Review: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at Salt Shed: Less outlaw, more spiritualist

Chicago Tribune

29-04-2025

'We've all had too much sorrow,' Nick Cave sang Monday at the first of a two-night stand at Salt Shed. 'Now is the time for joy.'
And so it was. The esteemed singer-songwriter teamed with his longtime backing band the Bad Seeds, complete with a four-piece choir, to deliver engaging variations on gospel. Cave gave new meaning to the laying on of hands as he reached into the sold-out crowd to grasp outstretched arms, and at several points, a few hands volunteered as temporary receptacles when the vocalist sought a place to put his microphone as he mopped sweat from his brow.
For 150 unhurried minutes, Cave channeled spirits and spirituals. Touring in support of the recent 'Wild God' album, the 67-year-old Australian native embraced proven storytelling concepts such as exuberance, wonder, grandiosity, exaggeration and imagination. Cave tapped a deep well of Old Testament mythology and metaphorical language, and with his clear tenor and adaptable ensemble, brought the right tools to create soundscapes that matched his vivid imagery.
No matter how bloody and horrific things got — unrepentant prisoners, trigger-happy madmen, lustful murderers and wicked schemers all figured into his songs — Cave kept returning to love, mercy and redemption. Yes, the singer —adorned in his typical black suit and polished black dress shoes — plays the roles of dapper villain and charlatan evangelist as well as anyone in rock 'n' roll. But the transformation of Cave into a mellower, comforting presence that began a little more than a decade ago continued to take shape here.
Nearly eight years have passed since Cave last hit town with the renowned Bad Seeds. Not that the group's leader has been a stranger to the area. Cave treated fans to two rare solo shows in fall 2023 at the Auditorium Theatre, where he and bassist Colin Greenwood distilled songs to a skeletal form. A year earlier at the same venue, he paired with veteran Bad Seed Warren Ellis — his creative foil on more than a dozen soundtracks and one original studio record — for their first tour as a duo.
Perhaps coincidentally, Cave's output during the 2010s didn't require the full-on force of the Bad Seeds. Pursuing directions hinted at on 'Push the Sky Away' (2013), and adopted on the ambient-leaning 'Skeleton Tree' (2016) and meandering 'Ghosteen' (2019), he pursued quieter, intimate fare that prized synthesized lushness and modular architecture. The most pronounced detours followed the death of his 15-year-old son, Arthur, and served as solemn meditations on unspeakable anguish.
Grief and doubt — Cave lost another son in 2022 — informed portions of the 22-song set. Threatening to shatter with every word, his threadbare voice captured the unremitting pain that accompanies desperate uncertainty on a remarkable solo rendition of 'I Need You.' The melancholic beauty of 'O Children' functioned as a simultaneous confession and call to action, though Cave's recurrent command to rejoice remained mired in hopelessness.
Those efforts stood in contrast to the tidal swell and hymn-like uplift of Cave's newest fare. Structural similarities aside, the emotional tugs toward reassuring optimism and courageous adventure on 'Wild God,' 'Frogs' and 'Conversion' proved as sincere as the melodies that washed over arrangements like a purifying balm. Drawing on church traditions — call-and-response exchanges, layered harmonies, the female members' robed attire — the backing vocalists helped mold the shimmering moods and material.
Not every moment gave a positive impression. The soupy 'Cinnamon Horses' took too long to burst out of the gate. 'Song of the Lake' too closely recycled the patterns of other atmospheric, late-era Cave tunes. The singer's incessant 'yeah, yeah, yeah' interjections grew stale. He also briefly lost his place amid the stalking 'Red Right Hand' and, shockingly, confused Chicago with Detroit when he mentioned the latter city while interacting with the audience. Apologizing, an embarrassed Cave stated he and his band's faculties often hung by a thread. Understandable.
A famously physical performer, Cave divided time between sitting at a piano and prowling a stage-width walkway that brought him face to face with his fervent congregation. Hopping, bounding, conducting, clapping, pointing, punching, dropping to his knees: He moved as if electrical currents surged through his wiry frame, his pipe-cleaner arms darting out from his torso in opposite directions, his quick-draw feet operating in concert with his swiveling hips to dance an impromptu tango.
Cave is no longer the full-time outlaw who once presided over stages with an endless reserve of savage chaos and manic intensity, yet he can still flip that switch. As the Bad Seeds conjured the violent sounds of turbulent thunderstorms, shredded metal and snapped limbs, he chronicled the disastrous flood of 'Tupelo' with a frightening discharge of howls, barks, shouts and screams. The coda of an extended 'Jubilee Street' witnessed a frantic Cave casually flip his microphone and let it fall to the ground as he rushed to the piano to pound boogie-woogie lines before he indulged one final delirious vocal purge.
Content to operate in the shadows, drummer Larry Mullins, percussionist Jim Sclavunos and Greenwood (of Radiohead lore) anchored sophisticated rhythmic footings that involved specialized devices ranging from the marimba and xylophone to suspended chimes, mallets and cymbals. Squirreled away in his own little area, surrounded by an armada of amplifiers and pedals, Ellis preferred an extroverted, animated approach.
The only person to compete with Cave on the showmanship front, the hirsute multi-instrumentalist conjured the freewheeling disposition of a snickering prankster and the innocuous nature of an old barfly who adores attention. He precariously stood on a curved chair, bent into L-shaped positions to add backup vocals and slouched, cross-legged, into his seat during brief pauses. Ellis was a hoot, and his violin and electric guitar playing, as well as his wordless vocal cries, warranted praise.
Cave offered as much, calling his friend's contributions 'beautiful.' It's a description the singer used on multiple occasions, most notably on his spoken introduction to 'Skeleton Tree.' Cave talked of rediscovering the ballad and putting an end to its cursed status. As he ushered the subdued song to its conclusion, the reclamation came full circle.
'And it's all right now,' Cave repeated in soothing tones. Even if only for that instant, no matter what the outside world suggested, you had no logical choice but to believe him. Gospel, and the good news, at its finest.
Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.
Setlist from Salt Shed on April 28:
'Frogs'
'Wild God'
'Song of the Lake'
'O Children'
'Jubilee Street'
'From Her to Eternity'
'Long Dark Night'
'Cinnamon Horses'
'Tupelo'
'Conversion'
'Bright Horses'
'Joy'
'I Need You'
'Carnage'
'Final Rescue Attempt'
'Red Right Hand'
'The Mercy Seat'
'White Elephant'
Encore
'Papa Won't Leave You, Henry'
'The Weeping Song'
'Skeleton Tree'
'Into My Arms'