 
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Review by Mark
Mordue
Enmore Theatre, Sydney
10/03/02
And so to the question on everyone’s lips: can Nick Cave still
rock? After the fine ache of The Boatman’s Call, its sequel No More Shall
We Part had all the laboured qualities he had unintentionally implied in discussing a
new regimen of working at the piano 9-to-5 for songwriting inspiration.
As if to prove the strength of that new material though, Cave opened
up with ‘15 Feet of Pure White Snow’, The Bad Seeds stepping slowly towards the
maelstrom of vertigo that so typifies their sound, mid-tempos timed to sudden
accelerations, keyboards cold, sick and beautiful. In the hard face of the spotlight Cave
looked strangely aged if trim and alert in a slick black suit, his spastic shoulders
hunching into a shamanistic show-time shimmy, a spooky shoe-shine bluesman back to singe
our ears again.
‘Oh My Lord’ followed, with Cave approaching guitarist
Blixa Bargeld for what looked like a Mick ‘n’ Keef singalong before they both
decided better of it, one of many moments over the night where an unhappy distance would
emerge between band members. Gunning for intensity it was ‘out with the Ellis’
as the Dirty Three violinist stepped up to put some Paganini flames to the song, Bargeld
finally outgunning him with nothing better than brute strumming. This was looking like a
mighty evening, Cave and company at their furious and livid best.
From here on though the night began to bog down and struggle.
‘The Weeping Song’ capsized into camp over-expressiveness, always Cave’s
shakiest quality even when masking itself as humour, robbing the song of emotion and
finally commitment. ‘Henry Lee’ was worse, morose to the point of drab. As
suddenly as Cave had stated his formidability, the decline of the show – and indeed
where he might go in future as a performer – became all too apparent.
‘Red Right Hand’ just as suddenly reclaimed things again,
its choo-choo funk and evil clarity (murder he jived!) a distinct standout in a set caught
between an excess of ponderous ballads and Cave’s physical inability to kick out the
jams in the way he once he could. On stage Cave lacked the sheer violent energy of days
past when he was able to break out of - or intensify - the melancholy spirit that now
predominates and finally depresses his music completely.
‘Do Ya Love Me’ put some erotic spin on the darkness, a
slyly amusing equivalent to ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy’ laced with strychnine
emotion. ‘God Is In The House’ was horribly dour, Church music for oldies that
made me yearn for a burst of Kumbaya, anything at all to end it. But when the night seemed
ready to die all over again, Cave came back with ‘We Came Along This Road’, a
spectacular melodic event, noble even. At last the big ship was moving into the port of
our hearts – or out of it. When Cave is this sad, it really hurts (or in his case,
kills).
‘Papa Won’t Leave Ya Henry’ sent the audience into a
happy turmoil, driven by Mick Harvey’s acoustic guitar and those sickening aural
colours The Bad Seeds are so distinguished at. Once again, however, we found ourselves
stop-started. ‘The Ship Song’ rang hollow and forced and ‘The Mercy
Seat’ stalled mid-song after some nasty shimmers from Blixa Bargeld promised so much
more. ‘Hallelujah’ added to the terminal religious feel, the church bereft of
soul that Cave is in danger of inhabiting. ‘No More Shall We Part’ was more of
the same sputtering melancholy drabness.
Encores led dramatically into an exquisite version of ‘Into My
Arms’, then an absolutely listless ‘Lime Tree Arbor’. ‘Saint
Huck’, “an old, old Bad Seeds song”, began with Thomas Wydler practically
punching your chest out your throat with his bass drum and a torrid revival of Cave’s
most demented persona, side-lights casting his silhouette out over the walls, the hardest
working shadow in showbusiness. Finally there was ‘Love Letter’, so simple, so
beautiful, it put many of Cave’s more overworked Goth-lit ballads to shame.
Can Nick Cave still rock? The answer tonight would have to be mixed.
Though that’s criticism of a show that is sometimes great and mostly good, made pale
in the light of past achievements. On his last tour Cave traveled with the Dirty
Three’s Warren Ellis and drummer Jim White as well as ex-Band of Susans bassist Susan
Stenger, declaiming from behind a piano. It was a mixed experiment, but it showed an
adventurous, searching quality – and a more daring set list - something unpredictable
missing from The Bad Seeds performance (I’m not convinced Warren Ellis brings more
than token showboating to the band here tonight).
Right now Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds look formulaic and tired - like
men who had done it all before and one too many times at that. It’s my suspicion he
needs to leave the group behind and strike out for new musical spaces. And that as a
writer he must acknowledge the realities of being a 43 year old performer no longer
capable of full-tilt energy to carry the weight of his songs, meaning a lighter palette
and more pace in the writing might balance the slow and the savage in his work and
excite us all more completely in the live arena. For the time being, what we have here is
a great artist at the end of one road and yet to take another.
© Mark Mordue
Mark Mordue's Music Archive: Tex Perkins and His Dark Horses, Radiohead: Ghost in the Machine, Ben Harper: "The Gift". Mark gets in the mood in Glebe, Sydney with the new Dirty Three CD, "Whatever You Love, You
Are."
Tom Roe's Music Archives: Made
in New York, "No More Prisons", Sonic Youth
Back
to the top
Post your comments to the Arts Bulletin Board
About Us 9.11.01 Hardcopy Letters Writers Group Links + Staff Legal Statements
|
