That's right. Get used to it. We didn't think there was such a thing either, but when a young lady sitting behind us, wearing a perfectly fine outfit, belched a guttural YESSSS! when Leslie Feist played the first notes of "1, 2, 3, 4", it became evident that her music has inspired this new class of American music fan. We didn't see what this girl was doing when she bellowed but we'll pretend it involved two arms raised high, the fingers on each hand twisted into lowercase f's. The Hammerstein Ballroom, a pretty massive NYC space, was gorged with girls on the first of Feist's two nights, and for the first time in a long time, we didn't have to go to a Hannah Montana concert to witness total, unequivocal feminine jamming. When Feist whispered "Honey Honey", there was respectful silence. When she shredded (yeah, shredded) "I Feel It All"—total eruption. We couldn't see from the balcony (dubbed "The Titanic" by Leslie), but there had to have been some epic shoulder rubbing going on down on the floor. People were excited! Trust, there was crazy air-pianoing and almost constant sing-along, but the sea of people was also glassy and cooperative. It was weird. Where else does that happen? Catholic churches?

All we're saying is that—and this is no revelation—Feist pwns Lite Times. She's become more popular than we ever would've bet, and we're not totally sure how. It's kind of the same way Barack Obama has overcome his bad demographics by attracting so many new voters into the mix. Where have all these women been? Why don't they come to more shows? We're sick of dudes. They stink and don't dance. They were at the Feist show not singing along. And you know what, dudeguys, you don't get to crank our "Mushaboom" music box or wear our Feist t-shirt or put shit in our Feist canvas tote or listen to our Feist vinyl. See Feist this summer all over Europe and North America.