Documentary Evidence - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

I have to admit that I found the prospect of diving into a double album of Nick Cave songs quite a difficult one, and so I've put this off for almost a month after buying it, and that's coming from an ardent fan of Saint Nick. But thank the Lord above for taking the plunge - this is definitely his most accomplished work yet, and I'm sure I've thought of each successive album since Murder Ballads. There is no doubt that the combination of Ferber Studio's analogue vibe, the massed vocal dynamic of the London Community Gospel Choir, and rather unxpectedly the absence of Blixa Bargeld breathe an unexpected life into these magnificent - and occasionally humourous - songs. The massed ranks of the Bad Seeds for this occasion were Nick Cave (vocals, piano), Martyn P. Casey (bass), Warren Ellis (violin, mandolin, bouzouki, flute), Mick Harvey (guitars), James Johnston (organ), Conway Savage (piano), Jim Sclavunos (drums on Abattoir Blues, percussion) and Thomas Wydler (drums on The Lyre Of Orpheus, percussion).

Abattoir Blues
If an album should grab your attention from the get-go, 'Get Ready For Love' more than obliges, a raucous burst of Cave's finest bleak romanticism, delivered over a throbbing backing track that the Blues Explosion would adore, wailing female vocals heightening the spiritual climaxes of the song; Cave hasn't sounded this blissfully wild since 'Hard-On For Love'. Jim Sclavunos pounds away at those snares like a man possessed, which is in contrast to the mellow bass and subtle guitar distortion of 'Cannibal's Hymn', a lilting, sorrowful tune. 'But I'm glad you've come around / With your animals' runs the beatiful nature-themed chorus. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this also includes Cave's first 'flower' mention of the album - 'crocus' this time; keep reading on for more.

'Hiding All Away', a strangled blues epic that builds slowly and covertly has a processed, clipped edge drawing on the muscularly sinister works Cave peddled earlier in his career, and if you didn't know better you'd swear that Blix was still in the mix; a guttural 'Alright yeah!' greets an absolutely thrilling descending guitar slug, which could be the most unexpected moment of the whole first album. This for me is the genetic link that bridges a murder ballad like 'O'Malley's Bar' and Cave's more resolutely upbeat work, though the noisy conclusion - 'There is a war coming,' Cave and the choir enunciate - is nothing short of apocalyptic. After a staggering six and a half minutes you feel emotionally drained, but 'Hiding All Away' is among Cave's best work. Just as well that the comparatively minimalist 'Messiah Ward', with it's near-accapella chorus of 'They are bringing out the dead, now' is delivered in a weary tone, soft vocal accompaniment embellishing the sad air of this poignant track.

Question : does Nick Cave love gardening? Answer : undountedly. Juniper, cornflower and chicory and some breeds of tree are all dropped into the lyrics to the positively euphoric gospel of 'There She Goes, My Beautiful World', making a great case for Cave the nature-loving preacher (or even wild-eyed hippie, though I'd never dream of saying this to him in person of course). Then there's the full-length 'Nature Boy' (sparrows and wisteria on this one, Titchmarsh fans), which makes more sense given its additional verses and choruses.

Despite its gory, harsh title and heavy, almost hip-hop drumming, the song 'Abattoir Blues' is actually a beautifully sad track dominated by heavy piano chords and the aforementioned beats, Cave's troubled vocal accompanied by light, airy female vocals. 'I woke up this morning with a frapuccino in my hand,' is one of Cave's weirdest lyrics. Hardly the hedonist these days, I still find it strange that Cave would pop into Starbucks at the evening's end. 'My heart it tumbled like the stock exchange' is also one of my favourite lines, but I work in finance, and spend half my life drawing comparisons with the movements of the market. 'Let The Bells Ring' - a tribute to Johnny Cash - begins with intertwining bluesy guitar plucking, before ascending with some grandeur into a quite uplifting song featuring soft, folky guitar layers. It's a joyous, optimistic song, Cave striding majestically through its positive affirmations with gusto.

Abattoir Blues closes with 'Fable Of The Great Ape', a sub-three minute slice of oddness that starts off with a skanking vibe before lurching into occasional bursts of worryingly goth-prog crashes of guitars, cymbals and female choir vocals. Like Aesop's finest, it makes no sense to me whatsoever.

The Lyre Of Orpheus
It's a coincidence - and, according to Cave, nothing else - that the tracks on The Lyre Of Orpheus contain the more downbeat, emotional tracks of this double album. Not that it starts off on the most tender footing - title track 'The Lyre Of Orpheus' is a darkly humourous, grungy blues depiction of the Greek tragedy, a classic murder ballad if ever there was one, only this time it's shrouded in mythology rather than lustmord. It ends with what can only be described as a 'weeping' vocal effect between the LCGC and Cave. 'Breathless', opening with Warren Ellis' flute, is, however, a gorgeously tender folky love song featuring subtle organ lines from James Johnston and lushly strummed acoustic guitars and soft drumming from Thomas Wydler. Unlike some of his earlier ballads, this feels like an assured, confident love song - Cave is comfortable here, and it shows. It may not seem adventurous by other standards, but coming from the musical background that Cave has, it's like climbing Everest.

The beautiful ballad 'Babe, You Turn Me On' finds Cave narrating the first few lines of each verse in a confiding style reminiscent of many a C&W tune, also conveying the fundamental contradiction of Cave's approach to love, evoked here in the clearest delivery since 'Straight To You' : 'Everything's collapsing dear / And all moral sense has gone / It's just history repeating itself / Babe, you turn me on' (there's a mention of flowers here too, species unclarifed, fellow gardners). It's not a tender love song if you read the lyrics, and with Cave making the sound of an atom bomb at the track's conclusion (more of a crumple than the sonic burst that greeted Can's 'Oh Yeah') it's quite dark, but it just proves how you can take something ugly and make it pretty. 'Easy Money', with its washes of chilling violin and eerie piano refrains, is a topical reminder of how wild spending can lead to poverty in a time when Britons are accumulating debt at a frightening pace, but also of the danger of showering money down on family as a substitute for love. You tell 'em Nick. Oh, also clover is mentioned here too. Clover is seen by many as a garden weed, great in a meadow, but obtrusive in your average garden. I would suggest a selective weedkiller that won't destroy your lawn - just don't use your credit card to pay for it.

There's something of Nina Simone's bouncy piano playing on 'Supernaturally', and with an urgent handclap rhythm and cylical drumming the comparison is strengthened. 'Hey ho / Baby don't you go / All supernatual on me' is one of Cave's most childlike ryhmes, but in this crashing jazz-inflected number it works really well. 'Spell' is the tremolo vibe from Andy Williams' swingingly cheesy 'Spooky' laced with mystery rather than cocktails, finding Ellis' violin sawing amid watery reverb, following on the heels of rich vocal harmonies and naggingly soft percussion. (Purple heather this time.)

'Carry Me' commences with a quiet interplay of accelerating piano, organ and violin arpeggios that realises itself as a gospel hymn not dissimilar to 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot', only less obviously optimistic. Bit of a tear-jerker that one - I'm a sucker for those gospel harmonies. At near enough seven minutes, 'O Children' sounds like it was composed over a DJ Shadow breakbeat masterfully emulated by Wydler. It's a remorseful song - you never find out what the children did, but you know it wasn't exactly helping an old lady across the road (perhaps it was picking flowers out of her garden sans permission). It's a sorrow-drenched way to end the album, helplessness and hopelessness intertwined, ascension and resolution. It ends with the words 'We're happy, Ma, we're having fun / It's beyond my wildest expectation' which has given me a lump in my throat. Mick Harvey believes this album is the work of a genius. Ordinarily such a lack of modesty would irk me, but when music can incapacitate you thus, I find it hard to disagree.

The new single from Nick Cave and a Blixa-less Bad Seeds is a fantastic, upbeat track detailing an encounter between our narrator and a female who's caught his eye at a flower show of all places. There aren't many songs where the word 'wisteria' is rhymed with 'hysteria', but that's Cave for you. His deployment of wordplay and unique sense of humour is further demonstrated by the line 'You took me back to your place and dressed me up in a deep-sea diver suit'. The quickened pace of the track gives the tale a sense of urgency and immediacy, echoing the speed at which the affair develops. Instrumentation-wise, the addition of some sterling mandolin by Warren Ellis and organ from new recruit James Johnston (Gallon Drunk) gives the track a 60s country/folk feel, while the addition of a soft female backing vocal section (from the London Community Gospel Choir) make this a truly beautiful addition to the Nick Cave songbook.

In times when the Bad Seeds sound has mellowed and matured, there is something gleefully joyous about the band getting all intense and, well, rocking out. That's exactly what the solitary B-side 'She's Leaving You' represents - a barrage of crashing drums and percussion and an intense organ, bass and guitar groove. It's rough around the edges, certainly, but for any fans hankering after a more accomplished version of 'I Had A Dream Joe', then here it is. Cave delivers an astonishing vocal, packing the song with an impossible array of words that barely fit into the lines, taking his vocal style back to Let Love In and even before. 'Bazouki solo!' screams Cave, and the dextrous Warren Ellis gladly supplies a fuzzy riff that practicing violinists should not be capable of playing. Wild.