USA, 2020, indie folk / chamber pop
I’m not a Fleet Foxes expert. I know literally nothing about the band’s biography, not even their names or how many members there are in the band. (Checks RYM… okay they’re American. That’s all I know.) But just going on the songs here, Hamlet’s line, “the time is out of joint”, keeps popping into my head as I listen. An unsettled meditation on the passage of time, of beginnings and endings, and of being held in the sway of the seasons, unable to escape time’s grip. Rain makes rust; nothing can stop the decay. Sunlight fades; nothing can stop the sunset. Out of joint. As in, disordered. Disordered death of all the artists who have gone to their early graves. The title itself, Shore, reminds me once again of death, an almost Tennysonian allusion to crossing the bar, that is, crossing over into the ocean-infinity of death.
Museum Musica 
Sometimes, though, listening to The Frames, I feel like their ideas exceed their execution. They are too frail for the burden of their own songs.
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