ALBUM REVIEW: Feist still feels it all on ‘Multitudes’
Leslie Feist has been feeling it all during the pandemic. Multitudes is her sixth album, and her first in six years. Inspired by the birth of her daughter and impacted by the sudden death of her father, Feist confronts her place in the world and her sense of self on Multitudes. She attempts to embrace the fullness of life, with all the beauty and the sadness that entails.
Multitudes
Feist
Interscope, April 14
8/10
Get the album on Amazon Music.
Multitudes was produced by frequent collaborators Robbie Lackritz (Jack Johnson) and Mocky (Jamie Lidell), with additional production from Blake Mills (Dawes, Perfume Genius). Lackritz and engineer Michael Harris had built a studio in Northern California, and that’s where Feist recorded Multitudes, near a redwood forest. She developed how she wanted to perform these songs with a series of small experimental shows called “Multitudes” that were part concert, part theatre piece.
Feist has shown herself to be largely uninterested in returning to the poppy sound that brought her widespread fame on 2007’s The Reminder pretty much since the album that followed it, 2011’s Metals. It seemed at times that, given a choice, she’d rather err on the side of inaccessibility, as with her collaboration with Mastodon. Multitudes isn’t often catchy, but it’s inviting to listeners in other ways.
Lead track “In Lightning” bursts out through the speakers with multitracked vocals and skittering, echoing electronic percussion before pulling back to focus on Feist’s beautiful dusky voice. Later she’s joined by the choir-like vocals that are one of her signature sounds.
“And in lightning I’m the thunder/ Thundering in my heart/ And in lightning I can see/ Just as well in the dark,” she sings.
While the album is artistically cohesive, it’s doesn’t all sound the same. Songs like “Forever Before” and “The Redwing,” with their stark acoustic guitar and vocals, sound very Nick-Drake-esque, while “Borrow Trouble” is a mighty song, with strident violin. Feist examines herself and her tendency not to live in the moment on “Borrow Trouble.” The big solo, rather than on guitar, is on a baritone sax that somehow hits just perfectly, played by David Ralicke (Beck, Dengue Fever). “All of it that you’ve got to give/ I’ll take all of it that you’ve got to give,” Feist chants, while yelling “trouble!” with wild abandon over it.
On “Love Who We Are Meant To,” the nylon-stringed guitar is buoyed by lush orchestral strings. This mellow track will especially appeal to fans of the Laurel Canyon sound, with its sweet, yearning vocal. “We will struggle with the truth,” Feist sings. “That sometimes we don’t get to/ Love who we are meant to.”
Feist’s voice can be deceptively soothing, even as her words challenge listeners. “Everybody’s got their shit/ But who’s got the guts to sit with it?” Feist asks to begin “Hiding Out in the Open.” Gentle synths swirl under Feist and her acoustic guitar as she sings, “Love is not a thing you try to do/ It wants to be the thing compelling you/ To be you.”
“Of Womankind” shows off her rare, special voice to brilliant effect. Starting with a singular vocal, before joining a chorus of multitracked vocals, then pivoting to a Dylan-esque talk-singing, “Of Womankind” contains multitudes all on its own. Feist lays out what it’s like to be a woman in the world today: “Hugging pepper spray at night/ We check under our cars/ To navigate this subtle maze.”
Feist interrogates her own motives on “Martyr Moves” over a pastoral flute, asking, “And what do I think I might prove/ If I make these martyr moves?” She’s raw and honest about herself and her feelings throughout Multitudes, and yet the record itself is a thing of exquisite beauty. It ends with “Song for Sad Friends,” on which she declares that she won’t ask her sad friends not to be sad, over a clarinet burst and soft guitar strumming.
“Well, things are bad, my friends,” she admits, but she says that sadness “proves the mettle of your heart.” As both song and album come to a close, Feist declares this emotional honesty is where “we can really begin.”
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