The sound and the furry

>> Chan Marshall is indie-rock heroine Cat Power. Lucky for you.

by CHRIS YURKIW

"I'm talking funny. I'm talking weird. Sorry."

That's OK. I didn't expect a typical conversation with someone whose darkly inscrutable songs she describes as her "little voices" revealing themselves. And Chan Marshall isn't even talking that funny--telling me about how pristine she thought the prostitutes in Vancouver looked. It's probably just Marshall the writer, or the drifter, or the trainwrecked soul--or one of those little voices--talking about one of the others.

Chan (pronounced "Shawn") Marshall. 26. Has resided all over the southeast States (in a shack in South Carolina, for a while. "I don't live anywhere now," she says, sounding half metaphysical and half joking). Moved to New York City from Atlanta when she was 20, one year after a friend gave Marshall her first guitar so that she would join his band.

"I was young and I was confused and I thought, 'I'm gonna be a drug addict if I don't get outta here.' And I had a friend in New York, so I just moved up there and realized that I had quite a few more choices. And then..." her voices trails off as quietly as you can perceive.

And then folks came up and introduced themselves, after hearing Marshall's wildly introspective songs. Gerard Cosley, head of Matador Records, who asked if she would open for Liz Phair. And Steve Shelley, drummer for Sonic Youth, who asked if he could put out a record of hers on his Smells Like label (which he did with 1996's Myra Lee, also becoming her backup band with guitarist Tim Foljahn).

"All the things that have ever come my way have always been invitations," says Marshall. "It makes me feel bad because sometimes I feel upset about playing live, or the whole aspect of being in a band--sometimes I'm not that into it. And I meet people who would literally saw off their own leg to have a CD out or go on tour to Europe. It makes me feel ashamed, but at the same time I have to remember that I'm not really like those people."

Which is probably why people are attracted to your music, I submit.

"Yeah, unfortunately," she says, in a tone that's oddly charming and not at all disingenuous.

But we're not Chan Marshall, so fortunately we get to enjoy--if that's the right word--her shrouded Southern visions on albums like her new, breakthrough Moon Pix (Matador). Minimalist guitar, a voice that can sound like Sinéad O'Connor--when Marshall tries--and much more mellifluous backing this time 'round by guitarist Mick Turner and drummer Jim White of Australia's Dirty Three--that's Moon Pix. Oh yeah--and piano. Lovely piano.

"I'd never played piano in my life," says Chan. "Same thing with guitar--someone put it there so I just played it."

At Jailhouse Rock on Tuesday, October 27, 9pm, $8