Cat Power

Night before last I had the pleasure of seeing the great Cat Power and her band perform at my home town. Let me just say, this is an amazing thing, not just because I was able to see Chan jiving around and bitch-slap hecklers (figuratively), but I was able to do it in Castlemaine. I don't know how they do it, but the guys at the Theatre Royal have a knack for landing great gigs. Cat Power played several shows around Australia, the usual Capital Cities tour, but took the time to come to regional Victoria. Not Bendigo, Not Geelong, Castlemaine. Needless to say, I snapped up tickets asap and Sanxi and I went along with grins on our faces.

Now this was an over-18's gig, which suited me fine, and I enjoyed the fact that there were 4 active bars throughout the small venue. But one thing the organisers should have known (and it's been made well clear in the past) is that Castlemaine is full of indie-rocking little nuts, fresh out of their Mama's reefer-soaked womb, so why this was made an over-18's show I don't know (didn't stop anyone though).

Doors opened at; on came a French girl at 8:30 who wailed to a backing track; then one guitarist, a drummer, and about three loop stations. Made for an interesting support act.

Ok, the guts of it. The band came on, everyone rejoiced, and Chan started crooning away like smokey honey. All good, all great. But my first reaction was that everyone in the band looked quite... well... old. I turned around and besides the handful of the aforementioned teens, the audience was... well... also old... It was a room of middle-aged rockers.

Now I'm not adverse to the idea of experienced musicians, but it threw me for a bit (quoth J.D.'s confusion: "Apple-tinis!? When did queens start drinking straight drinks!?). This lead me to my epiphany-of-the-night: If Wilco is described as Dad-rock, then Cat Power is certainly Mama-soul. Not to say she herself looked very post-natal, dancing around the stage; grabbing at herself and looking sultry, but it was clear she wore the pants in the family. Her singing made you want to fall asleep in her arms, but the STFU-while-i-sing-the-damn-song attitude made it a bit... authoritarian.

At one point an overly eager fan proclaimed her love for Chan, who replied with a giant "SHHH!".

The critic in me wanted a bit more love in the air. That said, the band blew me away. Jim White: a local boy on drums, Greg Foreman: keys extraordinaire (and winner of the facial hair contest), guitarist Judah Bauer/Viggo Mortensen, and bassist Erik Paparazzi vied for my affection the whole night, and neither won out. They sounded parfeck, the whole night through, and seemed like genuinely great people (and apparently Foreman likes books).

Chan delivered the act of a rock queen, and her voice was as magical as ever (despite what looked like a very painful sore throat), which satisfied every bodily nossle I required satisfying. And she did it while looking damn fine.

So this is going down as one of the best gigs I've been to, and I'm crossing my keyboard-battered fingers in hope of more Theatre Royal gigs of this caliber.

P.S. I love Wilco. If Jeff Tweedy and Chan Marshall want to produce a child, I would be more than happy to be it's Suga-daddy.

P.P.S. I did like it when Chan stopped the show "on a serious note" to find a random from the audience who was able to talk in a Donald Duck voice. Well done with the frivolity!

-MPfree-

Cat Power - The Greatest

Cat Power - Salty Dog