Review: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' 'Wild God'

On his latest album, Cave's journey of grief manifests as stubborn, resilient joy.

Over the last few years, Nick Cave has undergone a remarkable public transformation. Not so long ago, he was one of the last true alt-rock stars, a dark and confrontational presence whose artistic brilliance was matched only by his ability to be, as he recently described it, a “nasty little man.”

But recently, Cave’s most public and popular outings have him as a sort of open source grief counselor; a listening ear, shoulder to cry on and voice of spiritual wisdom. It’s hard to imagine a less likely career pivot. He is, as Pitchfork called him, “Goth Oprah.” 

I can imagine people who came to Cave through his lovely, profound fan Q+A’s or his thoughtful conversation with Colbert being a little bewildered when they turn to his music. By and large, his songs are not exactly what you’d expect if you only know him from the Goth Oprah phase. Cave has spent 30 years putting together a stupefying and confounding body of work. It has way more highs than lows, but it’s also frequently scary, unwieldy and disorienting. One who leaves his Red Hand Files moved by Cave’s lovely counsel on savoring the beauty of life might be shocked to find that that newsletter’s namesake is a terrifying ballad about the devil: “You’re one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand.” 

But those songs were a long time ago. Now we have Wild God, which Cave said was almost titled Joy. He decided against the shorter title, reasoning that the album isn’t so much straightforwardly joyful as it is another chapter in his ongoing exploration of grief and loss. As you may know, the most significant factor in Cave’s transformation was the 2015 loss of his son Arthur. The albums that have come out after Arthur’s death — Skeleton Tree¹ and Ghosteen — are almost unbearable in their pain, and find Cave attempting to process the loss in real time. It is harrowing listening.

In the years since, Cave has experienced even more loss: another son, Jethro, and his former girlfriend/frequent collaborator, Anita Lane. That will do something to a man. In Cave’s case, it led to Wild God. The album is certainly more joyful than his most recent efforts, but it’s earned joy, defiant joy. This is the music of a man who has looked into the face of death and against all reason, chosen hope. This is music for the long months after loss, the mornings where you wake up and find to your great astonishment that life is moving on and you are moving along with it. This is a soundtrack for the first, shaky steps outside after the long night you thought you would never survive. It is, as is true of basically every album Cave has ever released, a total stunner.