Live shot July 24 2003
The Earl, July 15: When asked to pick their own method of torture, very few envision witnessing their favorite singer/songwriter plod unsettlingly through a two-hour set of misfires and meanderings. But fans of Chan Marshall, aka Cat Power, routinely take chances with their time and money. And tonight, they’re losing big time.
After prodding the staff at The Earl to turn the lights down, Marshall somehow manages to fire off three songs in the first 30 minutes, including a cover of the White Stripes’ “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground.” But her frustration with the sound prohibits her from reaching maximum efficiency — mic reverb makes her sound “like a comedian” or “an auctioneer;” the guitar sound is apparently too clean.
Marshall soldiers through a few songs off her latest gem, You Are Free, but soon wavers off course. After dedicating “Good Woman” to Atlanta, she asks if her father is there (apparently not), suggests that the audience receive a partial refund, and calls out for current tour guitarist and Smoke-alum Coleman Lewis (he’s also absent).
Every 30 minutes, the crowd decreases. Sounds from the kitchen become more noticeable, beer bottles crash to the floor as people become restless, and extraneous conversation is suddenly audible. Nevertheless, Marshall trudges on, finishing about a third of the songs she attempts.
As the night wears on, Marshall: reveals that she takes Zoloft and was born at Crawford Long Hospital; intentionally goofs her “ABCs”; implies that a rowdy audience member is homosexual; raps a couple lines from a song by shock-rocker Peaches; and proclaims, “They hate me everywhere else. Why should this city be different?”
Even with her best friend, Jennifer, in the front row, Marshall, performing solo, can’t get on track. While Cat Power audiences usually elicit a fair mix of apathy and empathy, many regard this performance as pathetic. The night ends with a perfect summation of the proceedings: Marshall plays a blues stomp that rambles on for almost 10 minutes, finally letting out a guttural yelp. Then she false-starts “Salty Dog,” and quietly and unceremoniously picks up her belongings, and leaves.
Apache Cafe, July 17: Whild Peach proves to be the antithesis to Cat Power. The duo, along with its four-piece backing band, appears after a slew of opening acts, including over-the-top solo performer Malachi, who in 15 minutes provided all the entertainment that two hours with Marshall yielded, and 420, a rap duo featuring the son of Whild Peach.
Once on stage, Whild Peach simply owns the venue. A mixed-race crowd proves to be less of a melting pot than the styles that collided to form the band’s funk-hybrid. Front woman Peach is mesmerizing, commanding the attention of the entire audience. A member of my party says she’s unbelievably sexy — not bad for a woman with a son in his 20s. And her howl (think Taylor Dayne meets Diana Ross while smoking a joint with Janis Joplin) transformed every song into an anthem. Visually, her beatnik backing ensemble was equally notable.
Husband David Whild came fully color-coordinated. Unfortunately, his yellow Spiderman-patterned shirt and green pants were louder than his guitar, which was lost in a mix configured for a hip-hop show. The purple on his guitar matched one of the secondary colors on his shirt almost as well as his Prince/Usher stutter complemented his wife’s croons.
The band tore through a set of originals, picked up the crowd with a groove-inflected version of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir,” and invited the locally grown, nationally known Joi on stage later in the set to add sultry soul to the blend. When keyboardist Hezekiah Nixon broke out on the talk box, I feared the worst — Frampton cover. What followed was an all-out hip-hop jam that included a multi-generational line dance by Peach, her mother and her sister.
Roni Sarig’s Sharp Notes column is on hiatus and will return in late August.