Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – ‘Wild God’ album review: ascending to the heavens in a wavering rocket
THE SKINNY: Up until about a year ago, Nick Cave was approaching a national treasure status, firmly inviolable to censure thanks to the way he was empathetically revolutionising what a rock star could be in the 21st century. Then the door was left ajar for a hint of criticism – rather cynically and unjustly, I might add – when he attended the King’s coronation.
While this might seem amiss to bring up, in the same way that his old friend Mark E. Smith said having security guards wasn’t particularly good for your writing—I’m not sure attending coronations is either. Wild God begins with an Elviseque spoken word moment about a beautiful lake, or some shit, that is every bit as pompous, overblown and self-serious as a coronation itself. And that’s fine. You’d expect that from Wild God. In fact, you’d want that from Cave in his current era.
These opening moments also mark the album’s artistic aim to champion expression über alles, but in doing so, Cave loses sight of the refinement that makes expression eloquent. While it seems harsh to criticise his writing given that he’s arguably one of the finest writers of the last 50 years, there are undoubtedly messy moments, like when he rhymes god with god four times in a row in the song ‘Wild God’ on the album Wild God.
This same method applies to the music. He has gone for an expression-led orchestral swell that careens and swooshes to the whims of his muse. But the problem is that he isn’t Vivaldi. These grand moments have always been part of his work, but with tracks like ‘Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow’ he also had what Vivaldi didn’t have, which was a thumping chorus and some searing guitar work by Mick Harvey and Blixa Bargeld.
Those familiar elements are lost on his 18th Bad Seeds record, favouring a wandering cavalcade instead. Sometimes, it sweeps you up; sometimes, it walks all over you. When it sweeps you and his words align, it is every bit as biblical as Cave clearly intends. It makes sense of the world and suffering in a way that is grand and personifies art at its best. But these moments are fleeting, like glints of warm sun at the beach on a blustery day, and they are often derided by their own wandering virtue, breaking free of all structure and ordered elegance, happening upon lines like “And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, oh never mind, never mind” which jarringly lead you down dead alleys and make you wonder whether purity of expression has led to inflated indulgence.
All told, the record is largely a unique and powerful triumph. It boldly reaches for the heavens and often grabs the odd walloping fistful. However, to be entirely truthful, if in two years time the mood for a bit of Nick Cave hits his longstanding fans, the vast majority of people may well bypass Wild God in favour of Push the Sky Away, or have a good cry with Ghosteen instead.
For fans of: The more obscure Philip Larkin poems that are impossible to read aloud. The feeling of awe you get when stumbling into foreign cathedrals on holiday. And being healed by a slap from an American pastor in a baggy suit.
A concluding comment from your local Priest’s neighbour: “I’ve been up for weeks with this ecclesiastical wailing blaring through the walls. I much preferred when Father just played Cliff Richard and Radio 3 on the odd sunny afternoon in the garden.”
Wild God track by track:
Release Date: August 30th | Producers: Nick Cave & Warren Ellis | Label: PIAS
‘Song of the Lake’: It’s a beautiful and bold beginning to a record that holds no punches but finds itself just the wrong side of cheesy and inflated when viewed in the sober light of day. It ascends towards the heavens but in a rocket that lacks direction. [3.5/5]
‘Wild God’: The first single from the record sees Cave deliver one of his most wandering toplines. There might be no “fucking around”, as he put it, with the unmitigated power of the backing, but once the words have been bellowed, it’s hard to remember them when the track finishes. [3.5/5]
‘Frogs’: Cave’s vocals are unleashed. He bawls with emotive pain that proves highly affecting. Meanwhile, the rallying cry of the music refuses to abate in the background. It’s vast and expressive stuff—renaissance marble but also oddly ad-libbed in its finish. [3.5/5]
‘Joy’: After an utterly devastating beginning, Cave’s words become more like prose than poetry, so although they’re ineffably heartbreaking, they’re not easy to follow. The premise of a ghost preaching joy is an affecting one, but it is waveringly deployed. [3.5/5]
‘Final Rescue Attempt’: Delicious synthetics and a waltzing piano create one of the record’s most welcoming aesthetics. Cave’s words roll fluently over the top as he sings of salvation and abandonment. With greater structure, this anthemic effort is one of the album’s most refined epic moments. [4/5]
‘Conversion’: A slow oration by Cave builds towards a billowing gospel crescendo. The Bad Seeds’ trademark whizzing bass note noise adds inventiveness and familiarity to an ending akin to an evangelical healing ceremony. [3.5/5]
‘Cinnamon Horses’: There are call-and-response moments, sunbathing vampires, wailing gospels, experiments with repetition, lessons for life, cinematic strings, alternation between syncopation and off-beat, trees, lines of love… [3/5]
‘Long Dark Night’: An utterly gorgeous piece of balladry. Pop structure and the rather stripped-back instrumentation of piano, plucked guitar, the odd drum fill, and Cave’s purring vocals allow for some refreshing neatness and a chorus to ascend. What is lost in ambition is gained tenfold in elegance. [4.5/5]
‘O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is)’: A lusting love song, an ode, and a novel experiment with auto-tune. It is akin to a cut from No More Shall We Part remixed by Justin Vernon. And it’s a sweet listen that thousands of fans will wish was written about them right down to the poetic voicemail at the end. [4/5]
‘As The Waters Cover The Sea’: A mellow post-script that intoxicates you in a way that only Brian Eno’s ‘Becalmed’ usually can. Cave paints stirring pictures of a women by a window, streaming beams of light, and heavenliness. The gospel choir are triumphant, and all is beautiful. [4.5/5]
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