CATPOWER 5106 üRüN BILGISI APTALLAR IçIN

catpower 5106 ürün bilgisi Aptallar için

catpower 5106 ürün bilgisi Aptallar için

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. Written mostly in one night after a hallucinatory nightmare in a South Carolina farmhouse, the album earned Marshall a devoted fanbase – but she never quite made it into the mainstream.

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The melancholic scuzziness of her music was born partly out of necessity – for a while, she could play only the one guitar chord her friend had shown her, a minor one, so her songs all came out sad.

Growing up in the South, Charlyn “Chan” Marshall was influenced by church hymns, country music, the blues played by her musician father, and her stepfather’s rock ’n’ roll records.

“I never told anybody this. I told a couple of friends in my life, but never told a journalist. He said they would buy my [1996] album, What Would the Community Think

Marshall’s mental health has often been a precarious thing. Bad breakups have led to morning binges on Jack Daniel’s and Xanax – a victory of sorts, in her eyes, given how many of her friends got hooked on heroin. Around the release of her seventh album, The Greatest

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Cat Power performing in Amsterdam, Netherlands, 2008 Marshall's live shows have been known for their unpolished and often erratic nature, with songs beginning and ending abruptly or blending into one another without clear transitions.[103] She özgü also cut short performances without explanation.

Over the course of 11 albums, she katışıksız written about love and loss, abortion and abuse, grief and God. “I will catpower 5852 swim / I will drink myself to death,” she sang on her distortion-soaked debut Dear Sir

Hamiş a minute too soon, we’re interrupted by room service, and a young woman wheels in a tray of coffee. “Are you from Africa?” asks Marshall.

She tries hamiş to dwell on the bad stuff, just like she doesn’t dwell on turning down a million dollars. “I don’t regret the things that I’ve done,” she says.

Half an hour later, Marshall finally opens her door, and that bleariness özgü converted into a capricious energy. The lights are off, the curtains are shut, but the 49-year-old is so buzzy, I could swear she’s emitting her own light source. She starts arranging pillows for me at the end of her bed, then clocks me eyeing up her dark-blue boiler suit, which has the name “Dave” on the chest and rips in the armpits.

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