Fortunately, that stench was drowned out by the sweet milk and honey that is the almost antique-tinged folk music of Fleet Foxes. Singer Robin Pecknold is cut from the same soaring reverb-drenched vocal aesthetic as labelmate Ben Bridwell (Band of Horses) and at times is an almost dead-ringer for Jim James (My Morning Jacket). Musically, Fleet Foxes come from a bit more subdued and ancient place than the aforementioned bands (less electric boogie, less rainy day blues, more epic and sweeping), and that restraint truly did show at the Jackpot. On record, Fleet Foxes are larger-than-life, with Pecknold's vocals sounding like they were recorded from the bottom of a well. The big question was whether the scope of their records would translate from pristine studio to a small, less-than-pristine PA such as the Jackpot's. Thankfully, the band still sounded every bit as breathtaking and beautiful, even without the swelling reverb that seems to be the sixth man on their recordings.

This being their first tour, it's interesting to see such a young band with so much focus and clear vision in their direction, but also see those peaks of shyness in their delivery. Robin Pecknold sat on a wooden chair with his acoustic guitar for the majority of the set, sometimes commanding the audience (performing "Oliver James" almost entirely by himself and shushing a fairly raucus Saturday night bar crowd) and leading the three-part harmonies of "Mykonos," and sometimes engaging only with his acoustic guitar and feet. For a band with such a serious tone, they did joke with the audience after calls for songs from their upcoming full-length debut were made. The band seemed more excited than frustrated about their album being available on file-sharing networks, and corrected the audience on the title (self-titled, versus the previously presumed Ragged Wood).

I was anxious to see Blitzen Trapper, and how they would pull off a live set. Having scanned through their records, the sheer diversity of the material that they've recorded is intimidating. Are they a giddy, sloppy folk band? Southern boogie rock? Weird stoner jams? Do they ever have to make up their mind?

Truly, they don't, and that is the blessing (and the curse) of Blitzen Trapper. In this ridiculously short-attention-spanned blog age, they could very well be the perfect band, having written enough songs pointing in enough different directions that they very well could affect anyone whose ears they catch at the right moment. That same schizophrenia may be, as I felt upon discovering the band's catalog, a little overwhelming for someone trying to truly get a feel for the band. Thankfully, seeing it live, the Portland sextet made a lot more cohesive sense, and it was inspiring to see a band show off their riffing, bastardized southern-rock chops on "Wild Mountain Nation," the honky-tonk shuffle of "Country Caravan," the almost proggy classic vibe of "The Green King Sings," the CSNY-isms of "Jericho," and jump into a heartfelt but rusty version of "Asleep For Days" after I yelled for it (they aborted it halfway through after forgetting lyrics, but the effort was much appreciated).

Much sloppier and bouncier than Fleet Foxes (but still a very appropriate complement to them), Blitzen Trapper didn't engage with the audience quite as much, focusing more on their complex start/stop hooks and three- and four-part vocal harmonies, but still provided quite a show, breaking a gordita (small pumpkin shaped shaker) into tiny little shards all over the stage and providing an ample amount of reasons to shout "more cowbell" unironically during their set.