Cat Power + Appaloosa - The Orpheum Theatre (Boston, MA; Feb 7, 2008)

My, my.

Cat Power, known as Chan (pronounced “Sean") Marshall offstage, is a woman we used to discuss mainly in the context of our wishing she’d get over her intense, burning discomfort.

So, right, she went ahead and did that.  No longer the booze soaked, sulking art-school waif she once was (who we just adored, clearly), she has grown into a confident and goddamn JOYFUL individual.  I miss her dark and twisty days and the aching melancholy they generated, but this latest transformation is heartwarming—and not at all in the annoying way.  It does seem that this new booming stage confidence inhibits her ability to slow down and sulk when the time is right, making me wonder whether she’s a bit afraid to venture back into the bad place that allowed her to sing that way.  Certainly it’s not what we would have pegged her for 10 years ago.  But I do believe we’re still listening.

Dressed in what can best be described as Johnny Cash-takes-the-L-train (all black + white, potentially patent leather shoes), Ms. Marshall trotted on stage with not a bit of the old trembling self to be seen, and made her way through Jukebox, her latest album of mostly country and soul covers, along with a few numbers from her last album, The Greatest.  Her live rendition of “Silver Stallion” did not approach the sensual, aural sex of her recorded version ("I’m gonna find me a reckless man / razor blades and dice in his eyes / just a touch of sadness in his fingers / thunder and lightnin’ in his thighs / and we’re gonna ride” - JESUS).  Her slide guitar man experienced some instrument malfunction at the beginning, depriving us of the drawling intro we were expecting, and the overall tone was more playful than sultry, but this version’s galloping giddy-up was a respectful nod to The Highwaymen’s epically cowboying original.  Later in the show, she sang a steamy “Ramblin’ (Wo)man” with a gentle touch that would have turned Hank Williams’ head and a rawly yearning version of Patsy Cline’s “She’s Got You.” Cat Power + country = an excellent idea.  The soul portion of the evening, which included a raspy and sensual doo-wop cover of James Brown’s “Lost Someone,” demonstrated her new-found confidence the most clearly.  While she still has a tendency to hop around like a chicken from time to time, she now also prances and struts.

The transformation Cat Power has undergone was never more apparent than in her covers of her own stuff - namely her own “Metal Heart,” which she introduced as “an old song from when I was a young girl,” and Moby Grape’s “Naked, If I Want To,” which appeared on her first album of covers.  Both songs were downright triumphant and commanding where they used to be dark and coy.

Importantly, it seems that Cat Power can now handle a band, and they can handle her.  This is no doubt part of the source of her confidence, and lends a polish to her performance that was once sorely lacking.  In her last couple of tours for “The Greatest,” she had a band, but honestly, as remarkably talented as they were, I don’t think she really knew what to do with them.  The tension created by their unsuccessful attempts to work together was distracting and a little unpleasant.  While this new crew of pointy-haired, skinny-jeaned white guys (the Dirty Delta Blues) may not look to be the authentically soulful bunch that her last band was, they’re just as talented, and they do seem to give her what she needs.

And so, yup, Cat Power has reached new heights.  This was evidenced by the collage of characters who surrounded me at the Orpheum, each enjoying her crooning in their own way: the young lawyer to my left, the massive hollering frat boy to my right, and the mulleted hipster to the front.  She’s able to bring her music to the people now—all of em, apparently—and if this is how she’s gonna sound, I don’t see how that could be a bad thing.

Unfortunately, the opener (Appaloosa), comprised of one Parisian chanteuse + one Brit computer-n-casio techie, was just odd.  Surrounded by haphazardly strewn equipment, the dude bopped around behind his pile of electronics while she raspily muttered some nonsense nearby, channeling Nico in those later, very unpleasant years.  Someone’s dog burst onto the stage now and then.  It might have been interesting.  I wanted it to be.  But it wasn’t.  It’s possible that these two could come up with something worth listening to in the studio, but their live performance—characterized mostly by her staring uncomfortably at him, frequently with her back turned to the audience while singing two or three notes per song—left many things to be desired. 

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