[Steph, Krystelle and Stephanie were lucky enough to get tickets to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' sold-out Edinburgh show last week. Read on for their report from the Hall of Darkness, aka the Corn Exchange.]
There are few places I would rather be on a bitterly cold November night than packed into a sold out venue, listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ sumptuous blend of melodic ballads and dark stomping rock.
Cave bounds onto the stage, dapper as ever, jet black mane and suit. The set kicks off with “Dig, Lazarus Dig!!!”, from their 14th studio album of the same name. A filthy pounding delight, which succeeds in rousing the crowd. Considering they have been together for over 20 years, the Bad Seeds still exude a fervent energy, whilst maintaining their credibility with critics and fans alike and avoiding mainstream status.
A particular highlight was “The Lyre of Orpheus”, a cynical and bloody retelling of the Myth of Orpheus: “Orpheus went leaping through the fields, strumming as hard as he did please, birdies detonated in the sky, bunnies dashed their brains out on the trees”. Cave affably encouraged the audience to sing along to the “O Mamma”s – joyous. (Steph)
I am rather short, so I spend a lot of time at shows looking at sweaty backs and necks and swinging arms and generally contemplating the nature of fandom. While Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are eminently watchable – kinetic, slippery and dark – I do have some time to note the following:
A middle-aged couple holding hands and singing along to each other like extras from Grease; a group of stringy hipstery boys doing minimal dance moves; a jolly Goth with one of those long beards that grow from the chin like an icicle.
Cave’s audience at the Corn Exchange, in other words, is eclectic. I could speculate that it’s because the music pulls from so many unlikely sources that it eludes easy categorization, opening itself up to everybody. I’m not sure that’s exactly right, though. I do know that every Nick Cave fan I’ve met holds their fandom as something singular and personal – something cultivated early and alone, with headphones on shag carpeting after school. When two Nick Cave fans meet, they act like they’ve discovered they share the same exotic middle name.
Someone yells something almost inaudible from across the room and Cave cranes forward to hear, then says roughly, “I’m in the middle of something here.” You can tell though that he kind of likes being interrupted. I remember a show in Glasgow where the singer, a very pretty American wunderkind, tried for a bit of clever, self-deprecating chat in between songs – this being Glasgow, he was countered by a really vast silence and then a single cry of “Banter!”, withering his folksiness on the vine. Cave, on the other hand, lets himself become engaged with the people staring up at him in the dark slowly, feigning reluctance at first, pulling back with a bit of well-placed irony (“This next one is a Cave Classic”) but pausing to listen, a dark and suited sliver among the cords and keyboards and pink lighting, when someone at the back calls out. (Krystelle)
One of those callers, a woman in the crowd just to my right, had her wish come true that evening after she repeatedly yelled “Stagger Lee!!!” over and over in quiet, inter-song moments. In the encore, the opening sounds of the song rustled eerily over the crowd. Returning after an intense, gleaming set, the band built up the noise, carefully orchestrating the storm as they had managed so exhaustively in a couple of other notable Cave Classic moments – “Tupelo”, “Red Right Hand” and “The Mercy Seat”.
It was Nick Cave gig #3 for me – a few years ago I caught him with the Bad Seeds in Glasgow, then at the Edinburgh Playhouse with a piano and the mini-Seeds. But I can’t say I’ve gotten used to the atmosphere at the shows yet. Beyond the thrill of hearing some of my favourite recordings performed live and the sheer dark, powerful presence of Cave, there’s the intimidating enthusiasm of the audience. It’s such a paradox that songs that describe such a violent world – a gritty place where the devil walks freely among us, and heartbreak is rife – can make spectators smile, whoop and dance so wildly. It’s also impossible to resist being carried along.
Which made it all the funnier Monday night when, via Channel 4 News, Nick Cave suddenly appeared to present the Turner Prize. Tersely, with a wry two-thumbs-up to all the shortlistees, he announced Mark Leckey as the winner. And while Leckey took about half an hour to walk onstage, to anyone who had been in the Corn Exchange last Thursday, the show was already over. (Stephanie)
