Cat Power (aka Chan Marshall) has spent her career becoming one of the leaders of the female tortured singer-songwriter genre, laying claim to the crown held previously by Aimee Mann and Liz Phair. If Marshall was the queen, “The Greatest” will be remembered as her abdication—a movement into happier, if less fruitful, territory.

The genre has traditionally espoused an ethic of independence, but for this dishonestly named album, she sought out help, moving to Memphis to record with a backing band filled with some of country music’s old-hands.

Unfortunately, the transplant doesn’t take. It appears that Ms. Marshall was meant to be a city kitty, not a country cousin.

Instead of her previous idiosyncratic and intensely appealing emotional girl-chants, here she turns in some faceless performances. Sweet, yes, but far too discreet. There’s little passion in her voice, and as a result, the tracks float by without distinguishing themselves.

Part of the problem is Marshall’s slightly husky baritone. Within the structure of her higher-pitched and more rock-like previous work, it often gives an appealingly off-beat vibe. Within the deeper registers of country instrumentation, the listener simply can’t make out what she’s singing.

The arrangements do little to make up for the bland vocal performances: the sound is cut-rate honky-tonk blues alternated with cut-rate Norah Jones jazzy-pseudo-neo-soul.

That’s not to say it’s all bad, because when Marshall puts some effort into it, as in the title track, it’s lovely. The yearning vocals, echoed by the frustrated backing band, give this experiment its best results. The narrator relates giving up on her dreams of being “the greatest” and the listener can’t help but sympathize. Crossing country-blues with Lillith Fair angst, it create a sound of which Joni Michell would be proud.

It goes downhill from there. “Living Proof” sounds like Jessica Simpson singing Sarah Vaughn: alright, if you don’t listen too hard, but ultimately devoid of artistry.

“Love and Communication” gets a bit closer to her roots with a downbeat arrangement backed by a guitar sounding like it came out of a 70s blues-influenced light-rock outfit. It’s pretty and all, but it doesn’t seethe or sear as Cat Power’s finest work has in the past.

But then the album drifts away again. “Where Is My Love” is particularly generic, with Norah-esque jazzy arrangements and mellow sentiments that are more likely to induce sleep than ruffle any feathers. “Islands” follows suit, with the lyrics smothered by the back-up band.

A big part of the problem here stems from the album’s base intent. By trying to channel Americana via Texas and New Orleans is not what the average listener is used to. It sounds exotic, which could win her some new fans, but it turned off this one.

Despite all these gripes, it is important to remember that none of the album is bad given the right setting: it would make damn good background music.

Even given the many complaints that could be lodged against it, the album’s low-key beauty could be ripe for rediscovery when I’m feeling longer on attention span. Until then, Cat Power isn’t nearly powerful enough.

—Staff Writer Scoop A. Wasserstein can be reached at wasserst@fas.harvard.edu.