NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS/CALLA
@Stubb's Amphitheater, Austin, TX
May 8, 2002
As regular readers of High Bias have no doubt noted, I prefer for this site to maintain an objective tone. I would rather the pieces concentrate on the music at hand, rather than every minute feeling that passes through the writer's frame. Of course, all criticism is subjective and personal, but that's no excuse for the acute self-indulgence in which so many scribes wallow. There's nothing I hate more than reading an article or review in which I get a better sense of the writer's love life or eating habits than I do of the music s/he is allegedly covering. God knows I love the work of Lester Bangs, but at times I have to ask, "Oh, Lester, what have you wrought?"

That said, I'm throwing my usual habits out the window for this one. I've been waiting a hell of a long time for this show. Let me start at the beginning...

Though I'd been aware of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds for a couple of years—even owned a couple of his albums (Tender Prey and The Good Son)—I wasn't truly turned on to him until the release of Henry's Dream in 1992. I was schlepping CDs in a Sound Warehouse at the time. My manager was (and still is) hipper than the average retail drone, and somehow got away with playing Dream over the sound system, despite its dark and often violent content. I don't know what it was about this particular Bad Seeds record—the febrile mixture of American roots music (particularly blues and gospel) with a Gothic sensibility, the raw production by David Briggs, the bewitching spell cast by the down-and-out-in-purgatory confessionals Cave calls songs, the sheer intensity of the performances—but something about that album hooked me, reeled me in and gutted me, without a word of complaint on my part. I bought the album the same night I heard it, becoming obsessed with Cave and his brood from then on. I tracked down all his previous records (on import vinyl, no less—the only way anything prior to Tender Prey was available at the time) and bought his books (read And the Ass Saw the Angel, especially if you dig Faulkner), immersing myself in the smoky miasma of the Bad Seeds and loving every grimy second. In 1992 Cave's distinctive blend of Gothic cynicism, blackened romanticism and transcendent spirituality struck a chord within me that even now I find difficult to define. Suffice it to say that I was captivated. To this day I usually rush out and buy new Seeds music the date it's released.

Only one thing had kept my Cave experiences incomplete: I'd never seen the man live. I rented a video once, entitled Live at Paradiso, but it merely whetted my appetite, rather than assuaging my hunger. I read in one of the two Cave biographies that his feelings toward touring America were ambivalent at best, downright hostile at worst. He tended to play the major cities—New York, L.A., Chicago—and then split the country as fast as possible, preferring to concentrate on his European fan base. Living in Austin, TX, I pretty much despaired of ever seeing a Bad Seeds concert.

Then to my surprise, an American tour for his latest record, the sublime No More Shall We Part, was announced. Even more surprising: an Austin date—his only Texas appearance—was on the itinerary. I bought a ticket immediately, but after the tragic events of September 11, the band canceled all its U.S. dates. Since Cave had such mixed feelings about playing in the states, I figured there would be no rescheduling. Why court fate?

I figured wrong. Not only did Cave reschedule the stateside shows, he put the Austin date at the end of the tour. Again, I ran out and bought a ticket. At last, I thought, after nearly a decade of loving the man's music, I'll finally get to see him perform it. Even if he phones his performance in, it'll be worth it.

The group opened with "As I Sat Sadly By Her Side," the lovely first track on No More Shall We Part. Using a Roland piano with an odd, bell-like tone and joined by only a few Seeds, Cave crooned the morose lyrics with a stately grace, letting the wave of resigned dysphoria generated by the song linger. It was to be the calm before the storm. After letting the last piano notes fade he strode to the free-standing microphone as the rest of the band took the stage. Bassist Martyn P. Casey began plunking out the opening to the obsessive anthem "Do You Love Me" (from Let Love In, considered by some to be Cave's masterpiece) and both band and crowd erupted. Cave stalked the stage like a caged tiger, letting the intensity build as the Seeds (Casey, guitarists Blixa Bargeld and Mick Harvey, keysman Conway Savage, violinist Warren Ellis, drummer Thomas Wydler, percussionist Jim Scalvunos) roiled away behind him. By this time Cave had abandoned his jacket, his face already covered in sweat, as much from his own exertion as from the oppressive Texas heat.

The storm didn't quite break, however; the musicians held back the slightest bit, letting the mood reach a fever pitch. Only on the next tune, the ferocious prayer "Oh My Lord," did the Seeds let the passion roll unimpeded. By the end of the song Cave was bellowing like an animal while Ellis and Bargeld huddled together, constructing a frighteningly imposing edifice of noise on top of the foundation built by the rest of the Seeds. It was a transcendent moment, and merely the first of many highlights to come.

"Henry Lee," the demi-hit from the gruesome opus Murder Ballads, garnered a great deal of applause for its depiction of a lovelorn murder, though it may have been as much relief after the vehement spiritual yearning of "Oh My Lord" as empathy for the song's heroine. A rock-solid "Red Right Hand" followed, with Savage adding a creamy lyricism to the distinctive organ lick played on the record in staccato style by Cave. It's probably the band's most famous song in America due to its inclusion in an episode of The X-Files. After a sorrowful "Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow," Cave again took his place at the Roland for a beautifully nuanced version of the pleading hymn "God Is in the House;" its pretty melody and Cave's understated vocal performance drew the most enthusiastic response of the night from the crowd.

The band kept the mood sedate with a straightforward reading of the No More sleeper "We Came Along This Road," before launching into the distinctive opening piano chords of "The Weeping Song," from Cave's 1990 breakthrough The Good Son, a choice warmly welcomed by the fans. After building the intensity back up with that tune, Cave and the Seeds exploded both themselves and the audience once again with a powerhouse performance of "Papa Won't Leave You, Henry," the demented folk rock nightmare that opens Henry's Dream. The crowd sang along with every "whoa-whoa," like a Greek chorus of the demons that haunt the song's protagonist. The group kept the emotions running high with an emotionally intense "Hallelujah;" the call-and-response of the Seeds' singing the title while Cave moaned "The tears are welling in my eyes again" was one of the show's most spine-tingling moments.

Then the band brought on the apocalypse to which it had been building all night. Harvey strummed the opening chords to "The Mercy Seat;" few in the audience seemed to recognize it, strangely, but once Cave crooned "I began to warm and chill/To objects and their fields" the fans got it immediately and loudly showed their appreciation. The first verse was quiet, nearly sedate, with just Cave and Harvey's guitar, but once the rest of the band kicked in, the intensity shot through the roof and up to the sky. Cave's first-person tale of a man on his way to the electric chair is captivating on record; live, it became a mighty anthem of defiance and resignation. There was no way the band could have followed that with another song of that magnitude, and they didn't try. Instead, the show ended as it began, with Cave at the piano and a partial compliment of Seeds plaintively moving through the beauteous title track of No More Shall We Part, bringing the show to a quiet and moving end.

Except that the crowd wasn't ready for it to end. Like me, these folks had been waiting for years for Cave to play Texas, and none of us were ready to let him go yet. The artist obligingly returned for an encore, leading Harvey, Wydler and Casey on stage for a sonorous reading of the sparse "Into My Arms," the only selection of the night from his lovely album The Boatman's Call. The rest of the band filed on afterward, as Cave introduced "a very old Bad Seeds song." The musicians then launched into the hellish "Saint Huck," a near-obscurity from the first Seeds album From Her to Eternity that as chaotic and noisy as anything by his early 80s combo the Birthday Party. The crowd, as they say, went wild. The band left the stage again, and was brought back again by the rapturous cheering of the crowd. I don't know how often Cave does second encores, but he seemed appreciative that we were all so fucking happy to have him here. He and the Seeds responded to the good will with "The Ship Song," possibly Cave's prettiest ballad; it was a gesture greeted so warmly it didn't matter that Cave forgot the words to the first verse. Then a rubbery R&B groove issued from Casey's bass and Cave growled "It was back in '32 when times were hard/He had a Colt .45 and a deck of cards/Stagger Lee." The Bad Seeds' infamous rewrite of the old folk song seethed with menace and, perversely, celebration, riding the sensual rhythm to victory in a way it couldn't on record—victory over Stagger Lee's opponents, over authority, over any reservations anyone in the crowd may have still had. It was another transcendent moment in a show full of them.

Throughout the concert Cave sat still only when he was on the piano bench. Otherwise he twitched, twisted, gestured, threw his head back, pointed into the crowd, pointed to the sky above him, stalked the stage, danced to the rhythm and just plain emoted, never letting the emotional content flag for an instant. He was in the moment during every song, feeling what his characters felt, never aloof to their plights or detached from their emotions, no matter how dark. It was impossible not to get caught up in his performance; it was like watching a great actor doing Shakespeare. The Bad Seeds supported him with tight, imaginative music that went from soft to shredding in a heartbeat, but never without purpose. It's amazing to me how the band gets such a full sound when each member plays the simplest of parts; a Bad Seeds performance is a textbook example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

It was truly magnificent.

Languid noise-pop trio Calla opened the show. Its dynamic indie rock, bearing the distinct stamp of the early 90s British shoegazer movement, was not at all bad, but it was easily forgettable in light of the drama to follow. For Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds had come to town, and this crowd would have been orgasmic if Cave had merely stood there. It was easily one of the best concerts I've ever attended. Please, Nick, don't stay away so long next time. Michael Toland