Sunshine at the Flynn Theater

Published September 17, 2007

By Johanna Hiller

Last Sunday night I saw Feist perform at the Flynn Theater, and when I left with my friend I was dead-silent, caught in a reflective trance. When he asked what I thought of the show, I managed to say, “I feel the way you do when you see someone who does the same exact thing as you, only ten times better.” This applies to me because I am a female vocalist/guitarist in a rock band. It applies to all the other girls in Burlington as well because, let’s face it, anything you can do—have a great hair cut, dress hip, or be cute—Feist can do better.

I walked into the Flynn during the end of the opening band, Rogue Wave’s, set. It was painfully mediocre. Anyone would have looked brilliant following these guys; it was boring, slow, and not very cute at all. After an anxious intermission, Feist’s band took the stage, started up a rocking version of “ When I was a Young Girl,” and then Feist herself came skipping out to enormous applause. Charmingly late, she sported a white mini-dress and perfect bangs. Everyone forgot who Rogue Wave was, and the show really started.

Feist played all the favorites off of Let it Die (2005) and The Reminder (2007). Vocally, she sounded more like Björk than herself with a slightly breathier edge. Her voice was so good, really, that it outshone her lyrics in an anti-Dylan sort of way. Her set list covered a number of genres. She really rocked during her Indie Power-Pop tracks “I Feel it All,” “My Moon, My Man,” and “1234.” Ballads like “The Park” were more like soothing lullabies, where Feist seemed like everybody’s favorite babysitter.

Feist’s band was no ordinary rock band—they didn’t stick to guitar, bass, and drums—they played a little of everything: melodica, piano, brass, banjo. Make no mistake though, this was Feist’s show, and at points I even felt bad for the guys behind her. Who wants to whisper “mushaboom” into low-volume back-up mics while Feist steals the show?

Between every song Feist tuned her guitars fanatically, but she was darling as she did it, and the audience ate it up. The constant tuning and the shtick didn’t amuse me. However, while I wanted to hate Feist by the middle of the set, I couldn’t, because she just seemed so damn nice and so damn talented. By the encore, I was fatigued. It could have been the overenthusiastic audience that tired me out. I felt like the only one in the room who hadn’t taken Prozac. There was so much positive energy that it was unbearable.

Feist opened the encore with “Sea Lion” and made the mistake of inviting everyone in the theater up on stage to dance with her. She was nearly crushed by the fifty well-dressed fans dancing rabidly around her, all with cell phones in hand trying to get a photograph of their idol. At the brink of a violent explosion in the Flynn, Feist toned it down, playing “Let it Die” and making all the fans on stage sit back down.

I don’t know how Feist made it off stage that night; when I left the theater she was still stuck up there in a crowd of awe-struck, sweaty kids. After I escaped Feist’s mob of fans, I walked home completely drained. The show’s exuberance and Feist’s overwhelming energy sapped me. I was impressed but also disappointed to observe someone so much damn better than I.

Print This Article

Comments