Years from now we’ll look back and study the musical collective known as the Mac mob, the artists who share an affinity of finding commercial success after a song of theirs was used to promote an Apple product. Who knows what we’ll say about Chairlift, or The Fratellis, CSS and The Ting Tings — maybe in 20 years they’ll be feted like the Native Tongue Posse.
Or maybe the bands’ 30 seconds of fame is already up.
Leslie Feist is somewhere in the mix, as Apple’s use of “1234” opened the world up for the Canadian singer. But the light, breezy feel of “1234” doesn’t capture Feist’s true musical prowess – she’s bent toward folk, tradition and introspection. A typical Feist song is more apt selling antique model trains than portable screens used to access porn sites (for the articles, of course).
On Metals, Feist discards easy pop sensibilities for a stern, more aggressive sound, one wrapped in splendid strings, surging choruses and stark guitars — all while using that voice of hers to tie it into a tight bundle.
“How Come You Never Go There” is an odd choice for the lead single, featuring off-tempo time signatures and tottering vocals, which at times leave the music working to catch up. But what makes it listenable is how varied it becomes while remaining cohesive — it’s a three and a half minute trip where you see plenty of Feist’s world.
Within this realm are songs of pure folk (“Graveyard”, “Cicadas & Gulls”), jazz (“The Circle Married the Line”) and pop (“Bittersweet Melodies”). The latter is Feist’s attempt at being catchy, a la “1234,” but I suspect it wasn’t on purpose. It’s in this subtle shifting of genres where Metals becomes slightly worn, as if running away from a commercial pop persona has Feist looking to become undefinable. I understand not wanting to be pigeonholed, but there’s no sense trying to be everything for everyone.
If she needs a singular focus, “Anti-Pioneer” is a good place to look. Haunting and lovely, the song is a Feist feast – it doesn’t rush, taking its time with persistent treble taps and quiet piano, letting Leslie’s voice take the lead.
Metals is the album to play when there’s time to linger, blissful in its shunning of the world’s constant-moving cycle. But even in repose, the album isn’t meant to soothe. “When you comfort me/ It doesn’t bring me comfort actually” she sings, a stinging rebuke in quiet tones, one surely not bound for 30-second Apple bites.
