Almost four years ago, even before their first EP “Sun Giant” was released, I stood before  five bearded hippies at the Bowery Ballroom, transfixed by their lush nostalgic confidence as they buzzlessly opened for Blitzen Trapper. Nothing they have done since that night has been anything less than perfect. Their CSN harmonies, Van Morrison ‘Astral’ meditations and meandering California spirit is such an authentic relic of a bygone era, even among a sea of more popular revisionists Mumford and Sons, that the years that have passed since the debut have passed way too slowly.

The dozen songs on “Helplessness Blues” are about what you would expect- earthy epics that tend to rise and fall around the sublime vocals of still only 25 year-old Robin Pecknold. Already something of a studio perfectionist, these songs were recorded, scrapped and rerecorded a handful of times between Woodstock, Seattle and parts in between. From the stunning title track whose chorus “If I had an orchard I’d work till I’m sore” mixes the just the right amount of Johnny Appleseed pioneer spirit with earnest longing, to the bouncy slow build of “Grown Ocean” to the lush “Lorelai,” this album covers a remendous amount of ground very carefully. Like Wilco before them, the Fleet Foxes seem destined to make a long career of trying to understand who we are and who we wish to become. There is much to love here, and I’m guessing many who will grow to love it more with each passing year.

Certain bands seem destined for greatness. With TVOTR it wasn’t immediately clear given the angular, heavy feeling of their first album, but with each of their subsequent efforts you began to hear a band dead set on slow and steady evolution. By the time “Cookie Mountain” arrived the band had proven that punk, funk, and electro-dance could co-exist happily in a kind of melodious groove. With 2008′s “Dear Science” the band had become broadly accessible without losing a shred of credibility and like Radiohead before them seem committed to both genre-defying creativity and the production of albums in an era of singles.

On “Nine Types of Light,” the band’s fourth full length, the corners are even brighter than ever with songs that alternate between shimmering ballads like “You” ( a near perfect love song), their more traditional dance  heritage on tunes like “Repetition” (echoes of Peter Gabriel vocals that morph into an infectitious dance beats), and near radio friendlygroove pop on “Caffeinated Consciousness.” Perhaps some of the sunshine here is the result of the Brooklyn-based band’s choice to record the album in LA. Despite their prolific tendencies (side projects like Maximum Balloon, and Rain Machine) and acting gigs like Tunde Adebimpe’s lead role in “Rachel Getting Married,” the band seems poised to make a long career of this steady dance towards the sun. RIP, bassist Gerard Smith who died way too young yesterday at the age of 36. He will be missed.

 In addition to being the funniest film of the year, “Cyrus” is the first big film to have emerged from the ultra-indie “mumblecore” movement. Like the twisted stepchild of an Apatow film, the humor here is much less obvious and a lot more uncomfortable, but much more authentic. I have become a fanboy of the sibling directors, having loved each of their previous films with increasing respect starting with “The Puffy Chair” and “Baghead” and most recently the perversely hysterical “Humpday.” In some ways it helps to have this insight going into “Cyrus” whose humor might otherwise seem slightly cloying. That said, both John C. Reilly and Jonah Hill have never been better, and taking them one standard deviation away from Apatow and Ferrell gives them a chance to explore something weirder and in some ways more honest than what we have come to expect from them.

The film largely gravitates around the increasingly awkward relationship between Reilly, a lonely heart who has recently been reawakened by Marissa Tomei, and her grown son played by Hill whose odd relationship with his mother spins the threesome into chaos. Unlike most modern comedies, this one is bold enough to explore dark emotional areas generally uncommon in the genre. But herein lies the secret sauce. “Cyrus” is so well written and strangely compelling, it is hard not find yourself sucked into this wacky vortex, laughing unexpectedly and consistently throughout. I will be hard pressed to see anything quite as clever this year.