet Foxes suck. They’re the soy-latte house band of Starbucks.

They peddle the same sort of fake-rustic rootsiness that seems to be colonising our era: all these flatpack off-the-peg dreams of Ruritania that iPad-stashing mid-lifes have taken up as a counterpoint to their rabid technophilia. They lull you in with their flawlessly polished music and hey-nonny-nonny you into a hypnagogic state, with the aim of making the world safe for the bland, the dull and the wi-fi enabled.

‘Helplessness Blues’, then, is pretty much ‘Canoe 2: Return To Lake Flaccid’. ‘Battery Kinzie’ is the frosty choral ‘White Winter Hymnal’ one, ‘Montezuma’ the wending ‘Your Protector’ one, ‘The Plains/Bitter Dancer’ the foresty spooky-wooky one.There can be no doubting that they’ve spent an age adding baubles, fixing things, even, apparently, hauling out the not-even-joking ‘Tibetan singing bowl’ to expand their palate. Robin Pecknold made them scrap one entire album, and only the rest of the band’s refusal stopped him from scrapping this one too.

It feels like the same neurotic perfectionism that makes him question his own talents is what makes him such a bloodless figure. Here is a man who reportedly has no friends outside the band – bar a girlfriend with whom he was splitting up at the time. For a man as ill at ease with emotions as that, dipping into introspection can easily come off as solipsism.

It’s Pecknold’s milksop voice that dominates, to the point that the unwilling will feel like they’re listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash & A Lonely Duck. For a two-second moment – on ‘The Shrine/An Argument’ – he finds a roar behind the check-in desk clerk, and it’s a startling wake-up. Again, there are flashes of lyrical concision that hint at real poetry – like the title track’s much-quoted internal debate between wanting to be unique and wanting to be lost in a greater whole.

But really, despite all the ‘celestial’s and ‘life-affirming’s with which the critics will paper this, the truth is that no-one is ever going to sleep with you because you played them a song that begins with the immortal line: “Ruffled the fur of the collie ’neath the table...”. Canoe dig it? No thanks.