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Sunday, Jul 12, 2009
The most talented romantic Christian poet rocker in the world talks to Salon about his new record and his return to songwriting form.
Nov 18, 2004 | In 1997 Nick Cave released an album called "The Boatman's Call," completing one of the most dramatic and unlikely transformations in popular music, from dangerously out-of-control frontman of the visceral, confrontational and frighteningly loud Australian post-punk band the Birthday Party, to contemplative balladeer and master writer of love songs; from Goth hero, heroin junkie, and icon of excess and violence to a man who had secured his place among the greatest and most respected of living songwriters.
"The Boatman's Call" was not just a triumphant aesthetic arrival; it was also a great record: 12 songs focused starkly on Cave's clumsy baritone and simple piano playing, chronicling a romantic relationship, from tenderness to pain to bitter anger (the record is rumored to be based on Cave's relationship and breakup with PJ Harvey). "The Boatman's Call" belongs with Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks" and Lyle Lovett's "Road to Ensenada" on any list of great breakup records. As a display of rock songwriting, it has few peers.
It was also the kind of landmark record that can be very difficult to follow. Cave and his band, the Bad Seeds, released their next studio album in 2001, "No More Shall We Part," a dense, intricately complicated record that had a few brilliant moments, but for the most part felt overworked, overthought, and stale. Last year came "Nocturama," a sloppy, indifferently written record that replaced overthinking with thoughtlessness and was easily the worst that Cave had ever made. It began to look as though "The Boatman's Call" might have marked not only the highpoint of Cave's career but also the beginning of its rapid decline.
Earlier this year, I met with Cave as he prepared to release his two-CD record set -- "Abattoir Blues" and "The Lyre of Orpheus." He spoke at length about the progression from "The Boatman's Call" to the present, and while he didn't, in so many words, say that his last two records were bad, his tone -- and his inability to even remember one of the titles -- made it clear that his esteem for them may be as limited as mine.
"'Boatman's Call' is a hugely important record. The two records after that are living very much under its shadow," Cave said. "'Nocturama' was a record that was supposed to be made quickly in every possible way. Write the lyrics fast, write the music fast, record it quickly. Everything was done in a casual way -- the cover, even the title. And that was because we felt a need to get away from the solemnity of, [pause] that record before that."
You mean "No More Shall We Part?" I asked. He nodded, dismissively. "Everything we do seems to come from a need to remedy certain things that happened on the last record."
The remedy appears to have worked: His new records renders absurd any worries I had about Cave's career. It's not only his best record since "The Boatman's Call" but might be one of the best of his career. And when I told Cave that, he seemed both grateful and vindicated: "Really? I think so too. Thank you for confirming my suspicions!"
