Seattle rockers may be quiet, but they’ve caused quite a stir

By JED GOTTLIEB, The Boston Herald

Nobody argues about who’s the quietest band in rock. We can shout until our ears hemorrhage about how the Who’s decibel level tramples Led Zeppelin’s, but sitting around discussing quiet bands is lame. At least it used to be.

The Seattle five-piece, led by angel-voiced Robin Pecknold, re-created the same soft, pastoral harmonies that make their self-titled debut album transcendent. Using a beat-to-hell sound system in a room with iffy acoustics, the Foxes turned the dark, cramped club into a temple.

“A lot of our success as a live band comes from knowing when to be quiet and knowing when to let the set breath,” said 22-year-old Pecknold. “It’s not like there are a lot strings or flutes on the album. The album’s just the five of us, so there’s nothing on it we can’t do live. It’s not like we do some big, ball-busting rock show.”

Pecknold hasn’t always been able to transfix with his tranquil carols. It took years of practice and experimentation, dating back to when he was a 10-year-old in Seattle and he discovered the power of his pipes auditioning for school plays.

“When you’re in elementary school plays, they only teach you how to sing loud,” he said. “The loudest kid gets the lead, and I was usually the loudest kid. But I’ve never had any lessons per se. I remember later when my dad got me a four-track (recorder), I was so excited I ran right up to my room to use it. When I heard how my voice sounded for the first time on tape I almost cried. It was a very sad moment.”

Pecknold says neither his voice nor his band’s sound are yet where he wants them to be; he’s unhappy with a lot of his vocal takes on the record. But the group is already capable of conjuring hypnotic and ethereal Americana: Think Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and My Morning Jacket on shuffle after an Ambien and acid cocktail.

Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, Pecknold somehow arrived at an aesthetic that borrows almost nothing from grunge or indie rock, but he nevertheless was recruited by Seattle’s Sub Pop, a label responsible for Nirvana and the Shins.

“I was too young for (grunge) to matter to me,” he said. “By the time I was a teen I was listening exclusively to ’60s and ’70s music. In seventh and eighth grade it’s more rebellious to listen to the Zombies than whatever emo band was big at Hot Topic.

“There’s a cool history of Northwest music, but it didn’t matter that much to me growing up,” he continued. “In 200 years when people write the history of 20th century pop music, it will be about music George Gershwin and the Beatles and not much else.”

And even though it’s likely the Fleet Foxes will end up long forgotten by 2108, that doesn’t mean the band’s Somerville Theatre show won’t deserve a few gushing lines on your Facebook page. If Pecknold’s unadorned voice can turn a solo acoustic version of the Foxes’“Oliver James” into a Blue Ridge Mountain sacred harp singing session at the Middle East, imagine how it will sound in a cavernous theater. Ooh, did you just get the chills?

Fleet Foxes, opening for Death Cab for Cutie

Monday, Fox Theatre, $38 - $33