At an age when most rock frontmen either fade into dad-band obscurity or find themselves on awkward “farewell” tours sponsored by insurance companies that go on forever, Nick Cave has somehow grown even more mythic — part preacher, part lounge lizard, part ghost. Last week at Place Bell, he and the Bad Seeds put on a masterclass in controlled chaos, proving that while the world around them gets cheaper and dumber, their particular brand of menace remains stubborn and gorgeously intact.
The setlist was a tightrope walk between the old gods and the new. They wasted no time, as Cave, looking like a slick mafioso, plunged straight into “Frogs” — a synthy theatric gut-punch opener that immediately separated the tourists from the true believers. As Cave crooned “Kill Me, Kill Me, in the Sunday Raiiiiinnn,” I was immediately enraptured. From there, Nick Cave stalked the stage like a man who summons plagues with a finger-snap, pulling the crowd in to “Wild God,” and “Song Of The Lake.” These new songs from Wild God already felt like classics in Cave’s hands, stitched seamlessly into the old blood-soaked fabric. Somehow, Wild God isn’t a midlife crisis; but an artist in full control of their nightmare machine.
From there, we got “From Her to Eternity”—probably the closest I’ll ever get to The Birthday Party live, and the swampy gothic horror of “Tupelo.” Every scream, every whispered threat, was perfectly calibrated, yet never once felt mechanical. Cave and Warren Ellis (who made the violin his slave) were already drenched in sweat three songs in. Still, Cave gave the fans what they wanted, constantly shaking their hands mid-song or being held up by them.
Special mention must go to the Bad Seeds themselves — a band so tight they could probably perform sonic brain surgery blindfolded if asked. The gospel backing vocals matching Cave’s are spectacular, and Warren Ellis, shaggy and unhinged as ever, played every instrument that wasn’t bolted down, sometimes two at once. Larry Mullins pounded the drums with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for medieval executioners. The Bad Seeds made chaos sound rehearsed, and perfection sound like an accident. We of course got “Red Right Hand,” which is way more sinister live than recording, but my stand out has to be “The Mercy Seat,” from Tender Prey. That song is absolutely haunting live, and has this deranged energy that will be one of my forever concert highlights.
The encore was pure emotional warfare: “Papa Won’t Leave You, Henry” bellowed into “The Weeping Song” and then slid into the devastating hush of “Skeleton Tree.” Was it fun? Sure, in a funeral procession sort of way. Was it brilliant? Obviously. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds don’t play “shows” anymore — they hold ceremonies, and if you’re lucky enough to attend, you leave a little less whole than when you first arrived.
Photos by Patrick Beaudry, evenko
