Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
AO Arena, Manchester
5th November 2024
Renowned as one of the world’s most electrifying live acts, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds deliver a staggering two-and-a-half-hour set, performing 21 songs with the latest Wild God album at its core.
As a newcomer to the experience of Nick Cave live, I find myself catapulted into a realm of emotional transcendence. This is, without question, one of the most astonishing performances I’ve ever witnessed. The arena is packed to capacity, and anticipation hangs in the air as a colossal curtain is levered back, dropping dramatically to reveal the stage in all its elaborate instrumental splendour. The lights dim, the crowd roars, and the ensemble take the stage.
Frogs arches in with a repetitive heartrending riff that tilts downwards from the heavens, like a rainstorm. Cave waltzes straight to the runway platform, luring the thirsty hands of the adoring crowd, as he calls ‘Amazed of love and amazed of pain’, the lyrics boldly chiselling their way in a 3D typeface through the big screen. Silver angels glitter on a high stage platform, voices dreamy and a reassurance to Cave’s emotional urgency. It’s a strong opener. Cave takes centre stage on grand piano, for the raw, tension-laden journey of Wild God. The song swells with intensity, the soaring power of the choir transporting it to an electrifying climax. Rising from keys, Cave glides over his enraptured audience like a devout preacher, fist punching into the heavens, summoning, ‘Bring your spirit down.’ It’s mighty and sacred.
“Fucking Manchester” he hollers under blue light and introduces Song of the Lake, in all its fragile, gleaming fairy-tale darkness. Cave’s spoken-word delivery is intense and haunting, drenched in a low-lit melancholy that weaves through love and loss, life and death. Gospel harmonies seem to lift him from the cavern of sombre introspection toward an opalescent, dreamlike expanse, in a soothing way, and drums tumble in an unhurried but insistent pace. Cave gestures to the crowd to chant the outro – ‘Oh never mind, never mind, never mind’. “That was fucking awesome,” he delights. There is charm and humour in his grounded, darkly whimsical tone.
“I love you Nick,” calls an excitable fan. “I love you too,” he graciously replies, then addresses the crowd with, “this is for that lonely female voice”; a harmonious chortle breaking across the arena. “I despaired at the world we were building for our children and my inability to protect them,” Cave confesses with an aching sadness, as O Children begins to unfurl – a harrowing, beautiful slow burner. Warren Ellis, Cave’s steadfast right-hand man, melts into the essence of the beat, his soul lost in his violin solo. A softer, more contented appreciation fills the room – tears entwined with joy. Cave attempts to “create a war” of cheers among different sections of the arena but the crowd are too spellbound, held in the thrall of this near-biblical experience.
Jubilee Street unfolds with a meditative rhythm, and the crowd is primed for what’s to come. The song’s slow, contemplative build centres around a circular guitar riff that repeats with a hypnotic energy, so deeply visceral that it reaches into the limbic core. Prowling the runway with restless energy, Cave’s moves are eccentric, almost possessed. Dark, poetic lyrics hang moodily as the song’s intensity starts to simmer, then bubble. He grips the hand of an ardent fan, in what seems like an energy exchange of spirit power, just as the song bursts into a euphoric release, the percussion erupting with primal force. “I was out of my mind, motherfucker,” he proclaims. The choir has now surrendered to ecstatic, free-flowing dance, the crowd caught in the drift. It’s raw and consuming. Cave commands the stage in his scared aura, reaching out to his fans like a preacher before his congregation. Hands reach out in yearning, like baby birds to be fed, and Cave responds, offering a connection both precious and healing.
From Her to Eternity ratchets up the tension with a sinister piano pulse. Syncopated guitar and devious percussion conjure a storm, growling into a menacing climax. Cave’s gravelly voice cuts through it all like a knife, and he plunges into a sea of outstretched hands, the audience propping him up, like a prophet, or maybe a sacrifice? There’s a delightful moment when Cave introduces longtime collaborator Warren Ellis, playfully referring to him as “a broken, deeply flawed genius.” Ellis takes the opportunity to steal the limelight, dramatically leaping onto a chair and projecting his wild flair. Then comes Long Dark Night, a softer reprieve after the storm of the previous song, the lyrics steady and unflinching. The soul-stirring ballad Cinnamon Horses follows. It’s gloriously symphonic that feels holy and tender.
The Bad Seeds are nothing short of mesmerising. Their intricate instrumental textures build complex soundscapes, all anchored by Cave’s graceful piano, creating songs that flood the senses and then wistfully dissolve. Pure spine-tingling rapture. Tupelo is theatrical, relentless and full of fury, with Cave’s voice raw and earthy. It feels almost apocalyptic. Euphoria floods the crowd now as Cave saunters back and forth across the runway, almost animalistic. Conversion rises from darkness into a powerful, crashing exchange of call and response between Cave and the choir’s falsetto cried of ‘Stop!’ Cave immerses himself in the throng of fans with his fiery declaration of ‘You’re beautiful’ potent enough to leave anyone weak at the knees. A unanimous pause fills the room, as if everyone is recovering from the intensity, and then to break the silence the silence, a fan screams, “You’re beautiful, Nick”.
Cave’s gravelly voice echoes over unrestrained piano keys for Joy, as shimmery cymbals swoosh in like foamy waves tumbling on the shore. In the elegant, dramatic swells of the gospel singers, there is a sense of faith, ethereal and healing, like an unspoken mystery, resonant and beautiful. The atmosphere feels more like a raw, unstructured communion with the unknown, as opposed to a religious service. Cave surrenders himself to a wild, divine presence, almost reaching for a power beyond what he fully understands – a kind of spiritual existence that transcends the confines of doctrine. The haunting beauty of Bright Horses fills the space, a gorgeous simplicity both sombre and uplifting. Ellis’s haunting voice floats, god-like, over delicate piano and sparkling strings, and into the teary crowd. In I Need You, Cave’s raw plea of ‘Just breathe’ echoes in a darkening spotlight, feeling like a mantra fading into the shadows. Emerald light then washes over the stage, as we remain in the grip of Cave’s loss. It’s like being suspended in a web of twinkling lights, across a shadowy void. Final Rescue Attempt unfolds with a hypnotic, spacey wave pattern, and a steady roll of snare drums setting the pace of this unhurried journey through desperation and love.
An infectious cheer erupts as Red Right Hand pummels in. It’s cinematic as the tempo shifts into a gothic pulse of darkly seductive post-punk blues. Ellis frantically attacks the violin like a wizard on speed, while Cave stalks the platform with an almost dangerous allure. He orchestrates the crowd into a singalong, then hurls the mic and dives to the grand piano, launching into a manic, crashing arrangement as strobe lights savagely stab into the audience. The music drops and the sea of fans chant before the final goosebump moment, when the bell tolls, giving it closure. “Manchester. Fucking awesome. You’re beautiful,” Cave shouts, his voice slicing through the venue just as The Mercy Seat ignites in a fierce, fiery surge. The song’s relentless energy drives him to contort into jagged shapes, and one fan, enraptured, illuminating the centre of the room, limbs lifted skyward, dancing as if in an out-of-body experience. Elephant follows – a menacing, high-charged stomp that thumps you straight in the gut. The choir descends from the stage platform in a tribal march, forming a glittering cascade behind Cave on the stage. Before a brief departure, Cave introduces the choir and his band, with Ellis receiving the loudest ovation, the room buzzing with unmistakable admiration.
The encore brings two more electrifying songs. Papa Won’t Leave You, Henry with its driving tempo, unfolds like a sermon, Cave commanding attention with his fervent storytelling. He introduces The Weeping Song, a haunting exploration of sorrow and resilience, and he adds “and we won’t be weeping”. It concludes with him urging the crowd to clap in syncopation, as they howl along. Cave gives a heartfelt thanks to The Bad Seeds before stepping to the piano. Bathed in a single spotlight, he performs the haunting Into My Arms, a soul-stirring tribute to grief and love, and as the house lights flicker, an ocean of souls sway in a collective trance, chanting the words, locked in a euphoric glow.
Nick Cave’s Wild God tour is a heart-connecting experience that gracefully meanders through darkness and light, with joy being at the core. His performance is fearless and sometimes agonising, that takes the audience on a deeply encompassing journey through the soul. I am now a fully converted Nick Cave devotee, and I feel like he’s tapped me into a timeless, unspoken mystery.
Please note: Use of these images in any form without permission is illegal. If you wish to contact the photographer please email: mel@mudkissphotography.co.uk
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Nick Cave – Website | Facebook | X
Words by Clare de Lune. You can find Clare on Instagram and Facebook
All photos by Melanie Smith – Louder Than War | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Portfolio
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