Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds’ latest album Ghosteen sees the Aussie transform from provocateur to inclusive soul

AS his 68-minute magnum opus Ghosteen attests, Nick Cave’s transition from confrontational to communal is complete.

The UK-based Aussie we’ve known and loved as a finger-jabbing provocateur has evolved into a more inclusive soul in recent times.

Nick Cave's changing approach to his career strategy is likely to have been accelerated by personal grief — Nick Cave’s changing approach to his career strategy is likely to have been accelerated by personal griefCredit: Matthew Thorne

Hence Ghosteen — a stately union of voice, piano, synths and strings with subtle hints of guitar, bass and percussion — comes over as an overwhelming symphony of sorrow, longing and, ultimately, love.

Many choruses are given a choral feel through cleverly employed swells of multi-tracked backing vocals, helping create church-like atmospheres.

Occasionally, Cave’s familiar baritone drifts upwards to a semi-falsetto that adds delicacy to his range.

The first part of this astonishing double album is eight songs, ranging between about four and six minutes, reasonably conventional in structure.

But the second is two suites, one being the 12-minute title track, the other, Hollywood, clocking in at 14 minutes, with the short, brooding spoken-word Fireflies sandwiched in the middle.

Cave gives this insight: “The songs on the first album are the children. The songs on the second album are their parents. Ghosteen is a migrating spirit.”

GRAND IN DESIGN

It is probable the 62-year-old’s changing approach to his career strategy, his own “migrating spirit”, was accelerated by personal grief — the terrible loss of beloved son Arthur, the twin of budding actor Earl.

But Ghosteen, grand in design and filled with rare beauty and profound, poetic lyrics, represents the final part of a process which began before that tragedy in 2013 with Push The Sky Away and continued with 2016’s Skeleton Tree.

Anyone who saw Cave’s arena shows in 2017 witnessed extra empathy between the singer and his audience, including the mass stage invasions he encouraged for the encores.

Those connections are further enhanced by the intimate and ongoing Conversations With Nick Cave solo tour, which intersperses songs with questions from the floor — always answered with sincerity and wit.

The bonds are cemented by The Red Hand Files, an internet forum for Cave to write back to his following (bypassing people like me!)

“You can ask me anything,” he affirms. “There will be no moderator. This will be between you and me. Let’s see what happens. Much love, Nick.”

The redoubtable, intuitive Bad Seeds are crucial to Cave's current journey — The redoubtable, intuitive Bad Seeds are crucial to Cave’s current journeyCredit: Matthew Thorne

Last month, when Joe from Bexhill-on-Sea — not far along the coast from the singer’s home in Brighton — asked, “When can we expect a new album?” Cave replied: “Dear Joe, You can expect a new album next week. It is called Ghosteen.”

That’s how the world learned that the latest results of his studio labours in Los Angeles, Berlin and Brighton were set for imminent release.

Crucial to Cave’s current journey is the immense contribution of the redoubtable, intuitive Bad Seeds, most notably violinist and chief collaborator Warren Ellis.

The band look like a bunch of hairy reprobates who can, if required, kick up a howling storm on demented classics such as The Mercy Seat and Stagger Lee.

But here they supply grace to every supple note on an immense 11-song album — the first Bad Seeds double since 2004’s Lyre Of Orpheus/Abattoir Blues.

I shall focus first on “the parents”, as Cave describes them. The title track finds the spirit of Ghosteen “dancing, dancing in my hand, dancing, dancing all around”.

IN A CLASS OF HIS OWN

It is delightful, mesmerising — even referencing the Three Bears from Goldilocks — but Cave’s pain is never far from the surface.

“I would turn the world around if I could,” he cries with cracked, haunting delivery.

Fireflies is spoken, not sung, by a man only too aware of the fragility of human existence and set to shimmering accompaniment redolent of Cave and Ellis’s work on film soundtracks.

Hollywood is classic Nick Cave, somehow reminding me of Roxy Music’s In Every Dream Home A Heartache.

“I’m gonna buy me a house up in the hills with a tear-shaped pool and a gun that kills,” intones Cave with some of the old menace.

The setting is sparse, the pace slow and measured, the latter stages enhanced by a snaky bassline and the singer searching for much-needed “peace of mind”.

Ghosteen is a huge amount to take in, gradually revealing itself in all its glorious wonder

Of the so-called “children,” we start with The Spinning Song, clearly with echoes of titles such as The Ship Song and The Weeping Song from 1990’s The Good Son.

It references “the king of rock ’n’ roll”. Is that Cave’s old obsession with Elvis resurfacing?

Bright Horses is exceptional, with a narrative that harks back to American frontier folk songs.

“I can hear the whistle blowing. I can hear the mighty roar. I can hear the horses prancing in the pastures of the lord.”

The album’s themes of yearning, anxiety and travelling all rattle through this song as the protagonist assures us: “Oh, my baby’s coming on the 5.30 train.” This neatly feeds into the sentiments of the next track, Waiting For You.

Elsewhere, Cave summons mighty forces of nature on two songs with the whiff of salt sea air.

On Galleon Ship, “We’ll stand and watch the galleon ships circle around the morning sun,” while Leviathan is named after the sea monster of biblical proportions.

Overall, Ghosteen is a huge amount to take in, gradually revealing itself in all its glorious wonder.

But it confirms my long-held suspicion that Nick Cave is in a class of his own.