Whatever else it is, Pleasure is strikingly personal, in the sense that it feels every inch like an expression of some part of Leslie Feist without regard to saleability or expectation. We know she can write wonderfully warm melodies (not to mention bittersweet ones) and a hell of a chorus when she wants to - never more in evidence than on last album Metals - but on this outing she sticks almost exclusively to a moody, stretched out, slow-burn rockishness that I would enjoy more if it more frequently caught really alight, but nonetheless, has a lot going on.
