Fleet Foxes isn't your father's Seattle band. The five-piece Puget pioneers avoid flannel, regularly bathe and - here's the real departure - seem genuinely happy to be alive. These guys have aesthetic taste, favoring 16th century cover artwork over naked babies (Nirvana) and mangy farm animals (Pearl Jam). Of greater importance, the group's brand of Brian Wilson-flavored folk lullaby makes more noise in blogs than in stadiums, a telltale sign that they are out of place and time.
Lacking recognition, Fleet Foxes' self-titled debut LP might be confused for an unearthed collaboration in which Nick Drake and the Beach Boys jam to Zombies outtakes. But with credentials intact, the album reveals itself as both a modern update to the Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds" and an American near-classic.
A cappella harmonies on opener "Sun It Rises" single-handedly bury an era of angry guitar rock and patent a kind of wuss-folk of the most endearing order - music for guys who eat tofu and girls who don't shave their pits.
Following the nature-as-church tambourine clapper "White Winter Hymnal," the two-piece epic "Ragged Wood" transforms from a bouncy Shins-styled jaunt into an otherworldly campfire send-up. As far as memorable mantras go, the song seamlessly adapts "Kumbaya" for a generation of cynics. It's the stuff goose bumps are made of - two and a half minutes of aching beauty.
"Blue Ridge Mountains" represents the record's second peak. Countrified pop via the Newport Folk Festival, this piano-and-string exercise recalls the lush compositions of Gram Parsons. Its melodic accompaniment similarly evokes the late Grievous Angel.
Passing time may anoint this a landmark collection, one that matches the vibrant splendor of immortal forbearers. Regardless, Fleet Foxes already does the truly unthinkable: parts the clouds and brings a glint of sunshine to the Great Northwest.
