They hardly sparkle with the sunshine pop of the Beach Boys or the gleaming funk of Dr. Dre, but Feist's pleasant brand of melancholy strikes the right mood for winding in (Unintelligible) city, feeling comfortably lost and alone.
As I paddle out into the surf on a crystal clear California morning, brown pelicans swoop low over the ocean, and a flock of seagulls of Hitchcockian proportions soar above a deserted beach where a harbor seal lolls in the sunshine.