Cat Power

Ottawa Blues Festival

July 11, 2007

Stacey Gonzalez

The pit area is littered with people. And this crowd is docile. Standing and sitting side-by-side are the older, half wrinkled boho-hippie ladies-of-then mixed with the confused “am I Emo or 80’s?” children of now. Old or young, they sat in circles smoking their pot, the elder ones peering sheepishly around, the young folks pulling at their vibrantly striped leggings.

I made my way to the front of the stage to get into the press pit and take my pictures. David, a security guard that is impossible to miss in his neon-yellow Bluesfest uniform, kindly informs me that there is no press pit for this show.

“They just told us five seconds ago,” he said. “She doesn’t like all the flashes.”

By ’she’ he means Chan Marshall, the heart and soul of the band Cat Power. I snicker to myself and make a remark about how she must be in the wrong business.

The stage is decorated with mythical images of the sun and the moon. They have faces, but to me it looks like something out of one of my elementary school plays.

Her soft, whispery voice is surprisingly good live, floats over the crowd and filters through the smoke. I couldn’t tell if the smoke was real or fake, but it came up the right side of the stage and the sun hit it in just the right spot, casting beams of light toward the audience. Marshall said the word “smoke” clear as day but was it a lyric to a song, or just another complaint?

Ashes fall onto my notepad, and I look up at the creepy figure standing above me. I ask the man, who introduces himself as Lawrence, what he thinks of the show. Lawrence either has a speech problem or he is really drunk, because he mumbled on for about five minuets until I could finally grab one coherent quote from him, which was “God, he’s proud of you when you work, but he loves you when you sing.”

It is hard to believe that Lawrence is drunk at this show. I can’t imagine saying to a group of friends “why don’t we roll up a big blunt, grab some whiskey and rock out at the Cat Power show!” And this Fiona Apple inspired, so-called performer has yet to address her audience, let alone smile like she wants to be on that stage. As I watch the dedicated fans squashed in the front row, swaying back and forth lifelessly like something out of Dawn of the Dead I can’t help but think of how much my mother would enjoy this performance.

“Album music,” I say to Lawrence. “It should be played in some dark, gothic basement with candles burning and a séance in the next room.” Their set of high-school dance slow songs made for a docile, uneventful show. If it weren’t for Lawrence, I may have never been entertained at all. Cat Power was more like the opening band that no one minds showing up late for.