Cat Power
Redux
DOMINO
Chan Marshall’s artistic trajectory has long swung between fragile introspection and sturdy, soulful resilience. Arriving to celebrate the 20th anniversary of her Memphis-recorded masterpiece The Greatest, the three-song Redux EP offers a brief yet potent return to that gold-dusted era of Cat Power. Reunited with her Dirty Delta Blues band (including the ragged elegance of Jim White on drums), Redux was recorded by GRAMMY-winning engineer and longtime collaborator Stuart Sikes at Austin’s Church House Studios with Marshall’s all-star supergroup. Here, Marshall doesn’t just rehash the past; she excavates it with a weary, newfound wisdom. The result is a collection that feels less like a reissue bonus disc and more like a ghostly transmission from a parallel timeline.
The EP opens with a newly completed take on James Brown’s “Try Me,” a track originally abandoned during the 2006 sessions. Where the Godfather of Soul once pleaded with kinetic energy, Marshall slows the tempo to a desperate, late-night bar crawl. When she sings, “Try me / And your love will set me free,” the request feels less like a clamorous demand and more like a prayer whispered into an empty room. The production is lush yet restrained, allowing the cracks in her voice to catch the light like dust motes in a sunbeam. The EP’s second track, a reimagined version of the Greatest cut “Could We,” captures the live feel of her 2006 tour. The arrangement is looser, swinging with a bar-band swagger that contrasts with the studio original’s polished veneer. As she asks, “Could we have a talk alone? / In the afternoon,” there’s a sense of fleeting intimacy, a snapshot of a conversation suspended in barroom smoke.
Redux’s side B is her tribute to the late Teenie Hodges of The Memphis Rhythm Band: a cover of Prince’s iconic “Nothing Compares 2 U.” Marshall formed a close bond with Hodges before his passing in 2014, and this track is a lovely eulogy to him. Stripping away the ’80s and ’90s pop gloss of Prince and Sinéad O’Connor’s respective hits, Marshall finds the bluesy marrow within. Her delivery of “It’s been seven hours and 15 days / Since you took your love away” carries the weight of genuine heartbreak, anchored by a mournful, rolling piano line that feels like a slow procession through a rainy Southern town. The song always had a stunning, architectural sadness that Marshall inhabits and disassembles before our ears.
Redux is a reminder of the power Chan Marshall can command on stages worldwide. The EP also serves as a testament to her interpretive genius, proving that even in retrospection, she remains a singular, spectral force in American indie rock.
