Feist in Paris
Manufacturing a main character moment by flying to Paris for a night to see Feist. You're encouraged to listen to her album “Multitudes” while reading.
“You know I'd leave any party for you” - Any Party, Feist
Women can’t have it all. In this case “all” was going to my friend’s birthday party and leaving early to see
- an artist I’ve loved since her song, 1234, was flung to fame on the original iPod Nano ad.Back then I was spinning a burnt CD of her album The Reminder in my mother’s sedan and squeezing in harmonies to the track Brandy Alexander during the short ride to the bus stop. After school I’d watch YouTube videos of her across the ocean in Canada, slipping on blue sequin arm bands before she sung at her live shows.
Cut to me all grown up, living in London, and discovering that Feist was playing live at The Roundhouse. I would finally be able to hear her husky, haunting tones in person (and repay her for all those years of free music consumption). But silly me thought an afternoon BBQ would be finished by the evening and as I went to leave, a disappointed look and a disapproving word kept me glued to an outdoor chair until midnight instead.
“I try to be a good friend, most of the time” - Forever Before, Feist
Ah well, that’s London. You can’t see every gig, much as I had been trying for the last couple of years. But this missed moment caused an itch for the days following, and it turned into quite a sting when The Guardian’s five-star review proclaimed the performance one of the best live shows of the year. In pursuit of a salve, I found myself typing “Feist European tour” into the internet machine, and quickly became addicted to trying out every acrobatic calendar combination across Lisbon, Paris and Madrid’s planes, trains and hostels. All the while, imagining myself in a foreign audience listening to that familiar voice.
“So good at picturing the life that I was gonna be left out of rather than the one I'd made. Well, these arguing words, they gather heavy on my mind. Knitting thoughts like they're my destiny.” - Borrow Trouble, Feist
“I’m not actually going to do it!! Would it be insane if I did though?” I asked my friends as I pretended to try and balance on the decision tightrope.
“Perhaps, but I think it makes sense for you dramaturgically,” replied my faithful friend, Jamison, toppling me into the big blue “BOOK” button.
BOOK the handbag-only flight to Paris. BOOK the girls-only dorm room. BUY the Viagogo resale ticket that the venue won’t verify until the night of the performance… Away we go!
“Do you think people can tell I’m flying to Paris for one night???” I wondered as I tucked my hair behind my ear, main character style, and boarded the plane. There’s no need to tell you what soundtrack I played.
The distance between my Leslie and I was growing smaller, as was my guilt for missing her, and in its place surged excitement. That was, until I hit a wall of people and police at the Charles de Gaulle airport and couldn’t get a train nor answers. I told myself there was still plenty of time, and surely plenty of buses. But one passed, then two more, and after I had walked to all the edges of the airport wing I was seemingly trapped in, I really started to worry. Was my Feistless fate to strike twice in a row?
“Dark in all directions, calling all the gods” - Calling All The Gods, Feist
Anticlimactically, the tape was removed and the crowd dispersed. Right. Away… we… go?
Once I was in the city, I alighted the train as soon as I could, preferring to avoid any risks and take matters into my own feet. I excitedly checked into my hostel, smugly changed from white T to silver tank, and breathlessly galloped out the door.
Despite staying 140 metres away from the venue I was apparently determined to stress myself out one final time by walking in the wrong direction, but in the end, I made it to Elysée Montmartre. Then there was only one final boss to defeat: the scan of the Viagogo ticket.
*Bedoboop*
YOU GO, VIAGOGO.
I am in.
I am ascending the staircase to see my girl.
I am buying an overpriced gin.
I am taking a prime spot in front of the microphone.
I am at heaven’s gate.
“Out of my ears, off of my fingers and out of my dreams” - I Took All Of My Rings Off, Feist
Music starts playing. The lights go down. It’s a big hall with a projection on the back curtain and the crowd quietens as we watch dim imagery fade in. It’s backstage footage, seemingly from the hand of Leslie Feist herself. She’s filming shoes, cables and crew as she slinks out into the crowd, phone in hand, brushes past me and onto the small square stage in the middle of the room. Omg! I’m in Paris and there she is right before me, singing, laughing and trying not to cry. And so am I.
Already this is unlike any gig I’ve been to. She feels remarkably present, but so untouchably cool. She talks about the Canadian production value of the show and the 360 stage (“a donut of song”), proceeding to pick up the microphone and move it to face the other side of the crowd. So much for my perfect spot, but the live stream from her phone continues so I’ve got all angles.
“Ok, I need a volunteer for something,” she appeals, “but you’ll need to give up your night and take on the responsibility of filming the show.”
Arms shoot up, straight as bamboo.
“Now, from experience, it isn’t always the eager hand that gets the best result, it’s the meek.”
Her eyes fix on someone.
“And you, sir, yours was more around elbow height. What’s your name?”
As she hands Louis the phone, he asks what to film and she replies that close-ups work well, and for the next song she requests that we all show the camera what got us through the pandemic. I’ve read a spoiler about this audience participation, but as Louis’ lens floats through the crowd and lands on fabric patterns, held hands and matching tattoos, while I hold my phone’s display of the people who helped me survive 2020, I am moved. It feels like post-pandemic group-therapy. Leslie says, “I didn’t know if we’d ever get to do this live,” and that is the feeling of the show - gratitude and celebration and mourning.
“Get your shit together, Louis!” someone calls out. He’s been filming the interior architecture and tech booth nobs for a while now but moves back to the stage and films Feist from below. Watching the screen, I start to notice that whenever the music swells the image starts repeating like an infinite mirror. Am I manifesting that with my connection to the songs? Has my €15 drink been spiked? It does seem reminiscent of the album cover… But then the camera pans down and rises again on Feist only to reveal a deserted stage and vacant room. The empty footage follows Louis’ every move, even as he steps up onto the podium and circles Feist. Onscreen there is only the microphone. No one is singing. No one is watching. No one is there.
LOUIS. You hired hand devil. You had me in your stabilised camera grip.
(He is later officially revealed to be filmmaker Colby Richardson.)
Do you remember that scene from Pride & Prejudice where Miss Bennett and Mr Darcy dance in a ballroom and suddenly the whole room is empty except for them? Yeah well, I got to experience that in real life. This beautifully choreographed performance is clearly another parallel to the pandemic - the empty rooms, missed experiences, ghosts of people who are no longer there. And here we were all together, feeling a part of something.
“Some people have gone and the people who stayed will eventually go in a matter of days.” - Become The Earth, Feist
At one point, Louis finds a black handbag on the floor at the edge of the room. He opens it up, to the audience’s audible horror, and pulls out a notebook that he hands to Feist between songs. She asks if anyone is the owner and has us choose which page to read, before completing the scrawled poem by heart and interluding into the wildest part of the night yet.
After slyly looping her guitar, she descends into the audience and mimes the planting of a tree. We are like rustling reeds as she wades through to the back wall and mounts a platform. The footage fades and nothing but a lunar spotlight appears on the white curtain, seemingly drawing her to the stage’s centre. With some final, circular sweeps of her long arms the curtain wall crumbles to the floor and reveals a FULL BAND, with blinding lights and spinning mirror balls, and the music explodes over us as we cheer and rush forward to this newly uncovered stage.
I am dancing with my arms in the air.
I am the only one singing along.
I do not know who the special guest is.
“I imagine who is listening. And it's not all of you, I mean.” - The Redwing, Feist
Now with an extensive array of instruments behind her, Feist concedes to play her big catalyst track, 1234, however it has been sonically reimagined. She poignantly introduces it as a representation of “what lies between the memory and what actually happened.”
Later, she speaks of time “misbehaving” in 2020 and it certainly is on this night as we move through chapter after chapter of this understated then utterly psychedelic stagecraft. She returns to her moon landing spotlight at one point, saying “When you step outside of this circle, you’re just buying yoghurt and miscommunicating with someone important to you. But when you’re in here, anything can happen. You should get yourself one of these!” (It is now I would like to mention this being on my Christmas wish list.)
In one of her final songs, she made us all sing this line over and over:
You know I’d leave any party for you
You know I’d leave any party for you
You know I’d leave any party for you
You know I’d leave any party for you
I smiled sheepishly. I’m so sorry, Feist. I didn’t leave the party for you. I left an empty space at your London show. I was a ghost. But I’m here now, for this… what did you call it? This “brief eternity.” We are all here, now.