Chan’s Jawn
If the cover tunes from Cat Powers recent album Jukebox confirmed anything, its that Chan Marshall has the ability to seize on the jewels of the great American songbook and pulverize them into a fine, soporific dust. And thats not such a bad thing. Sometimes we need some toe-tappable classics as we wait for our bedtime serving of Celestial Seasonings to steep in its mug.
The latest Cat Power EP, Dark End of the Street, is an even sleepier affair, cobbling together a handful of unreleased outtakes from Jukebox. American and British artists of legendary repute originally made all six songs famous, and its enough to make you wonder how long Marshall is going to ride this train. (Will she have transposed the entire Cash Money catalog into somnambulant balladry by 2012? Were crossing our fingers. Really!) But the tunes on Dark End arent as drowsy as they are dreamy. At her best, Marshall stretches time and unravels song structures, rendering some of her selections almost unrecognizable.
Her version of Creedence Clearwater Revivals Fortunate Son is particularly impressive, diffusing one of rocks most vitriolic moments into little more than ghostly ambiance. John Fogertys iconic yelp is replaced by Marshalls atmospheric coo and when she sings, It aint me, it sounds more like resignation than protest. She drifts into even more ethereal pastures on Who Knows Where the Time Goes, a ballad by the late Brit folkie Sandy Denny. Anchored by little more than fleeting piano chords, the song threatens to disintegrate into nothingness were it not for Marshalls vocal chords acting as a weird, diaphanous, sonic glue.
But its not all magic. Marshalls arrangement of Aretha Franklins It Aint Fair sounds an awful lot like the closing theme music from Saturday Night Live. Close your eyes and youll see Paul Rudd thanking Beyoncé, and the wonderful cast before Marshall slinks into the mix. Vamping on Arethas loners lament, the singer increases the bumout factor by slowing the songs original stagger down to a desperate crawl.
Her treatment of Otis Reddings Ive Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now) offers a much more enjoyable slow burn. Over a quivering organ line, the singer rues a waning romance, singing, Your love is growing cold. In 1965, those words came bursting out of Reddings lungs like fire. Four decades later, they dissolve from Marshalls mouth like smoke.