Chan Marshall is a cougar. She fits the mold: a barfly, someone aging but not old, someone caught between two versions of herself—old and wise, young and dumb. Picture her there, her umpteenth cigarette dangling precariously from wire-thin fingers, stringy hair hanging down her face, rolling up on someone handsome, slurring. If you find this hard to imagine—which you probably should, given that our beloved Chan, Ms. Cat Power, the one we grew up on, that timid Georgia indie-rock chick whose voice is prone to... More >>>