Cat Power - Live

Cat Power
Shepherds Bush Empire, London
Sunday 27th January

You don’t quite know what to expect from Cat Power. She never seems sure what to expect from herself. Tonight, she is an intoxicating mix of alluring emotion, kooky elusiveness and vocal presence.

The start is pedestrian as she pitter-patters onstage, suitably understated in waistcoat and jeans. Her four-piece band, The Dirty Delta Blues, are restless, a note shy, a foot wrong. ‘Metal Heart’ simmers by, adequate but uninspired; Cat saunters, comfortably subdued. It takes the contiguous charm of ‘Dark End Of The Street’ to pierce the normality of the show, coaxing a quivering croon from Cat and sparking her into newfound theatrical interaction.

Suddenly, the crowd is laughing at her exaggerated cockney impressions, swooning at a stylish take of ‘Naked If I Want To’, gaping at a smoky cascade through ‘New York, New York.’ Cat Power looks like a star, relaxed amid the luxurious sound she is conjuring. Yet a tension remains. She dances with flowers, but stays strangely side on, rarely centre-stage. She seeks refuge in her band, never assured the whole business isn’t a mirage. “I’m so sorry,” she says, sincerely, after merely dropping her mic. “Turn the spotlight off."

It is this self-conscious complexity burrowing within that charges the potential to create striking moments like ‘Lived In Bars.’ In a set heavy with covers, it is the reinterpretations of her own tracks that are most intriguing. The song, underpinned by a melting melody, wrestles with its singers contradictions. Ethereal subtlety becomes anguished howls, passing into joyous release before reconnecting with a lost hopefulness as the drums fade out.

The soulful American retains shards of mystery as she disappears offstage, returning with fresh drinks and a ban-defying cigarette. She’s playful again, pitching paper in baseball fashion into the audience, casually coasting in jazz-tinged renditions of ‘Could We’, and ‘Willie.’ Her tribute to Dylan, ‘Song To Bobby’, is more revealing. An open tenderness amplifies her wounded vocals, spreading warmth. The atmosphere is inclusive - tight but never constricting. Cat feeds on this, drawing you closer with the bashful imagery of ‘The Moon.’

Ultimately though, there is always distance. The adorable sorrow in her voice as she ends with Otis Redding’s ‘I’ve Been Loving You Too Long’ never quite gives way to reckless abandonment; you get the feeling there’s more, she’s subconsciously holding back. This enigmatic nature is undoubtedly part of her attraction, and probably keeps her just about sane. As she departs without encore, scattering petals as she goes, those present appear satisfied to witness as much as she is willing to show.