Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds: Wild God

Beginning with the rich orchestral cadence of Song of the Lake, Nick Cave recounts a story of through the eyes of an old man reflecting on his life, mixing allusion with reality (“All the King’s horses and… / Oh never mind, never mind). Later in the song, it’s confirmed that those very horses couldn’t put us back together again, which tells a story of Cave’s own life over the past 10 years.

Having lost his two sons Arthur and Jethro, the former which largely brought about Cave’s most harrowing work in Skeleton Tree, Ghosteen, Carnage and the Red Right Hand Files in between, Song of the Lake sees someone slowly emerging from the blast zone.

Whilst this maybe the case, the trauma residue from the above-noted releases remains on Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds’ latest dispatch, Wild God. In truth, it always will, because you can never fully recover from the kind of suffering Cave and his family have endured. You’re not the same person, and while Cave is slowly rebuilding himself for the final frontier, he’ll never fully escape the horrors of the past no matter how much of the future is in his hands. That’s just reality. For anyone.

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Where the immediate future is concerned, in many ways, Wild God is about as untethered as you’re going to get from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds circa 2024. Staple Bad Seeds mixed with the emotional force of the Bad Seeds canon over the past decade.

Some will be quick to point out the religious overtones that form the foundation of Wild God, however faith has always been baked into Cave’s remit. Granted, it’s not a stretch to say that Wild God is as direct as Cave has ever been on the subject – from the title itself to the bombastic preacher-like gospel rock of Conversion as the choir holler, “Touched by a spirit / Touched by a flame”, which is as a close to a Sunday Service as you’re going to get.

Without religion, Cave’s artistic endeavours would be far more jaundiced. From the Southern Gothic backdrops of the Bad Seeds’ earliest works and the haunting characters that adorned Murder Ballads, through to Push the Sky Away, religion has always lingered in the shadows.

And speaking of Murder Ballads, the title track is about as sinister as anything from it, as Cave delivers one of the best lines since the tour-de-force that is Babe, I’m On Fire (“It was rape and pillage in the retirement village”). And while there’s yet another reference to Jubilee Street, surprising as this may sound, Wild God wouldn’t have looked out of place on the underrated Nocturama.

Elsewhere, Frogs sees Cave’s deputy in chief, Warren Ellis, stamp his mark with the kind of glittery soundscapes that lighten up the night sky, as Cave croons and howls with his most spirited performance on Wild God – an abstract fever dream inspired by Kris Kristofferson’s Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down.

Ellis is once again the potent force on Joy; his sonic tinkering excavating down to the same emotional well as Shattered Ground. Cave feathers across the ivories whilst recalling a spirit that has entered the room, parting with another jarring line (“I woke up this morning with the blues around my head”). Further confirmation that grief always lingers no matter how much you think you’re rid of it.

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And while Final Rescue Attempt mirrors the majesty of Carnage’s Albuquerque (“I will always love you/ With the wind through your hair”), it’s the one-two combo of Cinnamon Horses and Long Dark Night that turn Wild God on its head. Cinnamon Horses, a bourgeoning piano-led hymnal ballad designed for churches, while Long Dark Night is built on a simple piano line as a story unfolds that recalls those same blues around Cave’s head in Joy. Both are as strong as anything the Bad Seeds have delivered as a series of new composites arise; vampires and zombies forming a new kind of dreaded vista.

It’s not the only first. On O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is), the Bad Seeds are dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century with auto tune. Largely a scourge across any artform, while there have been some exceptions (Lambchop, Low), orchestrated by Ellis, whilst fleeting its introduction is welcomed, opening up a strange new world of optimism. Which is where we find ourselves with Water Covers the Sea – a tender ballad once again overshadowed by the choir who close this service.

And that’s what Wild God is: a service. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, its own religion. For the deranged. For the beautiful. For the life damaged. For the broken. Wild God is a congregation inside the pantheon where there’s wistful acknowledgement of the past. Because it’s the past that helps build strength to cope with the present. And with a career spent turning himself inside out to expose the darkest corners of his soul, to alleviate those burdens by sharing them with his disciples, perhaps Nick Cave is the wildest god of all.

Wild God is out now Bad Seed Ltd / PIAS. Purchase here.