Katie Knipp is strange and intense; at least the Katie Knipp presented in her self-titled release Me is. She sings blues and cabaret-style music with abandon. She’ll push on operatically or drop down and fade in the blink of any when it is both most and least expected. These songs are real showpieces that reveal a singer willing to take risks and maybe even croon some false notes. That’s cool. It’s all for the sake of the song or the moment’s pleasure.
Knipp’s idiosyncrasies distinguish her from the mass of female blues singers with good voices and mediocre or tried and true material. The fact that this person with a big voice is weird keeps things interesting. Her songs, with terse titles such as “Mud”, “Go”, and “Vampire”, reek with dark suspicion. Even the album’s cover image is more that of a cackling corpse than a flattering picture of the artist. Knipp co-produced the record with Pancho Tomaselli. They give it a big and greasy feel. The piano loudly tinkles, the horns blow hard, the bass and drums crisply make their marks, and we’re off in some sort of mythical noir nightclub. Be careful, especially not getting yourself in trouble.
“Surrounded by garbage / perched on a stool,” she sings suggestively on “Mud” as if this is a romantic ballad, but less than a minute later, Knipp is shouting loudly for attention after three alcoholic drinks at the bar. Before the song ends, she’s purring, sighing, yelping, screaming, and offering an aria. She changes moods like trying on hats for full effect. Knipp self-admittedly (in terms of her persona) has mental issues. Crazy has its own rewards in blues music. It lets one express inappropriate feelings and even subconscious ones. There is something therapeutic about hearing Knipp because she doesn’t hold back.
“I’ve been studying neuroscience / They say not to put too much weight onto your thoughts / Thoughts aren’t always the truth / But what if we can’t stop, can’t stop thinking…” Katie Knipp says before launching into “Go”, a sophisticated bawl about her latest obsession. The singer complains about aging and existential meaninglessness while metaphysically rubbing one’s crotch. There’s something dirty going on, but it’s a secret if an open secret. Knipp sounds horny one moment and languid in the afterglow the next. “Vampire” keeps things lighter from a musical perspective. It seductively swings as we hear about blood, rage, and teeth. “Kill me while you love me,” she tells her lover. Until death do we part means nothing to the undead.
Me also offers lots of small pleasures in how odd sounds fill in musical gaps and add to the oddness of the proceedings. Knipp sometimes makes abrupt stops and starts after getting into a groove. On cuts such as “Lava Pot” and “Stillness”, the listener is left to interpret what must be the singer multitracked or gunshots that demand attention. There is something inherently cheesy about this, but it works, nonetheless. The performer takes herself and her art seriously. That personalizes her work in a world of copycats. It is all about her, I mean, Me.