Monday 10/03/08 Cat Power, Mick Turner @ The Governor Hindmarsh, Adelaide

Let it be noted: Mick Turner (guitar) and Jeffrey Wegener (drums) played a fantastic support slot. If you’ve ever thought that Dirty Three are Warren Ellis plus two others, tonight would have left you in no doubt that Turner is at the very least an equal partner in that great band, as well as being a painter of some worth (his art formed part of the backdrop he seemed to be playing along to). Although Turner doesn’t really interact with the audience at all – he’s no frontman – he plays some beautiful and deeply affecting guitar. But hopefully you know that already, because, as brilliant as he is, Turner proves to be only a very small part of the evening.

In the battle of stage lighting versus Cat Power, there’s only going to be one winner. For reasons unknown, just one of the Gov’s two banks of stage lights is working. A high-power spot has been brought in specially, but Chan Marshall is having none of that, thanks very much. And when an acceptably dark gel is found, the spot might as well have been switched off. While her band is lit well enough, Marshall herself is in the dark for all but a few minutes of a set that approaches two hours.

The Gov, with a capacity of 700 or thereabouts, invariably has an intimate feel; yet tonight, for those of us at the front, it’s more like being in a living room with Cat Power than a venue. And that seems to be just how Chan wants it. She makes no great attempt to connect with the audience as a whole; instead, as she shimmies and shuffles and dances from one side of the stage to the other, she apparently wants to connect with each of us as individuals, staring deep into our eyes and occasionally flashing a blinding smile. The first time it happens to me, from just a few feet away, the intensity of it is a little too much, and I turn away, even as I’m wondering if it was actually someone else she was looking at. Talking to others later, it seems that I’m not alone in that reaction. From time to time Marshall has to look away too, and to help her in that various props are scattered around the stage: a glass of wine here, though it’s hardly touched; two cups of tea there; ciggies with her keyboard player, Greg Foreman, or tucked beneath her foldback monitor.

About halfway through the show an audience member further back tries to get something done about the lighting, acknowledging that she’s got a great voice but pointing out that he’d really like to see her too. He wins another of the night’s apologies but nothing changes.