When
Blixa Bargeld left
Nick Cave's
Bad Seeds, who would have predicted his departure would result in one of the finest offerings in the band's catalog?
Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus
is a double CD or, rather, two completely different albums packaged in
one very handsome box with a stylish lyric booklet and subtly colored
pastel sleeves. They were recorded in a total of 16 days by producer
Nick Launay (
Kate Bush,
Midnight Oil,
Girls Against Boys,
Silverchair,
INXS,
Virgin Prunes, et al.).
Abbatoir Blues, the first disc in the set (packaged in pink, of course), is a rock & roll record. Yeah, the same guy who released the
Boatman's Call,
No More Shall We Part, and
Nocturama
albums has turned in a pathos-drenched, volume-cranked rocker, full of
crunch, punishment -- and taste. Drummer Jim Sclavunos' aggressive,
propulsive kit work is the bedrock of this set. It and
Mick Harvey's storm-squall guitar playing shake things loose on "Get Ready for Love," which opens the album. As
Cave
goes right for God in the refrain -- "get ready for love" -- in the
maelstrom, a gospel choir roaring "praise Him" responds. His tense,
ambivalent obsession with theology is pervasive; he mocks the Western
perception of God in the heavens yet seeks the mystery of His nature.
That he does so while careening through a wall of noisy rock damage is
simply stunning. It leaves the listener revved up and off-center for
what comes next. The chorus -- members of
the London Community Gospel Choir -- is prevalent on both records;
the Bad Seeds' arrangement utilizes them wisely as counterpoint and mirror for
Cave's own baritone. "Cannibal's Hymn" begins as a love song musically; it's chocked with
Cave's
dark wit and irony and ends far more aggressively while retaining its
melody. The single, "Nature Boy," finds itself on Scalvunos' big beat.
Cave
and his piano use love's irony in contrast with cheap innuendo as
underlined by the choir in their best soul croon. "Let Them Bells Ring"
is a most dignified and emotionally honest tribute to
Johnny Cash and the world he witnessed. The Western wrangle of "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" references
Morricone's desert cowboy groove against a swirling cacophony of drums, bashing piano, and the chorus swelling on the refrain, while
Cave name drops
Johnny Thunders
and poet Philip Larkin. The pace is fantastic; its drama and musical
dynamics are pitched taut, with lulls in all the right places.
The Lyre of Orpheus,
by contrast, is a much quieter, more elegant affair. It is more
consciously restrained, its attention to craft and theatrical flair more
prevalent. But that doesn't make it any less satisfying. It is a bit of
a shock after
Abbatoir Blues,
but it isn't meant for playing immediately afterward; it is a separate
listening experience. The title track tells the myth's tale in
Cave's
ironical fashion, where God eventually throws a hammer at the subject
and Eurydyce threatens to shove his lyre up his nether orifice.
Warren Ellis' swampy bouzouki and
Thomas Wydler's more stylized drumming move the band in the tense, skeletal swirl where chorus and
Cave
meet the music in a loopy dance. But in "Breathless," the bard of the
love song emerges unfettered at the top of his poetic gift. On "Babe You
Turn Me On," he wraps a bawdy yet tender love song in a country music
waltz to great effect. But on this album, along with the gentleness, is
experimentation with textures and wider dimensions. The sparser sound is
freer, less structured; it lets time slip through the songs rather than
govern them -- check the wall of
Ellis' strings married to a loping acoustic guitar on the moving "Carry Me" as an example.
Cave's
nastiness and wit never remains absent for long, however, and on "O
Children," the album's closer, it returns with this skin-crawlingly
gorgeous ballad of murder and suicide. This set is an aesthetic
watermark for
Cave, a true high point in a long career that is ever looking forward.
tags: nick cave and the bad seeds, abattoir blues, the lyre of orpheus, 2004, flac,
