Aural Fixations
NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS
Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus
(Mute/Anti-)
Nick Cave and his Bad Seeds have been making records for 20 years now; amazingly, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus is the band's first double album. Despite each disk having its own title, this 2-CD set comes across as one long project rather than two separate albums packaged together. Exploring the usual themes of obsessive romanticism, spiritual confusion and the darker side of human nature, Cave and his band manage to fill over 80 minutes with music as compelling and memorable as anything they've ever done. The Bad Seeds, augmented by a gospel choir whose harmonies and backgrounds fit shockingly well into the Cave universe, keep getting tighter, more versatile and more amazing with every record. They follow their leader down any path, no matter how thorny or slippery, with almost casual aplomb.
For the quieter tracks, Cave's singing is sedate and pitch-perfect, while the band is at its most sympathetic. Cave and the Seeds bring a stately sense of beauty to the ballads, whether they're dealing with the social anxiety of "Easy Money," the erotic longing of "Babe, You Turn Me On," the dark devotion of "Cannibal's Hymn" or the moral ambivalence of "Abattoir Blues." There's also a folky pop song called "Breathless" that's lighter and airier than anything in the ensemble's catalog. Old-school Cave fans afraid their hero has mellowed a little too much needn't worry, though; the musicians can still rev up the engines like the old days. On the straight rocker "Nature Boy," the simmering mid-tempo tune "Supernaturally" and the old-fashioned rave-up "There She Goes, My Beautiful World" (probably the most rousing song about reconnecting with the muse ever created), the Seeds find the groove and thrash it into the ground.
Cave hasn't forgotten his penchant for willful perversity, either. He takes a famous Greek myth and brings its undercurrent of ugly obsession to the forefront in the snarling rant "The Lyre of Orpheus." In "Hiding All Away," the protagonist forces his lover through all sorts of metaphorical degradation, each worse than the last, in order to penetrate his own assured self-loathing. But Cave saves his greatest suckerpunch for the first and last songs. "Get Ready For Love" opens Abattoir Blues with a savage condemnation of those waiting for salvation from an indifferent God—"We search high and low without mercy or malice/While the gate of the Kingdom swings shut and closes," he growls, before exhorting the faithful to "Praise Him 'til you've forgotten what you're praising him for." Then Cave and the Seeds close The Lyre of Orpheus with "O Children," a hymn that balances the uplifting chorus "Lift up your voice, Children/Rejoice, rejoice" with crooned lyrics like "Hey little train! Wait for me/I once was blind but now I see/Have you left a seat for me?/Is that such a stretch of the imagination?" After the spiritual ruminations of his last few albums, Cave's bitter rejection of the evangelical elites' version of salvation, couched in some of the most ear-catching music of his career, feels like the completion of a cycle, a final rest for demons tormenting his artistic. It feels like he's clearing the decks, making room for new obsessions.
Cave is an artist of many personas—contemplative seeker, malevolent lover, romantic crooner, raving madman—and you'd think he'd take the opportunity of makings two records to segregate the different aspects of his work. That's not the case here, as beauty and ugliness, heart and horror, are spread equally over both disks. Apparently Cave simply had more good tunes ready than usual and wanted to get them all heard. Whatever the reason for the abundance of riches on Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, it makes the album the equal to anything in the Seeds' storied catalog and one of the best albums of Cave's long career. Michael Toland [buy it]
