@Number 71

Archive for May 10th, 2011

“I was a bit worried they’d suffer from second album syndrome,” said the kindly record store guy who sold me Fleet Foxes’ Helplessness Blues last week. “But it’s actually really good.” It’s true: any risk that Robert Pecknold and company would fall into rock cliché with their sophomore release have been entirely squashed by its actuality. Helplessness Blues is if anything a brighter, more consistent, more accomplished album than its forebear. If Fleet Foxes continue to filter the Beach Boys through Laurel Canyon with an unapologetic nostalgia, the songs on this record do so with such muscle and so memorably that it no longer matters.

Helplessness Blues opens in familiar territory with ‘Montezuma’: Pecknold’s reedy vocals sing among ethereal reverb, backed by the Gregorian richness of his bandmates’ supporting vocals. The bright, plucked guitars, the soft, rounded bass, the swift changes in dynamics are all present and correct. ‘Bedouin Dress’ strips them back, sounding like the record Sam Beam may have made if hadn’t gone all psychedelic on Kiss Each Other Clean. Both it and the album’s similarly subdued third track, however, eschew the principle weakness of the band’s first album: the manner in which its smaller songs experienced trouble in peeking out from under the heavy shadows of its major movements. It’s not that Helplessness Blues has no ‘Blue Ridge Mountains’, catchy and fat with evocative orchestration; it’s that all its songs aim in their own way for that track’s impact.

Thus the second record masters more moods than the first: where Fleet Foxes were most comfortable on their eponymous debut with grand, crashing statements, on this album they make even the finest detail work as substantial as the soaring anthems: ‘Blue Spotted Tail’ is a finger-picked folk ditty, as simple a song as the band have recorded, but it is as beautiful and haunting as ‘Helplessness Blues’, a twisting and turning of a song, full of pregnant open chords and piano riffs worthy of Arcade Fire. Indeed, you can hear Mercury Rev, the Flaming Lips, and Sufjan Stevens on this album, too – so successful is Helplessness Blues that it may well now also be a cliché to describe it or the band behind it as mere retro indulgence. They are a mature band capable of producing music of emotive beauty.

Go bother your own record store guy right now.


71 is the number of an apartment we return to regularly in Whinfell Forest, Cumbria. We like it there.


‘We’ are Anna French and Dan Hartland. The Story and the Truth is a sort of inadequate catch-all term for what goes on here: we tend to talk about novels, history, food and fashion, politics and music, but there may also be photographs of soft toys and musicians. Stick around and see.

Words We Like

The Blind Man's Garden, by Nadeem Aslam


Aslam's fourth novel is that rarest of things, a focused picaresque. It has been criticised by the formidable Adam Mars-Jones for a failure of courage - and yet having read the novel cover to cover and word for word, I found myself more in agreement with the praise of Pankaj Mishra. In this story of two young men who travel, naively, to Afghanistan in the October of 2001, it is the very ambivalence of the resulting consequences which render its portrayal of history at the sharp end so memorable. We are used to hearing, from one side or another, the verities of black and white. In The Blind Man's Garden, Aslam paints in technicolour shades of grey. Essential.

Sounds We Like

The Stand-In, by Caitlin Rose


The ever-present temptation to be cooler-than-thou might have demanded I list Lord Huron or Keaton Henson in this space, and yet few records I've been listening to this month have had the sheer charisma of Caitlin Rose's third LP. There's a cleverness - even a slickness - to how Rose balances the cache of retro country with the accessibility of the modern pop sound here, and, if that sounds like a demerit, then the way in which this sly production always works in support of often fabulous songwriting is certainly not. They do make 'em like they used to, after all.

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