Monday, January 17, 2005

Weekend Reading
Yeah, yeah. It's Monday. But we had the day off. So technically it's at least still our weekend. If it's not yours, that's not our problem.

In a timely piece (at least for our purposes), The Sunday Times find Feist hard to pin down. To wit: The mix of originals and cover versions on Let It Die is equally hard to get a handle on — with the result that their creator appears (and sounds) elusive. Thus, the question "What does she look/ sound like?" has tended to broaden out into: "Who is she?" "I don’t expect anyone to puzzle it out and spend a lot of time thinking about it," she says, sounding half exasperated and half amused. "It’s not their life, so why should they even care to think about it?"...

What has been overlooked as a result of all this busy prospecting and prescribing is that Feist is the greatest female singer to have emerged in several years. In a musical age where we prize the two extremes of bloodcurdling authenticity and knowingly manipulative plasticity, Feist’s vocal hallmarks — detachment and secret, effortfully concealed tristesse — seem old-fashioned and confusing. It’s as if we have forgotten that one of the qualities that made, say, Dusty Springfield (with whom Feist has been compared) so shattering was her aloofness.

Golly. In other news...

The Game: Like Ken Burns, only shorter
Bright Eyes: Breaking out (also: here)
How this guy trained to belt like Fantasia
Soundtrack Of Our Lives: Real names, no gimmicks
Scissor Sisters: Sheer quality
"Band 50 Foot Wave Copes With Bad Timing"
Computer-aided pop perfection
Remixing Bjork for charity
Mark E Smith on his cinematic self
Long time ago when Queen was daft
Athlete: Going for... oh forget it...

P.S. We finally got around to posting our own ode to Feist. It can be found here.

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