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Written by Sid Andruska Thursday, 20 April 2006 11:32

Inspired by personal obsessions with the Bible, death, murder, sex, and various acts of skullduggery, Cave’s latest double album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, transcends all previous stereotypes of the Australian-born artist. I hesitate to write this review for one reason: Those who explore Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds might become fans. Then, there goes my best-kept secret. Cave is like the proverbial skeleton in the closet; you reveal it to a chosen few. Today’s your lucky day.

Inspired by personal obsessions with the Bible, death, murder, sex, and various acts of skullduggery, Cave’s latest double album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, transcends all previous stereotypes of the Australian-born artist.

Known for his brooding, blackened heart demeanor and demon preacher stance on stage, Cave roars from the pulpit; however, this time he’s reinvented his wicked scriptures by adding a splendid oxymoron: the London Community Gospel Choir. Malevolence never sounded so heavenly. Compared with 2003’s demure Nocturama (Mute), AB/LO is as welcomed as the sun after a week’s worth of rain.

Cave’s career as singer/songwriter launched over two decades ago: First, with The Boys Next Door, a ’70s punk band formed with school chum Mick Harvey, followed by The Birthday Party with its raw lyrics and obscure banging, which sent them to underground stardom in the early ’80s. Just before TBP’s candle blew out in 1983, Blixa Bargeld of Einstuerzende Neubauten joined as guitarist and remained when The Bad Seeds took root in 1984, debuting with the chest-crushing classic, From Her to Eternity.

Cave and The Bad Seeds’ come-hither, junkie charisma can charm the most cynical life forms; experience the lure by acquiring these must-have releases: Tender Prey, Let Love in, Murder Ballads, and Henry’s Dream. Read the lyrics, hear the duende, feel the goose bumps. Add liquor and enjoy thoroughly.

AB/LO produces a similar high, but with a dichotic twist: Half jolts you with specters of Armageddon, cannibalism, disillusionment, and a woeful fable about a brown ape; the other half liberates you, like church letting out, with themes of nature, flowers, and carnal frolicking woven in.

On the enigmatic “Get Ready for Love,” spurts of psychedelic guitar back Cave as he mocks a flock too caught up in worshipping to notice God: “Most of all nothing much ever really happens/and God rides high up in the ordinary sky/Until we find ourselves at our most distracted/And the miracle that was promised creeps quietly by.” All the while, the choir chants, “Praise Him ’til you’ve forgotten what you’re praising Him for.”
Pole-dance worthy by rhythm alone, “Hiding All Away” conjures up the sinister sounding Cave of yore, flavored with thumping bass, organ grinding, acid rock, and cackling from the choir. A song about finding inspiration and fame, “There She Goes, My Beautiful World,” flows energetically with Cave’s enthusiastic piano pounding and forceful vocals.

“Abattoir Blues” seemingly forebodes the coming of some end, as sung in a casual, melodic baritone: “Everything’s dissolving babe, according to plan/The sky is on fire, the dead are heaped across the land.” Injecting dark comedy and swarthy overtones into “The Lyre of Orpheus,” Cave distorts the Greek tragedy, making it more of a classic by today’s standards.

Cave, a Johnny Cash fan? Absolutely. Speculation has it that “Let the Bells Ring (He Is the Real Thing)” was written as a tribute to the Man in Black. In an interview, Cave commented on his passing: “[Cash] had such a wealth of experience in his voice, heaven and hell and no one could touch him. He was the real thing.”

Although mirroring Cave’s more love-afflicted opuses, like The Boatmen’s Call and No More Shall We Part (Mute), AB/LO embodies religion, literature, and mythology with some guts and gore, but is also immured by grace and elegance that can only be attributed to the artist’s age and stalwart soul. Like a fine red wine, Cave at 47 is delicious, full-bodied, and when consumed in excess, makes you do positively sinful things.
— Sid Andruska