Chantal Claret puts it all on the line

Chantal's got soul

I went to see the sweet and sassy Chantal Claret at Skinny's in North Hollywood this Saturday, where she was warming up for her first UK show in London, a few weeks from now.

I first heard Chantal Claret just a few months back, when she opened for her husband's (James Euringer aka Jimmy Urine) band, Mindless Self Indulgence.

Like MSI, Chantal Claret has got a sound you can't fit neatly into a clear-cut genre (not that those things exist in music anymore). The two bands hardly sound alike, but they share an intensity that can only come from pouring your whole self into what's being made, and damning the critics before they even get their grubby little critical hands on it.

Chantal Claret is a badass. She channels Tina Turner and Joan Jett all at once. Her Motown Punk sound stands apart from the rest, from what is and what was in the musical universe. She's Turner, she's (Johnny) Cash, she's Elvis and Madonna. But, really, she's not any of them. She's Chantal fucking Claret, make no mistake. She's a woman that's not afraid to bare her soul, but she makes it clear that she didn't get there overnight. Chantal just ditched her band and kept the backup singers, making her setup even more Motown than it was before. 

And on Saturday night, at the intimate NoHo venue, she stepped into the middle of the crowd, and invited everyone to take a seat. Then she knelt down on her knees and sang her fucking heart out in her delivery "Pleasure Seeker," a song about her father.  A genuine demonstration of passion in action. It's not about the music, it's about the heArt.