Review - Cat Power

Right...I'm taking a considerably more gonzo take on this reviewing lark today. Seeing as it's been a difficult few weeks and the amount of work i've got done ranges from managing to get out of bed to buying bogof pizzas at the repulsive sainsbury's down the road, I'm amazed I'm doing anything mildly productive. Do forgive me.

Anyway...this gig happened in lovely Kentish Town not eleven days ago. It was ten days ago. I wasn't going, I had two enormous law exams the following day. But Cat Power does own a voice so hauntingly soothing I thought it could be therapeutic.

Having met my brother's charming fiance in a place called Harrow-On-The-Hill...(I know, I didn't think that was a real place either) I trundled alone down the Tube to meet Mr Sean. Durkin, fellow connoisseur of Cat Power's blissful blues.

Upon arrival a young lady from Brooklyn, New York decided to engage me in conversation. It was fun, she talked funny. Then, to our amusement, the back door opened where three groupies (men groupies exist and are definitely worse than their female counterparts) were met by a buck-toothed beauty. Said beauty told two that they could come backstage. Third, bespectacled, whiney, groupie was told "She doesn't remember you, you can't come in." He got all grumpy and had to stand in the cold. Oh how we chortled.

Once inside, we sat, we drank (well, Sean did) and we saw a support act whose name evades me stumble about the stage, fall over and act, to steal a lyric, like Oliver Reed at an Irish stag do.
Then came Cat. If you haven't heard her last album, 'The Greatest', then stop reading and go get it. Sounding a cross between Joni Mitchell and a less-shouty Karen O, singer Chan (said 'Shawn', not like Jackie Chan) Marshall is both husky and heavenly. She covers Sinatra's 'New York New York' and oh do we wanna be a part of it.

Now, my only previous viewing of Cat Power live was on Jools Holland. Her angelic tones were matched by a striking femininity - white dress, pale skin, Dusty Springfield without the heartache, Marilyn Monroe with a singing voice.

Tonight though, she's dressed in jeans. She dances like a student, sauntering around, sipping from a coffee cup and smoking a cigarette. By the way - smoking is only cool when Chan Marshall is smoking. She could probably make being an RE teacher cool, mind. But some of the other-worldly, ghostly aura of Cat Power is lost by her dressing more like Gabby Logan than the Angel Gabriel.

However, when she sings Empty Shell it doesn't matter if she looks like Mel C. An achingly beautiful melody is accompanied by painfully bruised lyrics, as sorrow is encapsulated with every syllable. If you ever want to break up with someone, play them this song - they'll understand. Okay, no, they probably won't, scrap that. If you ever want to break up with ME, play me this song - i'll understand. That may be the most obtuse advice ever given. Use it wisely.

The band wind up playing a medley of The Stones, Otis Redding and Cat's own piercingly moving classic, Lived In Bars. Put those in a sandwich and no board is needed, they'll sell themselves. Although selling songs via sandwich boards is an interesting proposition. I'd be more likely to invest in them than anything Unicef are trying to flog.

On that bombshell, as a fictitious Norwich-based character once uttered, that will do for this rant. Oh, no, wait. Liverpool played Chelsea in the Champion's League the same time as the gig. Sean (big Liverpool fan), upon hearing Liverpool have won on penalties, gets up and shouts "Fucking get in there" and does some macho posing at the exact moment Cat Power is singing a delicate ballad. Surrounding crowd are not happy, Sean exits stage right. I stay seated, embarassed but jubilant. Sean returns, we celebrate secretly, then the gig continues. And that is all.

If you've read this, don't worry. I'm acutely aware this is drivel and it won't happen again. If it does, i'll be out of a job and my planned summer shifts at BeerSeller will become altogether more permanent. If that isn't motivation I don't know what is.

Tell me if this amused you or informed you in any way. If not, I just wasted, ooh, a good 12 minutes of my life. As Paul Smith said, I didn't even check the spelling.


Word Count: go on, I dare you...