Cat Power
The Greatest

THE REVIEW

When I decided to listen to this album by Cat Power, known in everyday life as Chan Marshall, I tried to forget the beauty of the previous "You Are Free." As much as possible, I tried to free myself from it and make tabula rasa of the memories present in my mind, because I didn't want my listening experience to be conditioned by my expectations. I simply wanted to try to take things as they are, attempting to fully experience the taste of discovery with renewed naïveté. Now I can say I did the right thing, because naïveté seems to be the sentiment that best suits the approach to this music, where we do not find any sophistication, special effects, or striking blows, but only a handful of songs that are at times delicate, nostalgic, sweet, soft, at other times bitter, throbbing, imperceptibly scratchy, but always capable of leaving a significant mark. As happens in the opening ballad that gives the album its title: "The Greatest." Gently, the piano and guitar prepare the entry of the voice that arrives soft, somewhat suffering with a romantic aftertaste. There is something clearly sweet in the music, thanks to the support of strings and guitar, which seems to recall the cry of a seagull in the distance; but there is also a bitter contrast that captivates and conquers.

The first impression of this warm and velvety beginning is therefore that of a melancholic and bitter sweetness outlined by the feminine sensitivity of Cat Power. This will resurface from time to time throughout the listening, supported by subtle hints of indolent and sinuous winds ("Lived In Bars"), country violins ("Could We"), a languid pedal steel ("Islands"), background second voices ("Willie") or again by the emotional and fragile sadness of Chan Marshall's voice ("Where Is My Love"). Intense and mature throughout the course of the album, it is capable of hinting at and keeping company with an elegant sensuality and a deep suffering. But there are also different tenor moments, which represent an energetic counterpoint capable of enlivening the listening. "Living Proof," for example, is more vital, even if it hides a whispered blues soul among its weaves; "Lived in Bars" has a more determined rhythm and soul hues, enhanced by the Hammond in the background, while "After It All" is made of disenchanted irony and serenity. Additionally, there are evident in several passages some rhythm & blues influences, and folk hints are not lacking, highlighting special care in defining the album's arrangements with piano, strings, and winds surrounding Chan Marshall's soul. But perhaps in the end, the most beautiful song on the album is the simplest of all: "Hate." Guitar and voice, contained anger that seems always on the verge of springing forward, hinting at a reaction that doesn't come, lived on the edge: a fascinating, vague, and restless sensation of repressed tension.

And ultimately, this is the strongest sensation this beautiful album has given me, which, for its depth and artistic maturity, stands out positively among the first releases of this gray start of the year. Then I don't know how much this judgment could be shared. A lot will depend on your expectations or your state of mind. The only advice I leave you then is: don't think too much, listen to it and let yourself go.