A Compelling Sense of Familiarity

The weather turned a bit this weekend. It was a cold wind and a thick, coastal fog that ushered The Bad Seeds into town for a few nights at The Warfield. I had never seen Nick Cave before and, having missed him on several occasions due to work related nonsense, physical and/or emotional exhaustion due to said nonsense, or simply my own inability to properly consult a calendar, I figured I was about due. Since seeing the exhibit at The Melbourne Arts Center earlier in the year memorializing his life (which, oddly enough, seems to be going just fine these days, and rather better than most who lives are being memorialized) I had a reborn fascination with the old man. He/They/It did not disappoint.



















The first night seemed to have a strange, primal energy to all of it. There's a hint of the grinderman in even the piano ballads. The second was more of the same. I guess I spent the better part of two night in exhausted, listless awe. Although I've been to more shows in my month off than I ever would have imagined enjoying I have genuinely enjoyed them all. Neil Young had better dial it up a notch.