Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds fiercely inspired Wild God has it all

Joy isn’t perhaps one of the words that most readily springs to mind when surveying the thematic landscape inhabited by Nick Cave’s now considerably bulky back catalogue.

There’s the gore-splattered Southern gothic swampland of The Birthday Party and the earlier Bad Seeds albums, followed by the confessional balladeer of 1997’s The Boatman’s Call, the point where Cave turned his songwriterly gaze inwards. 2013’s rejuvenating reinvention Push The Sky Away found both the narrative thrust of the songwriting and the signature Bad Seeds sound boldly deconstructed, leading to the ghostly minimalism of 2016’s dejected, deliberately sketchy Skeleton Tree and the otherworldly ambient drift of 2019’s wounded yet warily hopeful Ghosteen, both records inescapably and indelibly infused in grief and the most painful kind of loss following the tragic death of Cave’s son.

All of which makes the life-affirming vibrancy and pulsating energy that infuses even the more hushed moments of Wild God such a refreshing change of pace. Whereas the Bad Seeds were at most an infrequent spectral presence amidst the grief-stricken meditations of Ghosteen, the band are at times found not so much straining at the leash as gnawing through their constraints and galloping freely with gleeful abandon here.

The untamed, ever-ascending title track provides a textbook example of the unique Bad Seeds combination of elegant restraint and forceful forward momentum. The ecstatic cacophony that “Conversion” flames into from its hushed Ghosteen-like foundations marks the most untamed and unstoppable noise The Bad Seeds have pumped out in ages, with Cave’s urgent exhortations gradually surrendering to the relentlessly chanting massed voices.

Boasting borderline preposterously rich arrangements that burst at the seams with choirs and strings (echoes of 70s Elvis testifying amongst a big band pomp underneath the blazing lights of a Vegas stage, perhaps), Wild God is a markedly widescreen offering: the album very literally features both bells and whistles. However, maximalist palette is applied with rare subtlety and appreciation for the alluring spaces between notes, and The Bad Seeds rhythm section (including the inimitable drumming of Thomas Wydler, back in the fold following health problems) infuse the proceedings with an earthy, robust pulse.

Perhaps by way of an apology for the instrument having been almost completely absent on Ghosteen, bass (some of it played by Radiohead’s Colin Greenwood) is often the pulsating anchor for the album’s lavish soundscapes. Mixes by Dave Fridmann (Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev) unite the individual instruments into a laser-guided missile aimed at musical transcendence that hints at past peaks (the gospel-hued choirs of 2004’s Abattoir Blues, the synth-saturated levitation of Ghosteen) but doesn’t sound that much like any past Bad Seeds incarnation: a remarkable feat for a group on their 18^th album, 40-odd years on from 1983’s debut From Her to Eternity.

That’s not to say that Wild God is some sort of a one-dimensional, fist-pumping ode to perpetual uplift. We’re often in deep (sad) waters here, with grief, disquiet and fragility of life rarely lurking far from the surface. Whilst the music is instantly inviting, and in case of, say, the haunting cosmic gospel of “Cinnamon Horses”, possibly the most lushly and ashamedly pretty to be found in the Bad Seeds catalogue, the songs reveal their riches and troubled depths gradually, over several focused listens. Even so, Wild God subtly suggests that Cave’s songwriting now subscribes to the ethos of finding the beauty, love and transcendence amongst the various upsets and conflicts the world throws at us that provides the nearest equivalent to a unifying theme to Cave’s answers to fan letters on the Red Right Hand correspondence forum. Or as “Joy” has it, ‘’all across the world they shout out their angry words about the end of love, yet the stars stand above the earth/bright, triumphant metaphors of love’’.

The gradual dispersal of the dark clouds that have hung heavy over Cave’s recent works (including 2021’s somewhat uneven covid-era testimonial Carnage, recorded as a duo with long-term key collaborator, multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis) is most readily audible in the album’s stunning final stages. A deeply moving, vocoder-splashed tribute to Cave’s former collaborator and girlfriend Anita Lane, “O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is)” opts to celebrate a life over lamenting a loss, full of playful imaginary of dancing crayons, whistling country doctors and rabbits stuffing carrots to their ears, until a recording of Lane’s voice reminiscing over her and Cave’s shared fun-filled and pressure-free early days in London infuses the song with almost unbearable degree of heartbreaking poignancy. The all-too-brief closer “As The Waters Cover The Sea” (with hints of Van Morrison’s spiritually searching 70s masterworks, perhaps) goes full gospel to craft a warm hymn that bides glad tidings to all things.