Nick Cave believes in love

It's difficult to keep from evangelizing about Cave's live performance, which is as much worship service as concert, as the one-time dark prince of sinister rock soars toward a higher calling

If the Nick Cave of yesteryear was from the Old Testament, then the current iteration is firmly planted in the new. His show with the Bad Seeds on April 30 at the Miller High Life Theatre in Milwaukee felt like a worship service from the instant the white robe-clad backing singers strode onto the stage until the final moment of benediction. There was plenty of fire, but little brimstone. These were positive vibes, even when the subject matter of older songs sparked a bit of cognitive dissonance in the listener.

My only previous experience with Nick Cave live was on screen, watching concert films and fan shot videos on YouTube. Nothing — even seeing something approximating what you see in person — prepares you for the overwhelming feeling of attendance. The general presentation may be largely the same, and the set list is exactly the same one he has played on every stop of this latest leg of his tour, but this is an event that must be experienced live to be appreciated fully. This was about communion, albeit with no wine or wafers (unless the concession stand had an off-menu selection). If Cave were a preacher, I would consider going to church on a regular basis, letting myself be washed in the waters and all that. Why did I wait so long?

The set was heavy on songs from his latest album with the Bad Seeds, Wild God, accounting for eight of the 22 songs performed. It's a wonderful album (I raved about it in September when it was released, and admitted it would have topped my best of list for the year had I not decided against rankings) with songs seemingly crafted for the stage, so that was a highlight few artists in their fifth decade could hope to achieve. The rest was a well-curated selection of whatever passes for a hit for an artist who really doesn't have any, drawn from across a dozen albums in his catalog with a slight lean toward newer material.

Nick Cave strives toward joy

The first six songs all felt like set closers, as if Cave and his band had something to prove. Opening with three songs from Wild God — “Frogs,” “Wild God,” and “Song of the Lake” — seemed ample proof that Cave is fond of this album and wants to be sure you are as well. Classics of various vintage in “O Children,” “Jubilee Street” and “From Her to Eternity” maintained the intensity before the new “Long Dark Night” allowed Cave an extended respite at the piano. The tickets weren't cheap, but any debate about the value of this purchase was decided early in the affirmative.

For most of the show, one's eye is on Cave. He sits at the piano, briefly, then rises as if possessed by a spirit, jumps down to the stage, grabs a microphone from a stand, and then moves purposefully to the very lip of the stage. Where once Cave seemed at odds with his audience, he now positively feeds off it. He strides back and forth, touching outstretched hands, before stopping to raise his arms aloft in what seems both an overwhelmed state of euphoria and an acknowledgement that the crowd yearns to adore him and he is ready to comply.

When one isn't watching Cave, the eye is drawn to his sidekick, violinist, guitarist, and band leader Warren Ellis. This gnome-like enabler has been largely responsible for helping Cave translate the sounds in his head into the full assault of the Bad Seeds over the past two decades, and the affection between the two is clear. Though battling some sort of illness on this night, Ellis still would frequently rise from his chair, climb up onto the seat and then play his violin while contorting himself as if trying to put a little English on the notes as they sprung forth. The rest of the Bad Seeds, meanwhile, were fairly stationary.

As the set progressed, mixing older songs like the King-inspired “Tupelo” with newer material from Wild God and the albums that immediately preceded it, the pace of much of the material was accelerated compared to their recorded versions, the feel a bit more raw. The occasional slower song, like “I Need You” from Skeleton Tree, seemed designed to give everyone a breather before launching into something with a bit of verve like the title track from Cave’s album with Ellis, Carnage.

The closest Cave got to his discarded darker persona was “Red Right Hand,” which, thanks to its ubiquitous presence on movie and TV soundtracks, has lost a bit of its menace if none of its punch. Even “Papa Won’t Leave You Henry,” an insistent tune with a martial beat and lyrics like “My head it rung with screams and groans/ From the night I spent amongst her bones,” was leavened by Cave’s intro that told of how he wrote it to sing to his kids to get them to sleep.

The Bad Seeds — augmented by bassist Colin Greenwood from Radiohead — are a powerful, lethal weapon in Cave’s hands, a pummeling presence that is a sort of yin to the yang of the angelic backing singers that leavened every song with a choir-like lift. The combination took songs that were good but not great on record — “Cinnamon Horses” from Wild God or, keeping with the theme, “Bright Horses” from Ghosteen — and rendered them as gigantic, dynamic tours de force. Even something like “Wild Elephant” from Carnage, a song that already builds to a majestic finish on record, became something otherworldly on stage, perhaps the best thing I heard all night… at least in that moment.

Cave was such a dynamic presence that his arena rock schtick of repeating the name of the town multiple times or engaging in several call-and-response jags of “yeah, yeah, yeah!” were charming even when aggregation steered things from ironic commentary on the form to cliche. Cave spoke with those up front, often calling out a particular audience member for a bit of banter, while opening more than one explanation of a song’s genesis with, “there was this girl…”

As the encore came to a close, Cave remained on stage after the Bad Seeds and singers exited, moving to the piano one last time for a solo rendition of “Into My Arms,” as close to a hit as he has had (in hearts if not charts). It was clear this was the end, and when a peek at the watch showed we had been there for two-and-a-half hours, it was as if emerging from a sort of dream. No explosions, no gimmicks, not even a sermon to slow this ceremony. Cave needed nothing more than a great band, the occasional projection and a few spotlights to keep the focus where it belonged as he led his congregation in song.