There are few artists on the planet with a more infamous live show than Chan Marshall – for better or worse. A ticket to a Cat Power show is akin to throwing $70 on a roulette table: sometimes the sheer emotion and desperation of her heart-wrenching ballads of life, love and loss shines through in an evocative and angelic manner, other times it (and the tumultuous life she’s endured) gets the better of her as she weeps despondently, babbles nonsense and train-wrecks song after song. Tonight, a performance that was postponed by three months due to health issues, fell somewhere within the middle of this musical Venn diagram.
Taking to the stage of the Melbourne Recital Centre in solo mode, with little more than her guitar and piano to accompany, Marshall appeared slightly aghast, almost overwhelmed by the occasion. Over the behemoth, career-spanning set, Marshall ducked and weaved through her back-catalogue, ranging from Old Detroit, Hate, The Greatest and Let Me Go alongside a smattering of covers. But there was an unfaltering uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. Chords were more-than-occasionally missed and lyrics stumbled upon as Marshall jumped from song-to-song with not a second of interval between.
It wasn’t until 80 or so minutes in that Marshall properly acknowledged the crowd. After an elongated and illogical rant about a server not understanding her order of a chicken sandwich, she whispered multiple incoherent remarks and banged the two microphones together exclaiming “sloppy sex”. At first it was somewhat endearing; after five-straight minutes it became worrisome. The audience’s initial laughter at the situation dimmed rapidly.
A few ballads later and Marshall departed for the night with an awkwardly extended exit, prowling around the stage while strumming her guitar in a discomfited manner. There would be no encore, though not many seemed disappointed. There were rare glimpses into Marshall’s prowess for poignancy throughout the evening, but unfortunately they were few and far between.
BY TYSON WRAY
Loved: The foresight to bring an umbrella.
Hated: Leaving my umbrella in the holder at Script bar next door, which was closed after the performance.
Drank: Not in this venue, chump.
