Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!
Mute/Anti

The main line in most reviews for Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! has been “Nick Cave is back!”, with critics pleased as punch this record, in combination with the eros-punk of Cave and the mini-Seeds’ Grinderman project, finds the singer reveling in his more “edgy” rock persona. Fair enough, I guess, but it kind of chafes that many fair-weather Cave fans who dropped the guy years back missed out on one of the best albums of his career, 2001’s No More Shall We Part, presumably because he had become too piano-dependant and ballad-heavy.

It hasn’t all been pretty, though, as Cave and company would throw in the occasional rave-up, with the demonic stomp of “Babe I’m on Fire” taking up a full quarter of 2003’s Nocturama’s running time. Though Dig may offer a more sustained sort of burn, it comes nowhere near the intensity of The Birthday Party or even more raucous Bad Seeds albums. Which is fine, because do you really want this collection of middle-aged guys trying to summon up their past drug-fueled energy and nihilistic attitude?

The radio-friendly opening title track sets the mood of the album, and its voodoo-organ groove may be the funkiest thing Cave has ever played. That song, along with “We Call Upon the Author,” highlights Cave’s arch sense of humor and willingness to cut loose, the lyrics delivered at breakneck speed with Cave often gasping to draw enough air to deliver the next line.
But amid all this revelry, about half of the album is comprised of those mid-tempo numbers that showcase Cave’s poetic, refined songwriting and Satanic lounge singer voice; the sultry “Jesus of the Moon” and “Hold on to Yourself” could both serve as wonderful summations of what Cave and the Bad Seeds have done best for the past decade.

There are a few songs (“Albert Goes West,” “Midnight Man” — both “rockers,” incidentally) that aren’t exactly filler, but seem a little lackluster in the company of the more inspired material here. The album ends with the lengthy “More News From Nowhere,” a wordy Cave recitation over a repetitive backing that might stand as his most surreal cataloguing of Dylanesque characters and situations. Cave’s smooth delivery, the steady groove of the music and group-backing vocals are so seductive, you might at first miss the nightmare the singer is caught up in. The song begs for repeat listens, and the effect is like sticking around a shifty hotel you know you ought to check out of, immediately, but instead end up hanging out in to see what might possibly happen next.

Cave’s voice is as strong and commanding as ever, the songs mostly solid, the band its usual tight, efficient self, and the recording quality great. The whole thing is a no-nonsense, stripped down rock album by a group of pros who know what they’re about. It’s not a masterpiece, but at this point, the Bad Seeds are so seasoned, they reach the kind of heights to which most bands can’t even imagine aspiring. (Eric Dawson)