“Of course all life is a process of breaking down…”
So begins the F. Scott Fitzgerald essay The Crack-Up, the story of a down-and-out, once successful writer that gave the new Fleet Foxes record, Crack-Up, its name and provided at least a little of its inspiration. It’s easy to see why Robin Pecknold, who put his band Fleet Foxes on hiatus at the peak of their fame, and recently told Pitchfork, “I’ve struggled at times with finding a solid, objective reason to live, or I should say I’ve struggled with the notion of needing an airtight reason,” would relate to such a story. Throughout the band’s exploratory set at the Crystal Ballroom last week, Pecknold and the rest of Fleet Foxes played like people who’ve found that reason.
It seems abundantly clear that Pecknold is very concerned about his art—and existence—remaining vital, personal and original; a living, breathing thing that continuously evolves as he does. He seems truly concerned with the deeper questions plaguing humanity’s existence—as one might imagine a man who walked away from a wildly successful band to study philosophy at Columbia would be.