Top 100 Albums - #10: The Boatman's Call (1997)

Kicking off the Top 10 is The Boatman's Call, the fourth and final entry by post-punk icons Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.The 1990s were a good time for The Bad Seeds, as they produced a string of albums which altered their raucous 1980s sound whilst still receiving critical acclaim. The Good Son (1990, #40), a retelling of the Parable of the Prodigal Son from the elder son's point of view, introduced a sense of grandeur to the band, which allowed them to craft more ambitious and complex material while never seeming overpowering. The follow-ups, Henry's Dream (1992) and Let Love In (1994), saw Cave starting to open himself up a little more, creating beautiful if ironic love songs like 'Straight To You' to counterbalance the anarchic live feel of The Bad Seeds present on such anthems as 'Red Right Hand'. Murder Ballads (1996) saw Cave stepping out still further, confronting death and violence head on instead of merely tiptoeing subtly around them; his duets with PJ Harvey and Kylie Minogue on the album are rooted in his great mix of blood-drenched darkness and black humour. With each of these albums receiving acclaim, and in the case of Murder Ballads major awards, the band were perfectly poised to deliver their masterpiece.

We open with an absolute gem of a song. 'Into My Arms' opens with a simple, mournful part on the piano, and then Cave comes in with his distinctive sunken baritone. It's an incredibly tender love song, about an atheist who falls in love with a Christian, and whose relationship with her leads him to question both her faith and his lack of faith. Throughout his career Cave has created some very spiritual music, but this is one of his most spiritually honest songs, dealing with themes of doubt and unbelief in a subtle and gentle manner which most Christian songwriters could not begin to comprehend. By setting up someone he dearly loves as the protagonist, rather than the listener, he avoids being false or preachy, and by keeping the production and instrumentation simple it feels like an honest one-to-one confession. It's a truly wonderful piece of work.

'Lime-Tree Arbour' retains the simplicity of the piano while bringing in the drums and bass. On the former, Thomas Wylder provides some simple brushwork which anchors the piece, never doing more than it needs to and thus giving the space for Cave, on both vocals and Hammond organ. Mick Harvey's part on the latter is to play off Wylder, providing a slightly smoky, jazzy flavour to liven up a straightforwardly 4/4 song. Cave's lyrics are simple and personal; he sings about his love without feeling the need for complex imagery or bitter irony, as he has so often done in the past.

'People Ain't No Good', thanks partly to its use in Shrek 2 (2004), has become the ultimate down-and-out song. The opening lines - People just ain't no good/ I think that's well understood - strike straight to the heart of anyone who has lost faith in humanity, either through a series of alienating encounters or simply through a bad day at the office. It's more than just a blues song with gentle piano, however. It's a love song in which the love quickly goes out of the marriage and thus out of the world around them; where once the trees stood with blossoms now they are barren and bare. Maybe Cave is being ironic even here. In describing how love quickly fades in a world without trust or optimism, he is offering up said trust and optimism as the way things should be, or - more bravely - how they really are. It's another wonderful song which marries simple melodies with ornate lyrics to create something very good indeed.

'Brompton Oratory' slowly lifts its head from under muffled production, turning into a sweet but subdued piece about the nature of religion. Cave's Everyman slowly shuffles into the overbearing church on Pentecost and confronts a dichotomy on the nature of God's love. On the one hand, from the second verse, he is clearly alienated from God's love in the practices of Christianity and the Church:

The reading is from Luke 24
Where Christ returned to his loved ones
I look at the stone Apostles
Think that it's all right for some

And yet, he goes on, the woman he loves is so perfect that she may just be proof of God's existence, and that The Almighty means him well. Cave is clearly being ironic when he claims that neither God nor the Devil could do the job that you did, baby/ Of bringing me to my knees. It's more subtle even than the last three numbers, but still very warming.

'There Is A Kingdom' keeps the focus firmly on Christ and the link between heavenly and earthly love. Its central message and motif is Cave comparing his love for his earthly partner to all the magical feats of nature and life, concluding that God must be behind all of them in some way, shape or form. He begins by describing God as a King who lives both without and within, and ends by finally confessing that There is a King/ And he is everything. Skeptics may baulk at such language or beliefs, but there's no denying that this song is tender, personal and introspective without being morbidly so, for any of those three characteristics. Much like Cave's work on the follow-up, No More Shall We Part (2001, #19), it's a song about spiritual and religious assurance, and above all the instrinsic link between faith and love (whether religious faith or otherwise).

'(Are You) The One That I've Been Waiting For?', however, sees some of that assurance turned to doubt. This song is, from one angle, about Cave's relationship with PJ Harvey around the recording of Murder Ballads. It's filled with some wonderful lines which say so little and yet mean so much. In the third verse Cave remarks: Outside my window the world has gone to war. This is a man who sees the chaos of the world which he is struggling to fight or survive in, and seeks the love of a woman to protect and strengthen him in his hour of need. The Biblical themes are still there, especially in the last first which paraphrases the gospels, so that you slowly begin to understanding how much Cave's love for God and love for people is intertwined. Harvey's guitar parts really lift this piece, adding fibre to the slow jazzy brushwork of Wylder and creating a more brooding mood at the start.

'Where Do We Go Now But Nowhere?' is about another woman in Cave's life: Viviane Carneiro, mother of his son Luke. The mood remains minimalist, the verse structure fixed, and the delivery sombre, but there are some new things on offer. Harvey's acoustic work injects into the mix an interesting choice of major chords, to offset or counterpoint Cave's melancholy melody, both on piano and vocals. This is a boon considering this is the longest track on here, and by the end it feels like it too. That said, it's not as drawn out as 'Death Is Not The End' on the previous album, a Dylan cover which seemed to go on for years. The production is still sparse, as though he is whispering across a desert plain at sunset. And while the lyrics are less accessible than they were in the first half, by the time you reach the end you'll have been sucked into it this song like all the rest.

'West Country Girl', another song about PJ Harvey, is the first time the Bad Seeds drop the ball on this album. It's not terrible, by any stretch of the imagination, but the band feel less sure of themselves, drifting too far towards English folk in the intro which jars with their American roots. Cave's delivery is as clear as before, but he is wrestling with the intrusive percussion here and as a result his lyrics jar at the crucial moments. There are times when you wish that Martyn P. Casey would just lay off the bass and let the treble elements guide the song.

'Black Hair' is much better, combining the more English sound of a piano accordion (played by Warren Ellis) with the brooding bass organ sounds from Harvey. Cave drifts both above and amidst these two sounds, disposing with strict metre until the song's denouement. It's almost a spoken word performance, a piece of prose rather than lyrical poetry, save only for the repetition of the title. Cave wrings all that he can out of the image, and the song wraps up just when you think he has exhausted every metaphor and adjective he has. It's another gorgeously understated piece which knows just how to leave you wanting more.

'Idiot Prayer' is the last truly great song on this album. Ellis switches to plucking the strings of his violin while Wylder switches from brushes to sticks and steadily thumps his snare to drive this song on. It's more bittersweet than the last few songs, with Cave jumping between earthly love and snide comments on life after death: Is heaven just for victims, dear/ Where only those in pain go?/ Well it takes two to tango. Like a lot of the best rock songs, the right instruments are introduced at just the right time and nothing is allowed to overstay its welcome. The Hammond organ which ripples through the second half would look out of place in the first, and Cave knows it. Likewise, Ellis' violin gradually fades from view, before rising once again in the last minute to give a delicate and tragic farewell serenade to his love. Everything about this song is just right.

'Far From Me' brings Casey's bass back to the fore, with both this and the drums settling up a jazz rhythm to which Cave and Ellis can respond. The latter provides some jagged work on the bow to compliment the shimmering organ; the former does what he does best, delivering sorrowful lines of immense beauty with clear enunciation and a deep sense of yearning. It's probably the saddest song on here, being as it is about distance, departure and the pain that comes from missing someone. It's also more exhausting than a lot of the other songs; it may be over 5 minutes long, but by this stage the wearily repetitive structure may be starting to wear a little thin. Nevertheless, this is a very good song.

We finish with 'Green Eyes', which is a pity since it spoils the mood in so many ways. Firstly, there is the profanity of lines like This useless old fucker/ And his twinkling cunt. There's nothing wrong with profanity in songs in general, so long as it is used to convey meaning. Here there is meaning but it's out of kiltre with the sombre, funeral mood of the other tracks. Secondly, there is the production, in particular the double-tracking of Cave's vocals. The off-setting of a high- and low-register part leaves you confused over which one to listen to first, and the drawn-out higher part soon gets very annoying. It's a shame to finish on a downer, albeit not a totally disastrous one.

Nick Cave albums are not normally the place to come to if you want comfort, contentment or peace of mind. But on The Boatman's Call, we surprisingly get all of these things, albeit in ways which we don't suspect. Within Cave's lyrics and the songs built around them, there still remains the deep-seated religious doubt, obsession with darkness and cruel interest in violence which has marked all of Cave's best and most interesting work. But one does not have to look much further, or deeper, to find deep-seated themes of redemption, love and faith rewarded. Insofar as Cave has ever been an optimist, it's his most optimistic record, combining the reassurance and happiness that faith can bring with a renewed connection with humanity. It's not, however, an advertisement for contentment, certainly not in the way that the follow-up could be construed to be; simply because there is less in the way of musical anarchy, as on 'The Curse Of Millhaven' from Murder Ballads, does not mean that Cave is satisfied. What The Boatman's Call is, at its heart, is a deeply emotional yet highly sombre exploration of the relationship between God and Man, told through pure poetry and wonderfully minimalist music. It is undoubtedly Cave's masterpiece, and a masterpiece of the album form itself.

4.17 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #19: No More Shall We Part (2001)

At number 19 is No More Shall We Part, the penultimate chart entry for Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.
The release of The Boatman's Call in March 1997 marked a departure for Cave's songwriting. Right up to its predecessor, Murder Ballads (1996), the Bad Seeds' songs had been characterised by violence and irony in near-industrial quantities; now, Cave was being confessional and honest, producing beautiful melodies on the piano and providing heartfelt lyrics to match. Critics hailed it as the band's masterpiece, the summation of all their work. In the four years after its release, the band briefly toured before Cave withdrew from public life to overcome the heroin addition which had dogged him for 20 years. A best-of compilation was released in 1998, and around this time Cave married British model Susie Bick. Cave finally beat his addiction in 2000 and quickly returned to the studio to recover his muse.

No More Shall We Part begins with 'As I Sat Sadly By Her Side', a very apt means of introducing us to this new post-heroin Cave. With the opening guitar strum, all seems normal, but once the piano comes in you things quickly change. Cave's playing is surprisingly sweet for a male touch, even considering the upper registers dominate the musical landscape. In true Cave style, there are so many lyrics that it is often overwhelming and hard to pick out killer lines. Instead, you are bathed in a wave of unbelievable sadness. The mood is almost funereal, without a trace of Cave's venomous or ironic streaks, and you are completely taken in.

The title track introduces an a cappella element which is a feature of this album. On previous albums, especially Murder Ballads, such a title would have hinted at darker subject matters - instead of marrying his lover, as here, the protagonist would be brutally murdering her and then burying her deep in a forest. The result is, suffice to say, wierd. The mood is still dark, dour and sombre, even at the points where you are most convinced that the sepulchral Cave is happy (for once). The violins in the final third - arranged by Mick Harvey - help no end, but you are still left with questions alongside the feeling of wonder.

There are more strings on offer on 'Hallelujah'. Cave is quicker here, more 'upbeat' (for want of a better word), but the beat continues to move at a crawl. Thomas Wylder's drumming consists of simple cross-stick snare and jazzy ride work, all at a snail's pace and just as flashy. This juxtaposition never becomes completely annoying or unnerving, which is just as well considering that this is the longest track, at 7:48. But this remains one for Cave devotees - it's very good, but everyone else will wish it were about half the length.

With 'Love Letter', however, nothing is wasted. It is half the length of the last track, but Cave is not cutting any corners. On the contrary, this is deeper and more bittersweet than anything else on here. The piano from the first track is brightened up and paired with the languid violins to create a melody so sumptuous and yet so restrained. Cave sings sweetly and beautifully, crooning lines about a desperate plea to a dear love and just as on The Boatman's Call he is being completely honest. This may be slow, down-tempo and written in a cumbersome key, but you nevertheless find yourself completely captivated by what Cave has created. Take the second verse as an example:

A wicked wind whips up the hill
With a handful of hopeful words
I love her and I always will
The sky is ready to burst
Said something I did not mean to say
Said something I did not mean to say
Said something I did not mean to say
It all came out the wrong way

On top of this, the chorus is simple but serene; the band don't waste your time with superfluous images which are too clever to understand. This is a quiet slice of majesty, a true classic within the Bad Seeds catalogue and an underrated masterpiece outside of it.

'Fifteen Feet Of Pure White Snow' is the first hint we get that not everyone in the band is sitting comfortably with this new style. We still get the a cappella and the gorgeous piano of 'As I Sat Sadly By Her Side'. But on the chorus things explode just a little bit, as the drums wake up, jagged chords lurch forward from the piano and the bass gets just a little bit louder. Throughout this, it feels like Cave is acting as the safety valve. He still just manages to dominate, like the cork about to burst out of a champagne bottle, so that even in its violent ending the band is never allowed to emulate its choatic past. (The band would pull off the same trick on the follow-up, Nocturama (2003), with songs like 'Bring It On').

'God Is In The House' sees the continuation of the quiet and introspective mood we saw so much of on The Boatman's Call. The piano glides through the mix, with only some deep strings and subtle brushwork on the drums to disturb its grace. Cave's lyrics are sprawling and yearning, and we get another taste of his past self, all tinged in bitter irony. They are one long polemic against cozy American 'Christianity', in all its prudishness and double standards. But despite this acidic subject matter, we again find Cave restrained by himself, holding back, telling us less so he can give us so much more.

'Oh My Lord' kicks off the second half of the album with one of the most off-putting openings of any song. Cave half-croons, half-speaks I thought I'd talk a walk today totally out of tune and with contempt for any rhythm. Past the first 8 seconds, however, this is still a good song, if a little more repetitive than anything we have seen so far. As a result of this, many will be put off and not make it to the end of the song. Those that do, however, will have much to chew on, for this is a song that makes you think.

'Sweetheart Come' also has another off-putting opening - Come over here babe, out of key again - but recovers amply to justify its inclusion. More than that, this is one of the key songs on here, a song in which Cave is coming to terms with his new feelings, and is happy in his resignation. The key lines come early on: Seems we can be happy now/ Better late than never. This is clearly a eulogy to Bick, in which Cave is uninhibited and uncaged at last. 'The Sorrowful Wife', on the other hand, is a bit too long to past the same muster. Everything is weaker, from the choice of chords to the progression of the lyrics; you have barely gotten halfway through before you have soaked up all you can and want to move on. It's not helped by the jumped-up second half, with its atonal chords and even more atonal singing, in an eerie foreshadowing of Nocturama.

'We Came Along This Road' restores the calm and reinstates the pathos-ridden spirit, brutally tarnished by the last track. Where before his piano playing was questionable, here the richness has returned and his voice is back on form. Wylder plays his part, laying down a drum part which draws all the threads together and focuses you more on the sweetness of the chords. In the final third he is joined by some wonderful violins straight out of a Bach concerto which lift the song to new symphonic heights.

The last two tracks are broadly similar ventures, in terms of sound and quality. 'Gates Of The Garden' brings guitar back into the mix; Blixa Bargeld is given more room to impress, and his distorted slide work doesn't disappoint. The song is more overtly Biblical than a lot of stuff on here, but there is still plenty of room for alternative interpretations, like the work of all the best songwriters. 'Darker With The Day' has greater trepidation about it - the opening chords are minor and less sure of themselves, and Cave's voice has a more quivering quality to it. He sings like a disillusioned philosopher, walking into the fog to his death. At the heart, though, there is still love, deep and unquestioning love which settles his heart and reassures him that all will be well.

If there is one criticism to be made about No More Shall We Part, it is that listening to it is an exhausting experience. There is so much soul-bearing and soul-searching on here, and so much emotion to digest, that one can come away completely worn out. But while this album is heavy-going, it is not impossible. On the contrary, it is very easy to fall in love with this album, and to be amazed by the quality of songwriting on display. It may not have the quaint, childlike elegance of The Good Son (1990, #40), on the bombastic abandon of Abattoir Blues (2004, #69), but on almost every song we are encountered by a band at their most tight-knit and mature. On later albums, the older, more sprawling elements would return with mixed results, but here everything is tied down and neatly arranged for your pleasure. All you have to do is give it enough patience, and all will slowly become clear.

4.00 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #40: The Good Son (1990)

The second of four entries from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds is The Good Son, which retells the parable of the two sons from the point of view of the elder son.
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds formed out of the wreckage of post-punk pioneers The Birthday Party, who split in 1983. Former members Nick Cave and Mick Harvey quickly assembed Blixa Bargeld (guitar), Hugo Race (guitar) and Barry Adamson (bass/ piano) and released their debut album, From Her To Eternity (1984). From this a string of albums followed which charted Cave's devout Christianity (The Firstborn Is Dead, 1985), his love of American music (Kicking Against The Pricks, 1986), and his battle with heroin addiction (Your Funeral... My Trial, 1986). The band, like King Crimson and Jethro Tull, had a constantly fluctuating line-up, with only Cave and Harvey remaining throughout. The release of Tender Prey (1988) set the trend for most future Bad Seeds recordings, linking these common strands together for the first time.

'Foi Na Cruz' opens the album, bringing with it some acoustic guitar and multi-dubbed vocals. This is loosely based on a Brazilian hymn, whose title translates as 'it was on the cross'. It's hardly a convincing start, with its slow-strum guitar and ponderous vocals. But eventually Cave's weary baritone rises to the challenge and staggers through the verses drenched in melancholy and bitter abandon. Backed by a Hammond organ part played with the subtle brilliance of Matthew Fisher (ex-Procol Harum), it's not five-star Bad Seeds but this remains a worthy start.

Now to the title track, and oh dear. Not only is the gospel opening enough to grate your nerves to shreds, but then Cave insists on setting his crooked syllables and thought pattern against an irritating snare roll and other more thundery percussion. The chorus drags terribly, lacking inspiration; and while Cave's lyrical style might have worked on something like 'Tupelo' or 'The Carny', here it comes across as all muddled and confused. This is not what we have come to expect from the enigmatic Australian.

Hereoin in, though, things slowly get better. Having vomited up enough gospel for the moment, Cave reverts to what he does best; introspective-sounding, piano-laden ballads with a twist. 'Sorrow's Child' is just this. The style and delivery of this, while a little heavier than his stuff from the late-1990s, is enthralling; as the verses tumble through your ears you are soothed and challenged in equal message. This sounds like the starting point for '(Are You) The One That I've Been Waiting For?' - elegant, soft in its instrumentation and complementary towards Cave's knarled tones.

'The Weeping Song' continues the promising trend with yet more piano. Well, not quite - it's a vibraphone. As well as this, this is not just Cave taking the mike; Bargeld joins him to sing the part of the father. And yet you'd never tell without reading the sleeve notes, since they sound so similar. There are some lovely touches here, like the timpanis which thunder through the off-beats at the end of each stanza, and the mournful-sounding hand claps that lead you teasingly into the chorus. The lyrics are good, too: "Father, why are all the women weeping?"/ "They are all weeping for their men"/ "Then why are all the men there weeping?"/ "They are weeping back at them".

After digging halfway through the unrelenting melancholy, we come across a particle of joy. 'The Ship Song', like its predecessor, is now a Bad Seeds standard - and it doesn't take a music critic to see why. Its tender piano opening comes across as crisp and smooth around the edges. The ghostly male backing vocals are absolutely ethereal, offset against Cave who shakes off the bitterness and irony for just a minute and croons from the gut. The whole band feels tight, allowing the choruses to swell with the drums and the verses to slide down to a crawl as the vibraphone takes control. More than anything else, though, this is an old-fashioned love song, a hymn from Cave to God and his lover, without the trappings of a slushy hit. It's magnificent.

Back to darkness now, and 'The Hammer Song'. This is much more typical of the 1980s Bad Seeds sound - unrelenting in its production, creepy in its vocals and deep and resounding in its percussion. The insistent xylophone and stricken violins only add to this mood as the song swells and reaches its climax. Like a lot of Bad Seeds songs, the meaning of the lyrics (or, for that matter, the lyrics themselves) get lost in the mood. But that doesn't matter so much, because the desired effect is there; this song is designed to shock you out of your senses, which is precisely what it achieves.

On the surface, 'Lament' seems like a calming of the storm, another relaxing love song. In fact, this is the love-child of the last two songs - the stricken violins from 'The Hammer Song' are there, along with the anxious delivery from Cave. But in the midst of this is the soothing, sumptuous chorus:

So dry your eyes
And turn your head away
Now there's nothing more to say
Now you're gone away

It may not be the most accomplished piece of poetry that Cave is capable of. But once again it serves its purpose. And once again, like on 'The Ship Song', we get a chilled-out fade-out to end the song.

After keeping it under lock and key for so long, the gospel gene rears its head again with a vengeance. 'The Witness Song' takes its inspiration from the American gospel number 'Who Will Be A Witness?' and the whole album suffers for it. Not only is this a confused and stupefying number on its own, but it throws the whole record off course. By dressing his performance in every cliché of the Deep South, the entire romantic and heartfelt atmosphere Cave has painstakingly created is cast aside in favour of a quick dance. It's pathetic.

But fear not, oh ye of little faith, for this is not the end. 'Lucy' closes the album by returning to that mood. And while the recovery can never be complete after that travesty of a song, this is a staggeringly good attempt. Roland Wolf's piano is fuller and richer than Cave's, allowing him to swell and kiss the violins in the heavenmost registers. The lyrics are enchanting in their feel and in their message, when you are distracted enough to make them out. As closers go, this is right up there with the best. Even with the harmonica at the end.

The Good Son, despite its Biblical overtones, should not be seen as a concept album. Cave comes from the post-punk generation which fought to rid the world of such things, and in any case the narrative - if such a feat is attempted - is hard to discern if you don't know the story already. As a collection of songs, then, this album generally comes out very well. The gospel elements don't work, as if to prove that white musicians cannot do black music justice. But above and beyond that, it's beautiful, with some of the finest piano ballads of recent times. Above all though, this album serves as a pivot between the uber-aggressive menace of the 1980s and the calmer introspection of the 1990s. Perhaps it is best to view this album as the grandfather to The Boatman's Call (1997). This is rougher around the edges, but all the emotion, sincerity and grandeur are here, waiting to endlessly enthrall you.

3.89 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #69: Abattoir Blues (2004)

The first appearance of post-punk maestros Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds comes in Abattoir Blues, the first half of their most recent double album, Abattoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus (2004, counted as two albums).The mid-1990s had been a good time for the Bad Seeds. Albums like Murder Ballads (1996) and its follow-up The Boatman's Call (1997) had received very positive reviews, with the latter being pronounced their masterpiece. But after the release of a best-of compilation in 1998, the Bad Seeds took a prolongued break as Cave struggled to overcome his heroin addiction. After going cold turkey over two years, Cave restarted work in 2000, writing songs for what would become No More Shall We Part (2001). But while this received similar acclaim to The Boatman's Call, their next effort, entitled Nocturama (2003), was uniformally panned. After guitarist Blixa Bargeld quit after nearly 20 years, many questioned whether the band was still a viable creative force.

Abattoir Blues is the result of all the confusion and pandemonium caused by Nocturama and Blixa's departure. It is hardly surprising then that the band would come out guns blazing. 'Get Ready For Love' is a complete break from the minimalist introspection of The Boatman's Call and parts of The Good Son (1990). As soon as the band begins, all expecting gentle piano tinged with whispered lyrics are thrown backwards off their chairs. This is a fascinating fusion of gospel with rock 'n' roll, with Cave in stupendous form. Butr most impressive of all is the guitar. You would have thought that without Blixa, this would have left a gaping hole in the band's sound. Instead, his replacement, Mick Harvey, both leads the song and gives sufficent room for James Johnston's organ work. In a word - brilliant.

Having set the bar very high at the outset, 'Cannibal's Hymn' returns to more familiar ground. It's quieter, more piano-heavy and gives Cave the room he needs to reach the sepulchral apogees which make his work so compellingly unique. Unlike the last song, this also gives sufficient space for Martyn P. Casey's bass; sadly drowned out by the gospel choir before, here it murmurs and pounds under Cave's dark ramblings. This is the kind of song that would have been at home on Murder Ballads, and for that reasons it's another Cave godsend.

'Hiding All Away' sees the band slip up, and for the first time the cracks peep through. Instead of being driven by guitar or piano, we are 'treated' to this wierd interference or background noise, over which Cave attempts a rockability drawl coupled with a stripped back gospel choir. It feels chaotic, like a forgotten half-processed outtake. It's trying to mix elements of 'The Carny' with American rock, and it just doesn't work in doing it.

Those new to Cave might have been sufficiently deterred to switch off. Those who were either brave or sensible to continue will count their blessings with 'Messiah Ward'. Opening with some very amenable piano, this has the same catchy refrain as something like 'The Hammer Song', only with a less obtrusive sound. Cave has rightly thrown into the mix some sweeter females vocals to counter his own idiosyncratic delivery. And while the lyrics are not the easiest to see through, the general feel of the song is carried across more than sufficiently for most.

For fans of the first track, 'There She Goes, My Beautiful World' will be perceived as a worthy rival. And they may well have a point. Cave's songs are never the catchiest to say the least, but when he does attempt a 'rambling rocker' he gets the hooks right, or at least enough to keep the casual listener vaguely entertained. If 'Get Ready For Love' was the ideal opener for what become the Abattoir Blues tour, this would have been the ideal closer. Just as good is 'Nature Boy'. With the feel of a Bruce Springsteen number, this song about a girl and nature is very well executed, even if, as before, the lyrics are not so memorable as we might expect from Cave. But, as I say, this is musically accomplished enough to more than carry it to its conclusion.

The title track is a strange beast. Opening with heavy piano and drums, Cave comes in with the placid line Sun is high up in the sky, I'm in my car/ Drifting down into the abattoir. What begins like 'Brompton Oratory' tinged with extra desperation gives way to airy female vocals and such inane lines as I woke up this morning with a frappachino in my hand. And yet - it's not damn bad. With a little patience, you get the hang of the drums and female parts, and you leave feeling contented.

Up until now, there have only been hints of a dominant genre in the Bad Seeds' electicism, save on a couple of tracks. But 'Let The Bells Ring' sounds resolutely bluesy from the start, with that sweetly singing guitar reminsicent of someone like Steve Earle. But Cave isn't the type to cut a straight 12-bar piece of humdrum. Instead, he takes that Western sound and uses it as a prism for his fascination with American music. Soon we see hints of country music, a mandolin (?!) and bits which sound reminiscent of a Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac. On top of all this, Cave wails and moans as only he can. And that isn't bad either.

It's a shame, then, that the album ends on such an obvious whimper as 'Fable Of The Brown Ape'. Half-rambling Paul Simon ballad, half-storming metal tribute, this can't make it up its mind what it is. But the worst part is, because of this (and Cave's nerve-stretching vocal performance) the storyline is lost - well, not so much lost as rendered obsolete and superfluous. And this in turn renders this so pointless that you are glad when it all dries up.

To the seasoned Bad Seeds listener, Abattoir Blues could be described as 'neo-classical', in the same vein as David Bowie's later work. As I have covered, if you listen carefully enough there are hints, riffs and motifs culled or sampled from the band's finest work. Whether this was deliberate, to show that they could cut it without Blixa, or simply the result of working together for 20 years, we don't know. Either would seem to justify both this album's low position and Cave's decision to form Grinderman as a means of escape. Don't get me wrong, Abattoir Blues is not a bad album, either on its own or taken alongside the lesser, more mellow The Lyre Of Orpheus. However, this is not as compelling as the band was in its prime - dare I say it, when a certain guitarist was present. That is something for the band to ponder should they choose to work together again.

3.78 out of 5