Getting foxy at the Cedar

Rebecca Lang

Turns out the Fleet Foxes sound way better when their flawless (may I say prismatic?) vocals aren’t trapped in your tiny iPod headphones. I made it down to the Cedar on Saturday for their show with the idea in mind that they were good, but in the unfortunate scenario of being introduced at the same time as The Ruby Suns, who are slightly better. But alas, I got to the venue and saw something I’d never seen at that particular place: a packed crowd of people standing up and drinking beer. Gone were the folding chairs of yore. (I may have just gone there before for boring events.) The dangly bead curtains and hippie lighting remained, but the Fleet Foxes were good enough to transform the cultural center into a regular First Ave. The crowd wasn’t dancing or doing much (It was only 6:30, so it could be the soberness of that particular time of day) but that didn’t seem to bother the foxes. In person they are all interesting-looking. The main singer has shaggy hair and a beard; the only way he could look better is if he got kind of fat, and then he’d look just like the world-wise but woods-confined angel voiced singer he sounds like. The other members are brunette and skinny, and the guitarist looked like Emile Hirsch in “Into the Wild,” which even further re-enforced my association with their music as being perfect to dog sled through the snow to. Their performance was seamless. Each song was more gospel than a church bell, and they had the wittiest between song banter that I’ve ever heard. They practically did a stand up act about Celestial Seasonings, of all things. Watch out Ruby Suns! Fleet Foxes just sliced an “F” on your folky poncho. But don’t get me wrong, their performance was an A.