Feist’s canny sense of rhythm, the way her words dance between snare and bass, is missed. This is comfort music that emerged during a period when Feist, and everyone else, needed lots of comforting-ASMR-folk for the tattered soul.Īt times, the album’s lowkey spareness can make it feel plain lullabies, after all, are meant to lull. On “Forever Before,” an ode to Tihui that details the perspective shifts that come with no longer living only for oneself, she repeats the words “fear” and “fearless,” stretching them out wide, and the effect is as serene as a deep breathing exercise. Several times across the record, a chorus of Feists sings lines in the round, offering an illusion of plenty. Nearly everything revolves around her voice, a darting melodic hummingbird flying right next to your ear, along with her acoustic strumming and fingerpicking, calling back to classics by Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen, and Joni Mitchell. And whereas the distorted tones smeared over 2017’s Pleasure could make it seem as if she were squaring off against her guitar and microphone, Multitudes mostly sounds as cozy as a winter sweater that’s three sizes too big. Half of the 12 songs here don’t have any drums whatsoever, and most of the rest lack anything resembling a steady backbeat. It is her quietest album, an invitation to introspection. Written during the blurry height of the pandemic, when Feist was beginning a new life with her adopted daughter, Tihui, Multitudes is largely a testament to hushed perseverance amid personal and collective upheaval. These pieces of her sit alongside the ones she’s stacked up across two decades of sidelong stardom: The cosmopolitan chanteuse.
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