Fleet Foxes @ Black Cat

There's something endearing about gratitude, and Seattle's Fleet Foxes were nothing if not grateful on Monday night. They were grateful to NPR for broadcasting their show, they were grateful to the perennially overlooked Black Cat sound technicians and they were especially grateful that singer Robin Pecknold's health had taken an upward turn. Apparently the singer had been truly sick for the previous five shows or so, saying that ever since L.A. the shows had been "wholesale deception and disappointment." An ironic concertgoer quipped, "That never happens in Washington," but health problems notwithstanding, Fleet Foxes put on a show completely devoid of either deception or disappointment.

Fleet Foxes differentiates themselves from many bands that incorporate folk into their rock 'n' roll by virtue of their vocals (and luckily Pecknold's malady had not damaged that high quality). Although he regularly turned away from the microphone to let loose some nasty looking coughs, Pecknold still sang with incredible clarity whether he was harmonizing with bandmates Skye Skjelset, Casey Wescott, and Christian Wargoalone or whether he remained onstage alone with his guitar. One of those two moments where Pecknold was alone, the wounded lilting "Oliver James" was a highlight; the audience was so captivated that it was possible to hear both a pin drop and the one and only person talking near the stage left bar. In fact the only major flaw in the performance was a few excessively long breaks between songs. During these long tune-ups, the magic they held during their Beach-Boys-via-the-woodlands anthems was broken, making the audience chatter seem very loud in comparison.

Photo by Shantel Mitchell