Photograph by Clare Shilland

In 2008, indie rock discovered a brand-new mecca: the woods. Skinny ties and neon art-rock ensembles were supplanted by wool hats and Twin Peaks plaid, and Seattle's Fleet Foxes, led by singer and guitarist Robin Pecknold, saw their self-titled debut album -- with its beckoning harmonies, Peter Pan melodies, and ax-swinging backwoods charm -- emerge as one of the year's most celebrated rookie efforts. Fleet Foxes has sold nearly 120,000 copies in its first six months, and you'd be hard pressed to buy a venti caramel latte without brushing your arm against a stack of 'em. "It's been a little strange," Pecknold admits, sheepish and fatigued, en route to taping an episode of Later With Jools Holland in London. "It's not like there's a tangible bridge between the experience of the last six months and the six months prior to that, the 20 years prior to that."

Pecknold has been writing songs since he was a teenager, but he didn't begin garnering national attention until Fleet Foxes signed to Sub Pop and issued the Sun Giant EP in April. The full-length followed in June. Although those releases earned the band copious buzz (and a distribution deal from Starbucks), the journey hasn't been all sunshine and honeybees. The bus Fleet Foxes were scheduled to take out on their current European tour caught fire before they arrived to claim bunks, leaving them with an ancient, illness-inducing old rig that has had the entire band coughing for days. Shortly thereafter, their sound engineer suffered -- wait for it -- sudden deafness. "There's been a lot of poisonous moments in the last year, but a million touching and true moments, too," Pecknold says. "If it goes away tomorrow and my next interview is for American Whittling & Scrimshaw Quarterly, that's more than okay."

Hear Pecknold and Fleet Foxes: "White Winter Hymnal"

But less than likely. Unlike the alien whines of Auto-Tuned pop stars and vocoder-addicted MCs, Pecknold's vocals feel homemade and imperfect, like a tattered, pilling old sweater -- grizzled beyond his 22 years. "By the time I was 15, I was pretty checked out of any peer group," he says. "I was playing music and writing songs all the time, not really ever going to school. By the time I moved into the city and started working at a restaurant, most of my coworkers were very accomplished musicians. I lost any feeling of being special as soon as I put on that apron." Accordingly, Pecknold doesn't presume that he'll write anything of "actual merit" until he's closer to retirement age. "I'd like to be less Jonathan Safran Foer," he says, "and more Haruki Murakami."