Wild God
An insight into Nick Cave’s latest ambition…
Rarely does an artist reach a stature upon which their live performances can be hailed as an “incredible mass spiritual outpouring”, but according to The Guardian, Nick Cave, an artist I’ve read described as the “thinking man’s goth”, an artist that over the course of a career spanning almost half a century, has cemented himself as a spectral steed of live performance, delivering unrivalled showmanship, can achieve exactly that.
Alongside his band The Bad Seeds, including long-time friend and collaborator Warren Ellis, and with Radiohead’s very own Colin Greenwood deputising for bass, Cave released his latest LP titled “Wild God” at the end of August this year. It was one of my most anticipated projects for the year, having gotten deeply into Cave’s music through my dad’s influence after seeing him and his fellow bad seeds headlining All Points East in 2022. Understanding that I shared a familiar fondness for music for the weepy man (a la Radiohead), it was rather predictable that eventually Dad would attempt to indoctrinate me into the cult of the Cave; boy did it work, a little too well. August 2024 did indeed come, and with it a healthy dose of Cave in a rather grandiose, and predictably poetic lexis. A catalogue of music that travels from the grungey basement clubs of the 90s post-punk scene to the ascending heights of almost gospel, “Wild God” follows in a similar vein to the band’s previous work “Ghosteen” but with a greater emphasis on the theatrical, grief at the stage of acceptance, complementing both Skeleton Tree and Ghosteen which feel stripped back to rawer emotion; Cave is growing and moving forward. Safe to say, I was a big fan of the album, earning itself a rightful spot in my top albums of the year; but could the tour deliver?
See prior to the release of Wild God my very sweet mother had surprised me with tickets to see Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds live at the OVO Hydro in Glasgow, early November. Two tickets in fact; so that my girlfriend Emma could accompany me. Now these were no cheap tickets, floating around the £50 mark it was resting on the assumption that Wild God would live up to the hype, and safe an assumption it was.
Track forward to November 3rd, the night of. I had never been to the Hydro before, and was immediately surprised by its uncanny alien-bug-eye form and neon green lighting, looking like an unheard of gaming pc peripheral. I wasn’t convinced it would be the most charming of venues to witness such an event, but once again my expectations were turned on their head upon entry. Spherical and sporting cascading upper seating into a spacious dancefloor, the Hydro felt as close to an indoor colosseum as perhaps you could venture. Pleasantly impressed by my surroundings, alas my mood was momentarily dampened by a lacklustre supporting act. A small, underground band that no one has ever heard of, Black Country, New Road.
Yes, thanks to Ticketmaster I was indeed made privy to the appearance of a certain flute and accordion-wielding collective, and was nervous as to the experience that would unfold. Without engaging in too much discussion of this band, I was sceptical of what they would come out with in a post-Isaac world. I was a fan of their Live at Bush Hall effort, and so I gazed with an open mind, but that night, Black Country, New Road sadly disappointed. I was now firmly amongst those who felt that the group were in desperate need of a charismatic frontman once more, and that even within the instrumentation it felt as if they’d lost their passion, becoming almost a parody of themselves with the over-use of pipework. Losing themselves in through-composed melancholy, every track blended into the next like a wall of rather dull pretentious noise. Cave couldn’t come sooner.
And come he did. A good thirty minutes after BCNR wrapped up their set (with no sign of glee nor thanks to the audience) and had hurried off stage in a huff, the vibe was back. Down nearly eight great british pounds with a belly-full (one pint actually) of bottom-barrel Prahva, I bustled closer to Emma with excitement; it’s time for bloody Nick! On came The Bad Seeds, waving with the earnt charm and enthusiasm of their aging selves. Swagger. Accompanied by a posse of soul singers dressed in sparkly angelic dresses I was beginning to see how this could be indeed likened to the spiritual. Opening to one of the lead singles for Wild God: Frogs, on pranced Cave himself, with all his Dr Seuss-esque feng shui. Moving around the stage like a prehistoric bird, you could not believe this man is pushing seventy. What followed could only be described as majestic. Two-and-a-half hours of purest theatrics. A set that channelled divinity into devilishly good delivery, paced to perfection with a medley of emotion, they brought it up, and they brought it down. There was rarely a point Cave wasn’t leering into the crowd, arms wide with hands reaching up to grab his like an evangelist preacher. You’d even find yourself forgetting he was indeed just a man and not the second coming of Jesus with the aura he boasted. He really lives it. Every ounce of energy is shifted into every syllable and with equal vigour and conviction. You believe you the joy, you believe the anger and you believe the heartbreak. From the tears in his eyes as he plays a solo piano rendition of “I Need You” to the screaming vocals of “From Her to Eternity” backed by a thumping cacophony of instrumentation, I’ve never seen a performance that feels as genuine; as natural. Again, it speaks to Cave’s talent and longevity that he can crush a live performance this deep into his career, and it’s a feat that all artists that consider themselves rockstars should endeavour for. Despite being only a young’un myself, I do feel a quaint joy in seeing a legend of the game absolutely washing all modern acts, serving as a warning that maybe the new kids on the block ought to knuckle down and try a little harder (I’m looking at you BCNR). To pull off a set of that length, that magnitude, without missing a beat or dropping a notch off the heat, is truly remarkable. Not once did it drag or tire. Moments seered into my mind of bodacious tenacity; a sea of hundreds humming the “la la las” of Red Right Hand awaiting eagerly the chime of the tubular bell; the flawless transition of a Wild God entry to an 80s classic crowd pleaser. Oh they are THAT good. And to praise Nick is not to discredit the incredible effort of everyone else that stood upon that stage that evening, including the stagehand that had to keep picking up Warren Ellis’s instruments after he’d throw them onto the floor in a frenzy. Everybody shone. Everybody played their part to perfection and grooved like a well-oiled machine into the night. Bravo the The Bad Seeds.
Buzzing from what we had just beheld, Emma confessed that despite having her doubts that it was going to be “sad old man music” she had in fact been blown away, and considered it one of, if not the best gig she’d attended. Ah yes, another convert to the cult of Cave. I’ve now been privileged to see him and his band perform twice now, and I cannot understate how appreciative I am for that. Inspiring, deeply moving, and of course, utterly entertaining, I would recommend that anyone given the opportunity should bear witness too.
