Margot St. Clair

Truly The Greatest

Cat Power’s new album is a surprise, to say the least - but the surprise is a good one, and for better or worse, her fan base is about to explode.

Her last album was 2003’s You are Free, and now she returns with a revolutionary album, The Greatest. It is satisfying in a way that Cat Power has never been. While her previous work leaves you longing (and this is precisely why it is so good), the effect of this album is strangely fulfilling. It’s almost…happy. The tunes are even catchy, with rocking roadhouse piano and finger-snapping accompaniments. It is less singular than her other records, but the fact that it is easier to like doesn’t detract from its soulfulness or its sincerity, if anything, it adds to its musicality.

‘True’ followers of Indie rock will no doubt be pshaw-ing when they hear it, with its wide-range potential appeal and anodyne flair. Secretly they’ll be playing it on their ipods – allowed this indiscretion (it IS still on Matador) but somehow indulging in a guilty pleasure. Sure, this album is sad and hopeless in a way that only Chan Marshall can be, but it’s not bleak, and it’s not baleful. Those indie fans not so die-hard in their singularity will be pleased to discover that her lyrics are still nearly-imperceptible, but her melodies now have a prominence. It’s hard to say how much influence her Memphis-based back-up band had, for there is a hint of this more mainstream tendency in some of her later work, especially on 2003’s You are Free (most notably “I Don’t Blame You” and “Fool”).

Songs like “Living Proof” and “Lived in Bars” would never have been possible on a previous Cat Power album. There are no screeching guitar riffs here, no truculent melodies or atonal lyrics. These are reminiscent of swinging ‘70s southern rock songs. And the fact that her amazing voice is at the front of these songs makes them stunning. These songs are not representative of why we have come to love Cat Power, they are too easy. It has always been the hint of beauty that has kept me coming back to her, but now she allows us full exposure to her exquisite voice. It feels she’s awarded us something - the delight experienced after a prolonged exposure to dissonance.

“Empty Shell” comes closer to being a true country song than most songs that currently try to label themselves ‘country’. With its down-home violin progressions and heartbreaking lyrics it reckons back to the music your pa taught you to know and love; this isn’t a song about drinking whiskey or pick up trucks, it’s about hurt, with a surreal hopefulness that is the true medium of country.
“All that is left is an empty shell / Of my heart that is crushed / I don’t never wanna see / What my mind has seen / When you loved me / Every night every night alone with you / Every night alone now.”
It is somewhat reminiscent of 2003’s “Good Woman,” though the latter’s violin is more menacing and unpolished. But again, the tendency toward this album is evident.

“Could We” is a fun romp, its horn accompaniment reminiscent of Springsteen’s “E Street Shuffle.” Elsewhere I’ve read a lambasting of this tune, but it’s free and easy, characteristics I suppose most Cat Power fans aren’t expecting from her.

The unadulterated beauty of “Where is my Love” would be unthinkable on Cat Power albums of the past. The strings and words are evocative of an interlude in a musical, a beautiful belle staring out her window, Snow White sure that someday her prince will come. It occupies the same eccentric space as Bjork’s harp-accompanied “Like Someone in Love” off Debut, though somehow a happy fairy-tale is more believable on a Bjork album.

“After it All” is her most successful union of southern blues and her own sound, though it tilts away from her standard toward the country. On this track, we find her lilting and singular voice, backed with fantastic blues piano.

“Hate” and “Love & Communication” are Chan Marshall as we know her. And they are a fitting ending to this wonderful album. They remind us that this apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree, despite what our own expectations may be. To me, this album feels like a more grown up Chan Marshall, one perhaps more concerned with things outside her insular world. It's looser, more accepting of fate, less hateful of circumstance. And I think that’s a fitting reminder to us all. Hopefully it will bring some of our more revolutionary indie lovers back to the basics, reminding us to like it because it’s good, not because we are different for liking it.

posted by Margot St. Clair @ 11:28 AM