Nick Cave on the three guitarists who play “as if they’re singing”
Few can contest the place Nick Cave holds on the leaderboard of one of the all-time great songwriters. Besides his jet-black hair and pointy suit-clad silhouette, he’s called the ‘Prince of Darkness’ for good reason. Wicked tales that fluctuate between the esoteric and humane are delivered with his signature baritone that pales the surrounding instruments as he performs to devoted crowds.
Cave’s name stands firmly among the pantheon of greats, yet there is something distinctly different to some of his contemporaries. While the artists we herald as legends often exude some form of virtuoso technicality. Be it Cave’s longtime admirer David Gilmour on guitar or John Bonham on drums in the years gone by, these artists have stood out with their physical ability to elevate the skill of playing an instrument.
In Cave’s instance, his quality is something more transcendental. Be it drawing upon his grief or referencing anthropological literary figures, he approaches his art with the sole intent of tapping into unfiltered profundity. He once explained himself, “As human beings, we have enormous capabilities that allow us to rise above our suffering—that we are hardwired for transcendence.”
But like most artists, Cave’s personal taste curiously explores the realms outside his own mastery. While he rightly cites Leonard Cohen as an influence on his own work, he is more of a North Star who shone upon Cave as he fine-tuned his songwriting talent. On the other hand, when it came to spinning vinyl in the restful hours between literary and vocal training, Cave was just another music-loving kid, getting down to the sounds of the cultural verve.
“As a teenager, I was a big English progressive rock fan,” he explained on his fan-led forum, The Red Hand Files. “Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull, Procol Harum, Yes, Emerson, Lake and Palmer—I loved that stuff. I still do. To this day, Robert Fripp and David Gilmour are giants to me and remain among my favourite guitarists. Fripp and Gilmour are very different players, but there is something about the tone of their instruments that touches me in a very deep place.”
But while those artists never got Cave to push his hair forward and adopt the power stance, there was something within the depths of the virtuoso guitar playing that pointed him towards how a performance in notes, regardless of their delivery, can incite an emotional response.
Concluding, he added: “The same goes for Funkadelic’s Eddie Hazel (check out ‘Maggot Brain’). These guitarists play as if they are singing, I think. Tonally and emotionally, David Gilmour’s guitar is simply a supercharged version of his voice—satiny, stirring and epic. Robert Fripp’s guitar sound is more radical, dangerous and unpredictable, but even at his most confrontational, that lyrical and song-like quality is never far away.”
