This is a hall usually associated with ballet performances and Broadway musicals. To see a gritty performer like Cave in this setting is a little out of context. A sit down show where the acoustics are fine-tuned to suit high brow tastes. The house is about two thirds full, which was the exception for this tour. But seeing the lowlifes and weirdos in attendance does my heart good. Not since Peter Murphy at the Great America amusement park have I seen so many vampires out of their element. And like Murphy, Cave knows that you can try to leave the past, but your demons follow. After glad-handing quite a few long-lost and so-called friends, we are ushered to our seats.

Having confused a solo performance and "an evening with", I was not expecting an opening act. I am always of the opinion that people who miss the opener are suckers. As the lights dim, three people make their way onto the far end of the stage. Andrew Bird, the young dark haired fellow brandishing a violin introduces them as "Bowl Of Fire". Kevin O’ Donnell positions himself behind the tom. Pay attention now, ONE tom. He’s flanked by Nora O’Connor on guitar. While this combo is only three fifths of the Bowl Of Fire ensemble, they had no trouble captivating the audience. Bandleader Bird has a mastery of lost styles from klezmer to blues. As versatile a musician as Gatemouth Brown. Add to that the smart lyrics that are dark and humorous within the same song, and they are immediately a great appetizer for Cave.

"Way Out West" takes a variation on "Wayfaring Stranger" and "Hey Joe". Bird strokes, plucks, and strums his fiddle to get the sound he wants. Often holding it to his chest like a ukulele, his showmanship reminds me of Buddy Holly. "Happy Birthday" contains the backhanded greeting, "Seeing how it’s going to be your last, sing it like hallelujah." O’ Donnell behind his singular drum looks nervous from the neck up, but his pummeling adds much to the experience. He has rhythmic precision and changes to mallets and brushes as needed. On one song, Bird explores moderation as a form of excess ending with the belly laugh, "I bet I think this song is about me. Don’t I?" O’Connor sings nice a gospel-tinged song penned by O’Donnell, who goes bass-heavy on the guitar. Bird supports with folky fiddle lines.

Culled from a so-called goofy dream, "Sweet Breads" is clever and tasteless, (or tasteful, depending) "I taste the thoughts that you were thinkin. It tasted just like neurons blinkin" The fascinating Bird jerks his head around disturbingly as the music erupts from his mouth. Halfway through a Primus inspired version of "Richland Woman" I recognize the John Hurt song. After all this amusement and amazement, the first strains of the last song brought tears to my eyes before the rich harmonies ever even kicked in. Mournful and probing, Bowl Of Fire succeeds in touching the intellect, humor, emotion, and twisted nature of the audience. I find them very attractive, and if they agree to see me again, I’m putting out.

Nick Cave saunters on like he owns the place, which he does, past the piano to greet the crowd. He waves matter-of-factly and seems surprised to find a piano onstage. He turns on his heels, plonks down on the bench and introduces his band as they appear. I’m calling them Disband Of Susans. Dirty Three drummer Jim White and violinist Warren Ellis were formerly in Blackeyed Susans, While bassist Susan Stenger is from Band of Susans. Coincidence? Suited for business Cave bashes out the chords of "West Country Girl" To hooting and cajoling, he snorts out the words coarse and raw. Like a malevolent Tom Waits, he riles the crowd up. Cheers and hollering greet a pared down, delicate "Sad Waters" The oldest song from the Bad Seeds catalog that will be performed this eve. "Here’s a sad one," warns Cave. "That’s what I do. That and…" he waggles a finger, searching for the word, "…oh, angry!" laughter validates his joke. "Henry Lee" without the female part is somehow more sorrowful. Cave pours over the keys swaying as Ellis coaxes blues from his fiddle. The mood in the auditorium quickly escalates to burlesque show level. Cave lights a cigarette, to the dismay of the nicotine fiends in this no-smoking venue. A woman in the balcony screams out for "Straight To You" Cave points at her and announces "I can do that." Pause…"But I’m not gonna." Laughter. "I’m gonna do a Johnny Cash song." I immediately think "Wanted Man", but as Dylan wrote that I get confused. The joke reaches me with the opening line of "Mercy Seat." Low rumblings from the piano’s underside. Cave slows it even more than Cash, but with Ellis on accordion builds it into a frenzy. Speaking of Ellis, during his off time he has a tendency to pose for photo ops. Or recline behind the speaker. During his playing time he faces White, fidgets and jumps like he’s got a yeast infection. He’s like the guy from Twilight Circus but with musical talent. The mud-flap girl on the back of his violin is pretty swank, and he makes sure everyone can see it. The lights go low and the band disappears as Cave preaches "God Is In The House." Religious fervor like a Preacher Jack hymn. The barbs are now pointed more toward those who wear the breastplate of self-righteousness than their deity. "God is in the house and I wish he would come out" seems to leave some doors open. As Cave is sermonizing, a shadowy, lurking character in a longcoat strides to the stage and slides something across. He wheels around, tails flapping and returns from whence he came. This is Colorado, mind you, so I have visions of acme dynamite in a bundle. My girlfriend confirmed later that she had the same thoughts. Oblivious, Cave continues, and to my knowledge, the gift is never collected.

Cave has a reputation for responding to requests for his oldest material in this manner: he admonishes, "That was The Boys Next Door…" and drawing his hand back like Ed Sullivan to introduce the band, announces, "The Bad Seeds!" So having witnessed this blatant refusal firsthand, I am shocked when he says, "Here’s a Birthday Party song." I’m gasping for breath when the red lights hit the piano from below. Ellis is going nuts with his Ian Anderson act. People are screaming and picking up their jaws. Shouts are going out for "Nick The Stripper" and "King Ink" although "Wild World" is well underway. Feedback is replaced by violin squawking. Cave is pounding and shrieking "Don't push me." White’s arms are a blur. Hearts are palpitating in the hell fire and cacophony. Any decorum that existed is shot. Now that the rules have changed, they’re even calling out for "Shivers", hoping to push it even further back. Instead he brings the level back down and jumps ten years to "Papa Won’t Leave You, Henry". Cave explains "This is a long one." Then thumbing through his notes, "But it’s shorter now, I’m missing a page." My joy is short lived. Cave lays two chords down and rolls the song out like dough. Cling clang, fitting the words wherever they will on the off-kilter rhythm. Gone is the downhill drive on down that road. Luckily, balcony lady gets her inevitable wish for "Straight To You." Nice and true, we’re all feeling warm and fuzzy. "People Aint No Good" isn’t angry, sad or a love song. It’s a news article. Now the song that spawned Eminem, "Stagger Lee" is toned down somewhat from the gangster rap album version. The blood-soaked climax reaches a nice intensity previously missed on the cartoon song. The crowd loves it. Then the beautiful "Into My Heart" so the guys can wrap their bloody arm around their girls. The band splits long enough for stage crew to change the troublesome monitor.

When the behooving brings them back, a girl presents Cave with a bouquet of lilies. This selfless honor comes attached to a demo tape, which he ponders. Naturally everyone is yelling song titles. I’m urging for "Black Paul." Cave points to a guy and says, "Alright, we’re gonna do "Love Letters" for this guy." If I find that guy I’ll clock him. Another damn love song. Finally, he does "Do You Love Me" and the dark version at that! More old-world accordion. This makes it all better. Now an eager fan jumps onstage and rushes to whisper something in Cave’s ear. A security guard unaccustomed to these shenanigans follows up and grabs the young man’s arm, but does little in the way of removing him. Cave accommodates listening intently, if nervously. Security escorts the man not to his seat or out of the theatre, just back to his place in front of the stage. Everyone snuggles up during "Ship Song" Tears are falling, even when he looks up and exclaims, "Ahhh shit!" Sympathetic laughter. I give him a moment before shouting, "We talk about it all night long!" He looks for confirmation from the band, before agreeing. By now it’s a sing along. After that endearing embarrassment, they try to sneak out again. Having found my voice with our exchange, I think I have him in my pocket. So I’m hollering "Black Paul". No such luck. But when he comes back alone, he makes with a nice rendition of "Loom Of The Land" Then to get us off his back, the hilarious barroom closing song of "Little Empty Boat" says suitably, "Tell our gracious host to fuck himself It's time for us to leave." And so he does.

In trying to eliminate some of the chaos of the Bad Seeds shows, Cave has merely shifted that responsibility to the fans. He can step back in his role as inciter and enjoy his handiwork. The new album "No More Shall We Part" will be out by press time and the Bad Seeds tour next fall. That gives me plenty of time to learn the new songs. But for now, the firstborn must die.

— Ewan Wadharmi

Talk Back
post in the webboard
e-mail the chief

Like this article?
e-mail it to a friend!