I was introduced to Feist
back in 2006 by a lovely French/ Belgium girl called Caroline who used to work in my boutique. We played the entire Let It Die over and over and then carried on playing The Reminder, singing and listening to every note of Feist’s silky, succulent voice like it being the voice of our souls. I take Feist everywhere I go, and now I am taking her superb, intricate and lacy album Metals
into my doors and mesmerising at its acute, filmic stories and musical arrangements.
I love Feist because her voice is like satin or something nice and smooth but sometimes her songs, her music, the way she sings things cuts into me like a tailor’s scissors right into the depths of my fabric heart.
As I found out that Feist was coming to London, I said to a friend who was talking about Chilly Gonzales wanting a good bowl of ‘pho
‘ how wonderful it would be if Feist and Chilly Gonzales
were to come to the supper club because I can give them, pho.
A few days prior to the concert, which I was booked to see, I got an email saying, “I am the social coordinator for Feist and am wondering if you have any space available in your class …”
Imagine! my disbelief and excitement! Feist – my heroine in my house – the place where I play her songs at least once a day for years and years. She wants to learn about Vietnamese cooking with me?! Whoa!!
But after two days of sending emails back and forth, it didn’t happen. I think she ended up doing the Jools Holland show instead.
I went to see Feist at The London Palladium
, (she doesn’t like playing big venues) on her one night in London. No thrills, just magic! One woman entrancing the entire theatre into stillness, into a lost in time, in space, a Feist space – “how come you never go there?”
As she played, solo, her guitar to The Bad In Each Other my arms flared in goose bumps. It was like, she found out everything there is to know and put it in songs. They turned every popular old song into another arrangement – something dark, something ironic, something poetic, something feisty.
These are only moments you can treasure. To think, she was meant to be coming over. Leslie Feist in my home. Feist and me. How would she be? Would I stumble into speechlessness to be in her presence? Maybe next Spring upon her return to London, I am told to expect.
Here’s to wishing… I hope Feist continues to read my blog. I love her. I really do.
check her website for great film clips