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Best of Rock

Pop’s biggest voice of 2011 runs on cigarettes, red wine and high-octane heartbreak

May 03, 2011

BEST BREAKOUT BAND – FLEET FOXES

Robin Pecknold is stoked. It’s not the awesome weather, although Seattle is finally getting real sun. Nor is it the fact that his band has finished rehearsals for its tour and is sitting around a ratty rehearsal space with nothing to do for the first time in weeks. It’s not even the fact that he just spent the past half-hour having warm wax poured into his ears (getting moulds made for new in-ear monitors), which sounds painful but was actually super-pleasant. (“Like being in the womb,” drummer Josh Tillman says.)

No, the reason that Pecknold is smiling beneath his bushy beard, that his doleful green eyes are a little brighter than usual, is that Fleet Foxes’ new album has leaked. You might think this would be cause for concern: The official release is six weeks away. But considering the torture he and the rest of the band ”“ Tillman, guitarist Skye Skjelset, bassist Christian Wargo, keyboardist Casey Wescott and multi-instrumentalist Morgan Henderson ”“ went through just to get the record out the door, the leak is cause for celebration. It’s proof that the thing actually exists.

“It’s such a relief to be getting feedback on it,” Pecknold says, scrolling through Twitter on his iPhone. “The reaction so far has been really good ”“ even from people who didn’t think the first album was amazing.” Pecknold is the kind of guy who’s constantly bracing himself for the worst ”“ a chronic second-guesser, riddled by doubt, especially when it comes to his own instincts. Sometimes his neuroses bubble up in funny ways, like his aversion to hot tubs (“I’m basically a never-nude”) or his befuddlement toward the beach (“It’s like, ”˜Here’s my body! This is where my body is now!’”). But they can also be more insidious, such as when he says things to his bandmates like, “I’m the worst songwriter of all time,” or rerecords entire songs at the very last minute (or five minutes after that) because he saw someone better on YouTube.

“He’s his own worst critic,” says Skjelset, who’s been Pecknold’s best friend since they were in junior high. “He’s aware of it ”“ he knows he does it to himself ”“ but it sucks to watch. I’ll be like, ”˜You’re the man, dude!’ and he’ll be like” ”“ he adopts an Eeyore-ish sigh ”“ “”˜No, I’m not.’”

The irony is, like Jon Favreau in Swingers, Pecknold is money and he doesn’t even know it. Fleet Foxes are one of the most beloved bands to appear in years: Their first album earned raves across the board, and fans flock to hear their sweet harmonies led by his beatific croon. And yet here he is, in the middle of dinner eight hours later, hitting “refresh” on his phone again, just in case. “Still pretty good,” he says slightly disbelievingly, taking another bite of coconut-soy spring roll. “But all it takes is that one”¦”

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