Live Review: Cat Power

Cat Power, aka Chan Marshall, enters the City Recital Hall stage, dressed in a jacket, jeans, sensible blouse. She's smiling and brandishing an electric guitar, stands in front of twin mics. There's no pauses once Marshall gets going. She just kicks on through song after song, alone on a large, empty stage designed for classical works, the audience not knowing when to clap and cheer. It's a room full of diehard Cat Power fans reliving their troubled youths, Marshall a source of sad-girl solace and grace and power. The reverence, the esteem, with which the crowd holds Marshall mean that no one even sings along, Marshall's voice resonating throughout the room on set highlights Fool, Maybe Not, Great Expectations, The Greatest and Hate. It's a powerful show, moody, fluid, creating its own little world, but it's also often clumsy and awkward, the gravity of the venue at odds with Marshall's demeanour.

Because Marshall has an awkward stage manner. She mumbles and fumbles and stretches and drinks tea, breaking into troubling coughing fits before continuing on, now at a piano. She tries banter but seems uncomfortable with it, preferring to rave and ramble, almost to herself, apologising for having her side to the audience, and attempting to play with her body turned towards the crowd, grinning. It's a sweet, playful moment, as is the sincere, "I need help just like everybody needs help. Thank you, I'm sorry," after another uncomfortable interaction with the crowd. At the end of the show, the house lights up, she keeps playing and mumbling, waiting for the audience to leave first, seemingly unwilling to break the contract between musician and listener. "This is me trying to say goodbye," she says, before talking about how her child waves, not like washing windows, but like saying 'go away'.