https://www.austinchronicle.com/daily/music/2008-04-18/614010/

The Reminder

By Darcie Stevens, April 18, 2008, 12:09am, Earache!

She came out from beneath a curtain, all purr and bangs, and silenced the sold-out show, all the way to the fences of Stubb’s. Leslie Feist immediately pulled away from the crowd of wannabe soul-stirrers and jazz singers with 2005’s Let It Die, and she’s lost little save for some serious overexposure care of everyone’s favorite MP3 player. I’ll admit it: I felt the burnout by the 406th time I saw that damn commercial and, furthermore, anytime anyone began counting in English. The fact that Feist rose above the modern-day indie rock ad curse marked her as a true artist. And that voice – good night, nurse.

I have one more confession. Last April’s much anticipated release The Reminder felt a little light to me in the beginning. It took me a good while to really appreciate what Feist was doing: single-handedly modernizing jazz, soul, and soft rock and fraying the edges just enough to leap boundaries. She is a de facto member of Broken Social Scene, after all.

The last time I saw the Torontoan live, it was opening up for British Sea Power at Emo’s with nothing more than a mic, a guitar, and a cassette player. She was gorgeous, hypnotizing, flirty, and shy. She was not yet royalty. At Stubb’s on Tuesday night, though, she ruled over her kingdom, effortlessly switching from soft melancholy (“The Water,” “Let It Die”) to balls-out, strobe-light-worthy, psychedelic jams. And when she hit the apex of “Sea Lion Woman,” when her guitar broke through to the other side, well, let’s just say the proof was in the pudding. Feist is that odd bird that doesn’t follow the rules and doesn’t have to. If it sounds good, play it.

Let It Die brought “Gatekeeper,” “Mushaboom,” flute, trumpet, and some perplexed girls. It seems this crowd wasn’t up to doing its research prior to the show. But The Reminder was oh so strong. “Let’s get this one over with,” she grunted before launching into (obvious) crowd-pleaser “1234.” She felt it all, she spoke with “Brandy Alexander,” and she tasted honey. She owned that crowd.

Her “shadow girls” played Stubb’s canvas overhang like I’ve never experienced before, projecting shadow puppets, silhouettes, puppets, and stories on the white screen. A nice touch for those of us too height-challenged to catch every minute of stage presence. Perhaps most impressive of all, she broke through the barrier. And I’m not talking metaphorically. Smack dab in the middle of a slow burner, as the moonlight bathed a receptive crowd, she stopped in her tracks.

“I think we need to stage an intervention,” she announced, quickly strolling to stage left, bending down to the crowd, and ceasing a young girl’s cell phone. “Hello?” she said. “They hung up!” The crowd booed the caller, slowly realizing what had happened. Turns out the front-row fan was chatting with her back-of-the-venue buddy, perhaps comparing notes on the show they were watching together. Feist wasn’t standing for it. And thank goodness! It’s about time a musician came to Austin and taught the crowd a thing or two about show etiquette. If I had a dollar for every show I attended surrounded by “fans” with their backs to the stage, loudly talking about the shoe sale at Nordstrom, well, I wouldn’t be writing this blog.

My money’s on longevity. If the waif can dig herself out of some serious crossplatform oversaturation, she’s in the clear. For this listener, at least, Feist laid down the law, made a buck in the meantime, and came out shining on the other side. I can’t wait for her next release. But please, no more commercials.