Ask a songwriter about what he or she enjoys about writing lyrics and the answers will likely fall into two categories: First, there's the level of self-expression -- it feels good to purge what's on your mind. Second, it's the challenges of working in a set form not all that dissimilar from filling in a crossword puzzle.
For those seeking to strengthen their skills as a lyricist, improving one's level of self-knowledge can be as useful a tool to create a great work as better rhyming technique. It isn't about a willingness to spill details, but rather the idea that an enhanced appreciation about true thoughts and motivations can translate into something that will cut through the pap and really connect with the audience.
On her new solo album, "The Reminder," Canadian singer-songwriter Feist demonstrates a newfound willingness to do just that but she takes a non-traditional route. She lays out her feelings with minimal musical ornamentation, but also with a surprising aura of disconnect. The words are personal, but she acts largely passive to the underlying emotions. It's a curious contradiction that endures through the record.
Her previous album, 2004's "Let It Die," was celebratory and sensual with a bossa nova flair and thumping electronica beats. Lyrically, love seemed just another light subject to croon about. With "The Reminder," however, relationships aren't nearly as frivolous as they once were. Her latest songs are obsessed with memories of the past. They're more serious, sophisticated and suggest she's embraced European aesthetics. The album finds the one-time member of Canuck-rock supergroup Broken Social Scene increasingly willing to utilize just her hushed voice to carry brittle melodies.
The change in tone is immediate. Three lines into the record's excellent, low-key opening track, "So Sorry," Feist (a.k.a. Leslie Feist) nearly overturns the song's soothing, acoustic guitar sway by lunging at listeners' ears. She's singing a melancholic apology to a lover for her destructive impulsiveness when she is overcome by another one. Just as she begins to lay the groundwork to mend their frayed romance, her voice sings the word "after" with unexpected, desperate power, striking like a guitar string plucked too hard. That sound and its reverberations immediately grab your attention, make your ears refocus and for the rest of the record, Feist tries to hang on to that moment. She can't and so coaxes our interest by constantly shifting her method of attack, dabbling in various genres to dissect the intricacies of love.
The tracks on "The Reminder" are rich with romanticism and fragmentary images, but there's also an inescapable sense of detachment. Her voice quivers with passion but has a sense of chilly reserve. There's something in her cadence that suggests a French art film. Feist's time as an expatriate in Paris seems to have had a definite influence. Meanwhile, as her songs alternate from folk-rock, country and jazz to indie rock, her vocal presence shifts, from the volatile rawness of Nina Simone to the breathy soul of Cat Power's Chan Marshall.
While there are obvious musical reference points, "The Reminder" really stands out from any record released in years. Its quiet defiance of songwriting conventions make it a difficult and yet appealing disc. Feist won't yield any ground to make a better-selling album. This sets these songs apart, but also places a heavy burden on her listeners. To reach the best moments, you have to sit through a number of moments in which self-indulgence is paramount. She is leading the way at her own challenging pace.
On a song like the languid "The Water," Feist is unhurried as she warbles in measured detail about mountains and cliffs and other rain-swept images, all of which suggest unspoken isolation. A jazz bass and piano-like vibraphone are her companions, but they're only along for the ride that she wants to take them on. The same holds true for the slap-pluck acoustic guitar on "Intuition." Feist again can't be bothered to stop her verses, filled now with vague allusions, to make room for an ear-catching hook. Any listener's patience will be tested after four long minutes, but one can admire her lyrical boldness if not her sonic stubbornness.
She is even more obstinate on "Honey Honey," but offers a few more dynamics that we can hang onto. A vibraphone again appears and Feist overdubs a repeating chorus of wordless background vocals that sound like slowed-down train whistles. Still, the music lags. But when an electric guitar emerges and bristles, the song's painstaking expansion finally picks up. Counter melodies provided by cello, violin and harp offer additional shading and the track eventually balloons into a Joanna Newsom epic.
"The Limit To Your Love" is where Feist finally achieves what she is searching for during most of the record. She's finally found a familiar and effective role to sing about what she wants to. She gets to play like a love-sick big band singer crooning about love. Her fey voice is both sensuous and potent and completely alluring. Beyond her brilliant vocal performance, the song contains a simple but effective four-chord piano motif and an eclectic gang of instruments to fill out this large canvas: guitar, bass drums, steel drums and keyboard-derived strings.
Feist might be dogged in pursuing her vision, but she isn't always so super sincere. She's coy and a little playful on the piano lark "Brandy Alexander," joyfully praising her partner in crime as the music slyly quotes elements of gospel and dance hall music. "One Two Three Four" begins like a Raffi-like, acoustic guitar nursery rhyme about a crush and quickly becomes more sophisticated, musically and lyrically. Simplicity gives way to unique ideas. "Old teenage hopes are alive at your door," she sings, and is quickly joined by a complex arrangement of strings, banjo, chorus of background singers and trumpets. They turn what you thought was going to be a kiddie party into a full-scale parade.
She also still knows how to rock a little. The power-pop of "I Feel It All" should invite comparisons to fellow Canadian all-star rock collective, the New Pornographers. The track shakes from a pair of Telecaster guitars and their snappy, tandem rhythm is the record's most aggressive instruments. "My Moon, My Man," meanwhile, is a funky Broadway show tune that slides downtown during the chorus into a Blondie-style New Wave nugget.
"The Reminder" itself is littered with nuggets of great music and its obvious drawback is that Feist can't yet extract those best moments from the songs hampered by naked arrangements and glacial tempos. Perhaps these are the growing pains of a songwriter evolving. She seems willing as few others do to reach inside herself, but isn't yet cognizant of what is working best. Regardless, it reaffirms the suspicion that she's becoming a more mature artist and one worth keeping an eye on.
For More Info: Previous Columns:Note: David's music column, Soundbytes, appears Wednesdays in our Entertainment section. He welcomes your questions and comments
