Tonight is the last night in the Fleet Foxes‘ residency at the Roundhouse. Anyone swift enough to pick up a ticket was a lucky witness, gathered within one enraptured body, to some extraordinary performances over the last two nights. Resisting the temptation to tell you what you will already have read a hundred times over the last few months – ‘Crosby, Stills’/ ‘Fairport’/’Neil Young’/ ‘choral majesty’/’Americana is back’/ ‘Harmonic wonder’ – let it be said instead that hearing Fleet Foxes live is bliss. Full bellied, glass half full, napalm in the morning, cancel Christmas, Scorsesian ‘Last Waltz’-esque, if terrorists attack 30 seconds after the encore I don’t mind dropping off the perch, bliss.
All Photos courtesy and copyright of the very kind Andy Sheppard @ Lowlight photo
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