Cat Power
Jukebox
Confident is not a word regularly used to describe Cat Power. Now, almost two years past her hospitalization for psychiatric issues, she handles a hermetic performance schedule, free from the prying mouths of the press—and for good reason. Her shows, while improving, are a display in public anxiety attacks. (She sparred with the sound engineer for over an hour at a recent State Theater show.) Yet, when Chan Marshall has the confidence to give in to her art, when she believes in the song and the absoluteness of her voice, the results are beyond remarkable. All the bullshit stage fright that she uses as a crutch melts away and we the audience are left with someone whose music and heart become interchangeable.
For the most part, Chan gains this confidence through her incredible talent to cover songs and turn them into her own blues standard, as proven by her album, The Covers Record, which caught the eye of the industry. It’s no wonder she returned to the same format in Jukebox. Covers give Chan a blanket, a shield, a stage persona. She even used the inherent humor in cover songs for protection, as evident in her live rendition of Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” just after her hospital stay. She can play a version of herself, while playing a version of someone else. It’s more than a coincidence that the album art of Jukebox consists of three different colored photographs of Cat Power.
But, Jukebox is not set to play on random. Marshall’s choice in songs attracts her to cover male artists who possess their own reputation of masculinity, their own facades for protection, for confidence. This ranges from Sinatra’s alpha male ready to take on the Big City in “New York, New York” to Dylan’s independence (“I Believe In You”), to James Brown’s sexual proclivity (albeit on a softer track, “Lost Someone”). She even rides along with Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Chris Kristofferson, and Waylon Jennings–four of country music’s biggest swinging dicks–on The Highwaymen’s “Silver Stallion” and spins it into a languid ballad that resonates more of female empowerment than the ‘80s supergroup could ever muster.
She does best when covering herself. “Metal Heart” soars past its sludgy Moon Pix version, with the lyrics best suited for her current state: “It's damned if you don't and it's damned if you do; be true, 'cause they'll lock you up in a sad, sad zoo.” The changeup is a perfect metaphor for Marshall. She was never angry enough to be the next PJ Harvey, not daring enough to be the next Aretha.
It’s Dylan’s “Believe In You” where Marshall is at her Muscle Shoals confident, outperforming her mundane cover of “Stuck In Mobile” on the I’m Not Here OST. A post-born-again-Christianity Dylan track, “Believe” starts off simple with the Dirty Delta Blues Band setting Chan up in a driving force and snare kick leaving her isolated in a wonderful purr mode–proof of her faith in her self, her voice, and her band.
“Song to Bobby” is the only melancholy track, undercut by humor, describing a teenage crush on Dylan. The vocal influence of Zimmerman reveals more than passing shades of Dylan, shades of his own “crush” on Woody Guthrie in “Song To Woody.” And like Bobby, Chan is learning that a craftily created persona – whether on stage or in front of the press – is the best insurance against insanity, as well as the proverbial Dumbo feather placebo that lends her the confidence to give it all.
Chan once sang how she wanted to be the greatest. Jukebox shows she should still try.
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