The Alchemy of Fleet Foxes

It would not be a wanton conjecture to claim Fleet Foxes as one of the more symbolic and literary bands of the century. With lyrics invoking images of anything from a childlike wintertime excursion to apples ripening in summertime, it is almost impossible to not find oneself on some kind of visual journey should one close one’s eyes while listening to any of the band’s albums. It is precisely through one of those meanderings that I picked up one of the many threads running through the grand and ever-growing tapestry. I have the tendency of framing narratives less as Heroic Journey – with the protagonist on a quest, urged along and sometimes nearly torn in twain by both forces of Fate and Will – and more in terms of the Alchemical Process. Although this rendering of protagonist as unrefined matter strips narratives of their more dichotomous natures – specifically the “us versus them” mentality – it does enable us to see progression as cyclical and perpetual, very much as life itself.

Alchemic process is less about starting at one point and ending at another; it is about the labyrinthine and incessantly spiralling nature of growth. Unrefined matter begins in the nigredo stage, in which it is broken down and dissolved into its component parts. Its impurities are then purged away with light in the albedo stage. Left with its purer components, the matter is treated in the citrinitas stage – bared to the world as a dawning sun. And, finally, its purest self, the matter ascends to the rubedo stage, where efforts match form, and the matter is refined. Once this stage is reached, the purer matter is able to commence again the Great Work. Though most conflate alchemy with its explicit pursuit of the Elixir, that perfect substance which can transmute any material with which it comes into contact, its more symbolic meanings are often ignored. The constantly refining alchemist can only be successful if they themselves are refined through the process; the Great Work is not merely one of material means, but spiritual, philosophical, mental, and emotional. The language in which the alchemical process is discussed is almost always embedded in symbols typically celestial in origin (i.e., the Sun and Moon as the physical and spiritual selves, planets as specific materials – and each of these individual materials carrying a host of implications themselves).

As is the nature of alchemical process, each of the four stages outlined above can be found within each of the four albums, while each album itself aligns with each individual stage. The eponymous album shows the Narrator largely in the nigredo stage; they are being broken down and dissolved into their component parts. In Helplessness Blues we find that the Narrator has been broken down into two seemingly disparate and irreconcilable Selves; in Crack-Up, we learn that these Selves are not inherently separate, despite having been regarded as such. In Shore, we find that these Selves can be rejoined, and a truer Self attained.

Though ideas of death and dissolution can be found throughout the eponymous album, Tiger Mountain Peasant Song shows clearest the Narrator’s split into two concrete Selves. The process begins from the first verse, in which it is mentioned that “wanderers this morning came by” with the intention of following “you softly / in the cold mountain air.” Here appears the initial distinction between the Narrator and the being to whom they are applying the alchemical process, “you,” the Other, followed by “wanderers” who have passed to follow “you.” The celestial body known for departing in the morning is the moon, invoking the image of a Lunar Self, followed by “wanderers.” For those unversed in Greek, the connection between “wanderers” and “planets” may not be instinctive, but the latter was derived from the Greek word for the former. Acknowledging this, the opening image of this song transforms from an image of people being followed into a Moon, descending from the top of a mountain and followed by a procession of planets – the pouring of a solution onto an alchemical subject.

The Narrator follows this procession “down to [the Lunar Self’s] grave,” where both “birds” and “tall grasses” – denizens of the air and the ground-dwellers who reach towards them – have come to literally un-know the Lunar Self. Down the mountain, upon meeting the final planet – Earth – the Lunar Self is immediately transformed into something unknown. And so, the Narrator asks that changed and other Self, who is but a vibrant memory of what they once were, “how can the body die? / you tell me everything, anything true.” The Narrator, then, being the body which has survived while the Lunar Self has been dissolved – and thus identifying the Narrator as the Solar Self – wonders how they may join their spirit, the essence contained in the Lunar Self. And the Lunar Self answers that they saw this coming and were willing to depart from the physical self in order to gain the higher truth they have attained, not seeing “any body that dear to [them]” which could convince them to continue denying themselves the knowledge they sought.

And the Solar Self laments this splitting of the selves. They have become something far worse than they expected, something too different; not merely a shadow, but “a demon,” something truly terrifying and unrecognisable. Of course, dismissing demons as agents of evil is more a Christian understanding of the term; to return to the Greek idea of the word, we recognise that the Solar Self is fearing its transition into something more spiritual than its material understanding of the world finds comfortable. But the process is unfinished, the Narrator understands; they are “turning [themselves] to a demon,” they are not fully turned. Nor can they cease the transition, as this line is offered with such despair and uncertainty as to invoke the image of one falling to their knees, powerless.

And so, the nigredo stage concludes, and we enter the albedo stage, in which the subject of the alchemic process undergoes its initial washing away of excess and extraneous matter. This stage is encapsulated in “The Shrine / An Argument” on the Helplessness Blues album. This song shows the Narrator descending still, going to a place hinting towards but not in itself golden – that alchemical by-product connoting completion. This is a liminal space, “the old stone fountain,” and the Narrator has reached it only later in the morning, “after dawn.” This place is in itself impure and unclean, covered in “dust and pollen;” it has been left untended, despite the sacredness of the place. The Narrator notes that the place is haunted by an innocent contagion – the “pennies / fallen from the hands of children” who have long since left the place, and left no trace of their presence but coins, ceremoniously placed underneath the fountain.

Beneath these observations of the fountain, however, lies a motive to hide, to direct one’s attentions from the issue straining to break free, and the Solar Self finds that they are awash in “sunlight over [them] no matter what [they] do,” that they are increasingly unable to distract themselves from their transformation, from the ritual. The Solar Self is terrified by the children, who performed the ritual from which the Solar Self seeks distraction. Although they resist moving on, the Solar Self realises that every day has become a “passing complete,” something which seems full but is not. Eventually, some impulse stirs the Solar Self to complete the ritual, to give in and move onto the next stage, despite their tendency not “to ever pray for mercy” nor “wish on pennies in the… shrine.” They have grown weary of their habitual lingering and wish to move on; in that moment, they paid their dues (“left [their] money”) and thought of the Lunar Self, that aforementioned “you” the Solar Self regards as foreign still. The Solar Self wonders what happened to their own innocence (referencing next the Lunar Self in the same manner as they previously referenced children); they repeat the phrase from before, admitting this time that the “sunlight over [them] no matter what [they] do” has worn them down, that the light is breaking through their defences and —

The transformation of the Solar Self commences, and the song shifts. Urgency overwhelms, and we switch to the perspective of the Lunar Self. They recall “waking up to terrible sunlight,” the intrusiveness of the untamed and impure Solar Self, and remark that now, as the transformation takes hold and the wash begins, “the sun is half its size.” They scoff, pointing to the guilt in the Solar Self, how they can “hardly even look in [the Lunar Self’s] eyes. For so long the Solar Self suppressed the Lunar Self, even going so far as to let them die; but the Lunar Self cannot end and has thus been resurrected. As the Solar Self descends, the Lunar Self rises, and this song, the argument between Selves, indicates the shifting power structure betwixt the two. The Lunar Self, too, points out all the ways in which the Solar Self attempted to ignore and diminish them, and the hypocrisy and fruitlessness of it – whether the Solar Self threatened to leave (“holding every letter that I wrote”), actually left (“pulling away, putting on your coat”), or stood far away from them (“in the ocean,” a place affected by the moon, “washing off [the Lunar Self’s] name from [the Solar Self’s] throat”), their return to the Lunar Self was inevitable and cyclical, fated to come about “in the morning, in the morning.”

The Solar Self is both scared of the notion of the inevitable union (and implied dissolution of self) and spiteful of this confrontation. They remark upon that which belongs to them: “green apples hang from my tree,” from “[the Solar Self’s] green apple tree.” These green apples – known not for their sweetness but for their tart – belong exclusively to the Solar Self, and they take great pride in them as an indication of having something of their own onto which to cling. But the Solar Self grasps that the wash, the dissolution of the self, is inevitable, even if they stand amongst their trees. “The waves break ever closer, ever near to me,” they lament, resigning themselves to their fate. They succumb to the wash, “lay[ing] down in the sand” and letting the water take them where it will.

This initiates the citrinitas stage (the stage in which the deluge of the albedo is drained away, leaving the subject of the alchemic process exposed) found in the third album’s titular song. The Solar Self, having been washed, purged of those excess parts of themselves, is forced to acknowledge what they have learned from the preceding wash. The afternoon has passed; they have come into the eveningtime of their transformation, where – though setting – “the bright red eye isn’t off [the Solar Self] yet.” The Lunar Self opens this narrative, as the power dynamic has shifted, and they must lead the Solar Self through the remainder of the alchemical process. The Solar Self, having been the primary Narrator the majority of the journey, has learned to listen – they are forced to, as the Lunar Self points out, for “the words won’t come… and a midnight sun doesn’t look like much.” Though the Solar Self is still present, the Lunar Self says, they are greatly diminished, as the threshold has been crossed, and they are now in the domain of the Lunar Self, where the Solar Self – full of questions and apprehension earlier – can finally learn that which it sought to comprehend. And the Lunar Self believes that the Solar Self is finally ready; they have diminished themselves so that they might understand (“as an iris contracts, facing the day / I can tell you’ve cracked”). No longer must they hide from the truth liberated by the process (in the way a China plate is a source of pride tucked away until it can be shown to those one seeks to impress).

The Solar Self speaks next, revealing the truth they have learned: that it is necessary to learn and let go. They have learned the futility of clinging to that which is unnecessary. The world will admonish and chastise as it must, the Solar Self gleans, and asks the pivotal query: “If I don’t resist, / will I understand?” Unto the Lunar Self, they remark that “all things change,” that even the Self changes, and that tendencies may be turbulently distracting (“as Ylajali”) from what is needed for nourishment. The Lunar Self, finding the Solar Self ready for the final stage of the alchemic process, the ascension into the rubedo stage, moves onwards, tugging the Solar Self at a quicker pace than they are comfortable. They still lag, caught up in the “dividing tide / rising over me,” but praise the Lunar Self upon recognising that neither of them has perished, truly. As the Lunar Self lives, so does the Solar Self, and they sustain each other indefinitely, each keeping their respective “you, alive.”

Enter the rubedo, in the titular track of Shore, where Selves once separate are now reunited; this is the stage of catharsis, the stage of blood – noted in the song as an oath and admittance: “kin of my kin / I rely on you / taking me in / when a wave runs me through.” Through the entire affair, both Selves admit that they have been there for the other, and that without the other, they would not have made it through. And they acknowledge that they were always destined to reunite (“as a shore I ever seem to sail to”), and that they carry the memories of who they were before into the after. The Solar Self apologises, admitting their weaknesses and tendency to cling onto the familiar, and assuring the Lunar Self that they now know that they do not wish to forget their former Selves (“and ‘fore I forget me / I want to record / while I see it all”), but they also are willing to move on from them.

Together, they remember what was good, lost, and transformed; they recall the things and ways things were before —and then they focus on the present, and moving forward. And the saga which commenced with the rising Solar Self (Sun, It Rises) concludes with an ascendance of the Lunar Self, for “now the quarter moon is out.”