Never one to shy away from taboo subjects, much of Nick Cave‘s output in recent years has been challenging in a very different sense than his past work. Over the past decade he has suffered the tragic losses of two sons, and beginning with his 2015 album with The Bad Seeds, Skeleton Tree, he has been putting his grief to music. His trademark narrative style has shifted to a more introspective, stream-of-consciousness lyrical bent; the songs tend to be more somber and understandably mournful.
This overall trend continued into last year’s Wild God—only this album feels like a significant return to actual band-oriented music. While The Bad Seeds hadn’t gone dormant, Cave’s previous two records were essentially collaborations between just himself and co-producer/multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis, who’s been a Bad Seed since 1994. Last time through Milwaukee , Cave played the Riverside with only Radiohead’s Colin Greenwood accompanying him, and it was a significantly less theatric performance than Bad Seeds fans are used to—yet by no means dour or dull. Greenwood also replaced bassist Martyn Casey on last year’s Europe tour due to illness; word is still out on whether he’s an “official” Bad Seed, as well as on Casey’s condition and status with the band.
Whatever the case, the group was at full force at the Miller High Life Theatre Wednesday night. The Seeds had played here in 2014 (Milwaukee Theatre at the time) and the old sound system could barely handle their onslaught; they were no less noisy this time around but the sound was terrific and the crowd was significantly larger and equally as entranced from the moment Cave strode onstage.
While Cave’s most famous songs are decades old, he’s enjoyed some of his greatest critical success more recently, and attendees were just as attuned to the barrage of new material as the hits. The show opened with three songs off Wild God, with “Frogs” setting up a recurring trend: a traditional lighting scheme bathed the 11-piece ensemble in celestial light, only occasionally a screen behind the band would blaze forth in one solid color or another with an imprinted lyric (“AMAZED OF LOVE” in bright yellow; “KILL ME” in panic-button red), pop art daring the audience to take any of the proceedings too seriously.
Photo: Matt Wild
The band was a serious force, though. Stripped of the orchestral enhancements of the studio, “Frogs” got to a higher place in more of a rock setting. A quartet of backup singers (three silver-clad, one in black) stood on risers behind everyone for most of the performance, perfectly in line with the spiritual bent of a modern Bad Seeds show. Although Cave’s persona may suggest some kind of revivalist swindler, it’s never been clearer that he takes his role more to heart than most rock stars. He’s not up there simply to entertain or preside over a social gathering; he means to take his audience through a dynamic emotional journey, offering an opportunity for real catharsis in a variety of ways, and not just for his hardcore fans.
Sure, the main floor was on its collective feet for almost the whole show, many of them swaying in rapture, especially those close to the stage when Cave frequently leaned in to clasp their hands or prompt yet another snarling “Yeah yeah yeah!” chant. They’re all in on the Cave mystique, and his interactions with them can come off as bizarre to the uninitiated. But the truth is, Cave has cultivated a fanbase that probably gives back more genuinely to him than most performers can imagine; they’re part of the show, and the mutual appreciation obviously runs deep.
Longtime fans have weathered changes in Cave’s style, but early in Wednesday’s set, “Jubilee Street” showcased the ferocity that has always been a part of his shows. Following it up with “From Her To Eternity” put to rest any worries that he’d be neglecting the classics. Cave played the macabre barker, stalking the stage while the band fluctuated wildly along with him, Ellis wielding his violin like a cheese grater during the big noise climax.
“Warren’s not a hundred percent, I think,” Cave confessed after the song was over. “He caught something in fucking Chicago.” Defiantly, Ellis proceeded to conduct the crowd in an impromptu series of chants. If he was actually ill, he showed no signs; his feral onstage presence has become a crucial element of the Bad Seeds’ live reputation over the years, and the crowd responded loudly. “You’ve, um, healed him,” deadpanned Cave.
The only other song from the ’80s that made the cut was “Tupelo,” which paints the birth of Elvis as the coming of the antichrist. Cave had the crowd eating out of his hand for this one, and the band sustained the apocalyptic atmosphere through “Conversion,” which saw the frontman venture into the crowd while alternating chant-screams of “You’re beautiful!” and “Stop!” Yet just as powerful as the full-band bombast was the quieter interlude that followed. “Joy” was the crux, featuring a sparse arrangement, primarily just keyboards and voice. With the stage bathed in icy violet and blue, Cave sang lyrics like “Who is it, I cried, what wild ghost has come in agitation?” and the eternal goth kid in all of us felt completely fulfilled.
It’s not actually a dark, depressing song, though. As the music got quieter, Cave came forward and stood alone in the spotlight. “I jumped up like a rabbit and fell down to my knees,” he sang, and an impossible silence blanketed the room. He repeated the line a cappella; again, utter stillness. “I called all around me, have mercy on me please” finally ended the suspense; the band faded back in, and the crowd silently celebrated an unforgettable moment.
If Cave has a hit single it’s “Red Right Hand”; in the wake of so much heavier material, it felt like a trinket at first, but the band admirably cranked the ending to maximum violence. “The Mercy Seat” as always was a quick fierce barrage, and then “White Elephant” closed the proper set. At first the electronic pulse contrasted harshly, but the song quickly built into a harrowing roar, Cave’s face twisted into a menacing scowl as he ranted like some incoherent demagogue.
It’s always been a core tenet of his power, the ability to make concertgoers pause in their revelry and wonder just how much of Cave is in his characters. Does he really mean that? Which side is he actually on? Even when he’s gushing earnest gratitude, there’s that uncertainty heightening the tension. There’s simply never been another performer like him.
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• Nick Cave enthralls the faithful at sparse, powerful Riverside Theater show