Review: Nick Cave & Warren Ellis, live at the Riverside Theatre, Perth - December 5, 2022.
A few days before this concert, I listened to an extensive radio interview with Cave conducted by Richard Fidler for Australia's National Broadcaster. It was a rich and rewarding conversation, befitting of a show so named. As Cave and Fidler eruditely and insightfully explored issues of faith, hope and carnage, I couldn't help but marvel at the distance these two men have travelled. Cave, the raging voice that sang 'Nick the Stripper' whilst almost tearing himself apart on stage, in conversation with a man who was once a part of The Doug Anthony Allstars, one of the most anarchic live acts this country has ever produced, with a penchant for singing about necrophilia and the delights of fucking dogs. Fidler is now a respected broadcaster and an author of highly respected works of history, whilst Cave has become a kind of global confessor and a man of letters in the most learned sense of the word.
The Word. Cave has found great comfort in the accoutrements of religion, noting the positive effects that reading scripture and attending Mass can have for him. Always a man inclined to religiosity rather than religious faith, he has found himself steadily merging the former with the latter in the years following the tragic death of his teenage son, Arthur. These facts are impossible to ignore when seeing Cave perform. If his concert resembles anything, it's that of a spiritual gathering. Cave's always had more than a touch of the raving preacher about him, but something has shifted. There's a flame burning in him that wasn't there before. A desire to connect. A more hopeful, life-affirming yearning. I really can't think of any other artist in the world - certainly not of Cave's artistic stature and profile - who seeks to create such an experience both for and with his audience.
He strides onto the stage with a smile, still rake thin, wearing his tailored suit like a second skin. Immediately, he makes eye contact with his musical partner and dear friend, Warren Ellis. Wozza, as Cave frequently calls him, is an absolute delight. He throws his arms in the air and throws kisses to the crowd, stretching out like a playful colt from his seated position. A bloke's crowd call of 'I love you Wozza!' greatly amuses Cave, and he proceeds to milk its comedic value throughout the evening.
Beginning with the hauntingly beautiful 'Spinning Song', the tone is largely set for the first few songs. Cave moves lightly but intently across the stage, singing and gesticulating with passion. Often, there is a sense of restraint that might seem like a reduction of some kind had it not been replaced with a prayerful intensity. There is a vulnerability being shared that is powerfully moving, especially coming from an artist who earned his stripes through crafting an indomitably theatrical persona.
And yet despite such deeply summoned sincerity, the concert is some distance from being an exclusively serious affair. Cave is still too much the showman and too much an Australian. "Fuckin' Perth!" he bellows to a mighty cheer. The Riverside Theatre is a 2,500-seater with excellent acoustics, and it's packed with disciples. There is a great sense of warmth in the air. It's remarkable how many fans have unwaveringly stuck with Cave as he's morphed through so many styles and incarnations. But whilst it's true that the Cave of 2022 is quite the different beast to the one wrote Stagger Lee (considerably less beast would be the better way to put it), the 'old' Cave still lurks, in the fountains of blood spurting from the necks of newly decapitated chickens, and the man with the elephant gun who'll shoot you in the fuckin' face if you think of coming around year. That song, 'Elephant Gun' is a fine case in point, in that it suddenly flips from being a vehicle for clenched-teeth fury, venting at the murder of George Floyd and colonial brutality one moment to anthemic Gospel affirming the existence of a kingdom in the sky. When this extended coda kicks in, fuelled not only by Cave's passion but three-pronged gospel backing vocals in support, you can feel the swelling of emotional uplift flooding through the crowd.
Though this isn't a Bad Seeds concert, Cave and co can still summon a furious racket. Supporting Cave, Ellis and the backing vocalists are drummer, Larry Mullens and Radiohead's Colin Greenwood, who shifts between bass and keyboards throughout. On 'Hand of God', they really let rip. At one point, Cave and the singers are pulled into one another as if by a vortex, whilst Ellis goes absolute berserk, incredibly, from his still-seated position. The hand of God at this point seems something to be feared, but still something to be embraced, even if more endured than enjoyed. There is a mighty power around us all, and this performance seems to be an act of inflamed penitence and it's absolutely electrifying.
During the song, Cave climbs down from the stage and walks into the ecstatic crowd, reaching out and touching hand and after hand, intoning the titular phrases in growls and whispers. He isn't God, nor is he claiming to be. He is sharing himself, connecting with them, willingly belonging to them, if only for a short time. It's noteworthy that the (even slightly) younger Cave had a penchant for singing into the eyes of adoring female fans. He's not selective anymore. Young and old, male and female, all find themselves in Cave's gaze. He doesn't fist bump; he holds hands with all he touches. He even hugs a few lucky ones and seems as almost as delighted as they are.
At the end of the song, he asks a big bloke to help him get back up onto the stage. He isn't needed in the end, but the act itself is yet another example of Cave's newfound ability not to take himself too seriously. This is seen when he introduces 'Waiting for You', and reproachfully scolds the crowd for not greeting the song's announcement with applause. A second introduction rectifies the situation, and it becomes clear that Cave was right to insist. It's a stunning performance, which he then follows with an even more intense performance of 'I Need You'. These Ghosteen songs are extraordinary and translate into a live setting far more fluidly and naturally than one might have imagined. In fact, the actual songs themselves seem to emerge from the aural ether that Ellis created for them with renewed clarity. These songs are heartbreakingly, agonisingly beautiful, and Cave sings them with everything he's got. I look around and see people wiping their eyes and holding hands. Yes, this is a concert, but it's liturgy, sacrament, and an act of remembrance. In his interview with Fidler, Cave spoke of his fondness for the Catholic Feast Day known as All Souls Day. Performances like these make it extremely clear than he means it.
Getting the balcony crowd to "lose [their] shit" every time the word 'balcony' is said in the song 'Balcony Man' makes for terrific fun, and the encore tends more towards older songs. It would be remiss to call them crowd-pleasers given how rapturously and reverently the newer material is received, but it's still feels as though their inclusion is an act of generosity. 'The Weeping Song' is great, with Cave using his piano in an almost barrel house fashion, and 'Henry Lee' is just fantastic, with Cave duetting with Janet Ramus murdering the feckless gave whilst Cave grins on, delighted.
For a concert arguably dominated by slow-burning intensity, it's a far from monochromatic experience. For all the sincerity and the urgent sense of hope that Cave channels, this is a life-affirming night out in more ways than one. It's impossible not to laugh when Warren Ellis plays the violin like an angrily-tethered hawk, utterly supine and still on his chair, or when Cave, organising his 'balcony' choir tells those at the front to 'shut the fuck up'. This is clearly what many people need their music to offer them in 2022. A sense that we're all on a painful road, a sense that we're all losing someone, but a sense we are not alone.