Cat Power, Wanderer album review: Understated and beautifully crafted

Six years after the release of her last LP 'Sun', which saw her veer from soul into electronic territory, her 10th album demonstrates both a newfound sense of calm, and strength

(Eliot Lee Hazel)

Much has been written about Chan Marshall’s troubles: alcoholism, prescription drug addiction, psychotic breakdown, financial woes and a stress-induced condition that saw her hospitalised and nearly lose her life. During her notoriously erratic live performances she has been known to play with her back to the audience, burst into tears or leave the stage after just a few songs.

It’s been the price to pay to hear the Atlanta-born Marshall’s soulful alt-rock, unflinchingly raw in its vulnerability, and once branded “sadcore”.

But, six years after the release of her last LP Sun, which saw her veer from soul into electronic territory, her 10th album Wanderer demonstrates both a newfound sense of calm, and strength. During those years, the now 46-year-old became a mother, and her son’s tiny footprints are all over Wanderer. For a start he appears (or at least partially) on the album’s cover, in front of his mother, and next to her guitar. It’s as if Marshall is making a statement about the two most important things that now dominate her life.

Then, slight opener “Wanderer” – a gently lilting, a cappella spiritual, capturing Marshall’s signature smoky southern vocals backed by angelic choral harmonies – could be a lullaby sung to him. From there she covers a spectrum of emotion, from sadness to confident resolution, through a mix of blues, rock and folk.

At the album’s core is “Woman”, an uplifting, swelling blues-rock number on which the accompanying breathy vocals from Lana Del Rey echo, literally, the solidarity at the heart of its lyrics. It’s an assertive statement of self-worth, and a defiant punch at anyone who’s put her down (“If I had a dime for every time/ You tell me I’m not what you need ... I’m a woman of my word”). It’s also a suggestion that she’s found some personal peace (“The doctor said I was better than ever, man you shoulda seen me/ The doctor said I was not my past, he said I was finally free”).

“Black” is a mysterious folk tale of a meeting with the angel of death, effective in its use of sparse acoustic guitar, that hints at her brushes with death – and her lucky escape.

It’s this stripped-back quality and the meticulously structured instrumentation that are so effective on Wanderer, which Marshall herself produced. The gripping “In Your Face” features the lightest of Latin rhythm on guitar, while Marshall’s smooth voice again takes foreground alongside the piano, whose appoggiaturas give the track a western feel. With a hint of dissonance conjuring a sense of mystery, it could soundtrack a Tarantino film.

There’s still vulnerability here. A cover of Rihanna’s “Stay” gives the original ballad heartbreaking depth thanks to its intimate live feel, with sparse piano flourishes and subtle cello allowing Marshall’s heartfelt vocals centre stage.

Understated, beautifully crafted and always emotionally involving, Wanderer shows an artist who has found strength in her convictions, and a new pace of life.