FEIST - Metals

You knew this was coming. It was there the moment that Leslie Feist embraced the game-changing success of Grammy nods and iPod commercials with an arena show driven not by slick light shows or in-the-round extravagance, but by shadow puppets. And with Metals (her third or fourth record, depending on whether or not you choose to count the seemingly happily deleted Monarch), she confirms it: Feist has no interest in selling herself. 

At least not for cheap. 

The trick in understanding this stance, however, is to not misinterpret this as some cold, bitter misanthropic stunt. Having attended her triumphant ACC stand near the end of her touring cycle for The Reminder, what was most impressive was how she managed to stage a show for 10,000 people in a hockey arena that was so fragile, intimate, whimsical, spontaneous, and touching. It wasn't a middle finger to impending stardom, but rather a successful attempt to rewrite the laws on how such a crowd could be embraced.

Metals sets its sights just as high. Tentative and somewhat effete at first glance, it comes to brim effusively with confidence, spirit and humanity as one better makes its acquaintance. Lots has been said about the shouts that punctuate "A Commotion" or the triumphant final chorus of "Graveyard", two moments that stand out readily. But like the titular location of that latter track, there's lots more interesting stuff buried throughout Metals. 

Like the woozily drawn-out phrasing and swooning string arrangement in "Anti-Pioneer". And the juicy blues thud of "Undiscovered First". Or the way her levitating vocal in "The Circle Married The Line" sneaks up on your ears when you're not looking. And the tiny joys one finds spending time with "Cicadas and Gulls". Gradually, these moments (and many, many more) add up to become a greater confirmation of her talent than anyone single could aim to be. 

In the past, I liked to lazily call Feist a 'phone book singer' (as in she could easily sing the contents of said book and it would be quite enjoyable). I've always thought of it as a compliment, but Metals' greatest strength is how it takes such a silly, off-the-cuff statement to task. That's because far more than the simple pleasure of 'the voice', this record works on the back of eloquent writing, thoughtful arrangements, and patient respect for its listener. Will it take? Feist never intended to sing in the hopes of helping to sell millions of MP3 players. But what's done is done. The way she's carried herself in the wake of this—with an album that is both absolutely on her own terms and still full of moments that embrace an audience—is what makes both her and Metals great.