The past couple years, I’ve made a point of leaving Davidson
during Finals, that dreaded time of year when your friends are
over-caffeinated, under-slept, and may or may not have cried or screamed into a
pillow. Not the happiest bunch of
people.
And so my roomie Hayden and I got the hell out of here, for
just a few hours. Destination:
Asheville, North Carolina’s hipstermecca, where it’s unusual for passersby not
to wear skinny jeans, where you can find burritos made with fresh ingredients
(Who knew?), and where it’s hard not to run into a music venue. There are lots of great shows. Last night, Feist played at the Orange
Peel. I’d been waiting to see her for
years, and she did not disappoint.
My expectations were uber-high. It’s hard not to be so demanding of Miss
Leslie. For some of our favorite
artists, their myth, their legend, just seems all the more magical when they
don’t tour often, when you can’t be just a few feet from their flesh and
blood. When you finally get the chance
to be with your heroes, a good performance can still disappoint. For me, the show can go a couple ways: your
hero is detached and removed (to say it bluntly, an ass and possibly pompous), or
he/she connects with you. You don’t have
to have a conversation, but you feel the energy. Leslie Feist did more than that. She was an icon and a bud.
She cracked
jokes, twitch-danced (whatever that is), took the crowd’s cameras and snapped
pics from the stage. Leslie was
personable. We even got past the first question
you ask to begin any relationship: “Where’re you from?” When Leslie would name a city, state, or
country, she asked people to respond in the affirmative by singing,
“Ahhhhhhhhh.” Eventually, she had the
entire room singing, and this “Ahhhhhhhhh” we belted happened to be in the key
of the next song. And so we all sang
together. Tribal, hippie shit at its
best.
The communal feeling helped.
Everybody was familiar with her tunes, even the deeper cuts. That’s one of the great things about Leslie. The friends who bash me (lovingly, I hope) for
my hipster-isms know a song like “The Park.”
It’s difficult not to immerse yourself in her music. I’m sure the crowd would agree, as most
nodded, sang, and danced in tune with each song.
I will say
that the excitement could be a little much sometimes. As Leslie went from a super catchy, upbeat
song, like “I Feel it All,” to a much quieter one, like “Bittersweet Melodies,”
people kept clapping vigorously in rhythm.
In front of me, there was a girl from Brazil with raggedy hair and
piercings; she fist pumped and swung her hand back and forth so hard that she
nearly scratched my cornea a few times.
My stature, of 6’ 5”, put my eye in line with her nail. I’d like to note that this girl’s
near-moshing was to the tune of this track. Still, I appreciated her energy. She
even knew the song that hadn’t been released yet. And she clapped along to that one.
My height wasn’t always so compromising, though. Both Hayden and I were among the tallest at
this show, and so our heads sort of floated above the crowd. Not only did we have a good view of the
stage, but Leslie had a good view of us.
During “The Bad in Each Other,” she averted her gaze toward us, and she
and I made eye contact. Earlier in the
night, she had oriented her body toward the center of the venue, but during the
song she shifted stage left, toward me and Hayden. I’m not saying she had a
crush, just that the connection felt intimate. This moment came after watching the video for
the same song earlier that afternoon. Among all the hired actors in the clip,
she was THE star. At the show, we were buds. Me and les. I think she's coming
by the apartment later.
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Feist plays at the Orange Peel
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