Feist, Mountain Man, Timber Timbre
Egyptian Room at Old National Centre
Monday, April 30
No offense, Indianapolis, but you should be ashamed of yourself - minus the half-full room of you who were at this show, of course. Timber Timbre opened their set right at 7:30 p.m., and the audience eventually took notice. The Canadian folk and blues band is worth paying attention to; a few people knew that. They only played for about 30 minutes, featuring songs from their 2009 self-titled album and their more recent Creep on Creepin' On. Both albums are beautiful. Taylor Kirk runs the show, with incredible vocals, guitar and the booming bass drum. Go buy this band's albums.
Sure, it was raining on Monday night, the Pacers were in the playoffs and half the state was studying for finals: none are excuses for missing Feist. She was joined on stage by Mountain Man: three young women with an Appalachian a cappella thing going. No one seemed to mind that the crowd was thin, though, least of all Leslie Feist. She acted like we were all at her slumber party or something, teasing with the idea that she was going to invite people on stage for a talent show of sorts. And she did, after playing a full set and then some. Someone played piano, a couple performed a song: This was not your ordinary folk/rock show. But it became pretty clear that each of Feist's shows must be a unique experience. There were really interesting things were going on with percussion and the collection of four female voices that were onstage. And it's comforting to see an artist have creative control over the show. We don't go to shows just to see a live version of the album; unexpected things are fun. There were cameras set up all over the stage, and the enormous screen behind the band featured different (and sometimes awkward) shots of the musicians. This show was probably as close of an experience as one can get to actually being part of Feist's band.
They played some old songs, but mostly focused on the new album, Metals. The audience played its role, helping when it could, especially with songs like "The Bad in Each Other," but you couldn't help returning to the fact that a huge, booming group of people would have made the difference. "How Come You Never Go There" highlighted Feist's voice: that voice that you're perfectly happy to have running through your mind, somehow cute and catchy but entirely fierce, too. Feist kept checking in with her crowd: she sympathized with the landlocked state that we were all in, kept us laughing, kept us exceedingly glad that we were there.