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As if it was dictated by Nick Cave, the evening’s elegantly sartorial compere, the heat and energy of the hot summer days that had preceded this balmy night, which left Adelaide sweltering in a sweaty malaise, was sucked from the air outside and placed firmly within the confines of Thebbie’s hallowed halls. This seemed deliberately designed, as the uncomfortable temperature and the potential for sweat acted as an overly-effective, messed up, blank canvas for The Bad Seeds to paint their blistering explosion of noise. Their notorious mix of grave intellectualism, ultra-violent imagery and explosions of feedback folded into a beautifully constructed, dramatic dialogue that yet again left Cave and his Seeds on a pedestal unreachable to the ‘normal’ artist. The crowd was neatly divided into those covered in sweat and those without a drop on their brow and both extremes indicated that this show was having a significant effect on the minds and bodily functions of an enraptured audience.

Dig, Lazarus, Dig!, the new album from Cave and his troupe, has deservedly received many an accolade and while not entirely living up to the near career masterwork that was Abattoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus, it has a certain quality that lent itself perfectly to post Grinderman, Bad Seeds played live. In the space of no more than 4 years, Cave has begun to play a significant amount of guitar live and while it may still be rudimentary and a little quiet within the cacophony that is the Bad Seeds musical fire, it is the perfect complement to the stories of rabid personal corruption and dangerous yearning present throughout Lazarus. Most of the Lazarus performances were superb with particularly crackling, spitting and buzzing versions of Lie Down Here (And Be My Girl) and Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! being filled with the kind of dissonant feedback noise these guys have come to master. Not to be confined to mere spectacle, versions of Hold On To Yourself and the apparently as announced ‘written for my Mother’, More News From Nowhere utilised the dramatic tension in Cave’s lyrics and occasional demented performance to draw effect. More News was a particular demonstration of this, spitting and hissing along on the wave of its late night organ groove, it had more than just a little taste of trepidation forming on the tongues of a malleable crowd. If not for the heavy, pre-recorded funky bass groove that replaced the piercing, squaling feedback after the ‘Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix’ line in We Call Upon The Author all the new songs would have come out perfect.

Then there are the songs that have either become staples of The Bad Seeds live cannon, or pieces that have matured with time, collecting tension and power as they’ve aged. Bar the slight by-the-numbers Cave NOT on piano version of The Ship Song, the back-catalogue was consistently on fire with classic melodies and insane discordance. When begun Tupelo, a previously brooding, crescendo based head-case blues number, had its tempo sped up and didn’t seem to work until suddenly it clicked and became a barnstorming delta-rock freak out that benefited from extracting the latent pain and filling it with bruising rage. It seemed as if Red Right Hand was going to be an unnecessary inclusion until the five second bursts of feedback near the end of the song formed the first point where the Bad Seeds truly let rip. And while we lament the lack of Blixa Bargeld The Weeping Song has finally reached a point at which his guttural, lower than sub-woofer voice isn’t a requirement for success. The live favourite of Henry’s Dream, Papa Won’t Leave You Henry rollicked along across its train track rhythm with the passion and fervour it’s been treated with for time immemorial. This was Cave at his best. Prancing around the stage with endless energy, the look of madness in his eyes, his all-encompassing, frenzied gallop all became tools at his disposal. Tools which allowed him to wrench even more out of his often heady, intellectual material through the opportunity to act out his art in a fevered craze. This Caveian equation was highlighted perfectly by the obligatory Mercy Seat performance that reached its suicidal climax with grand effect.

Interspersed between all this was the class and dynamism of each individual Bad Seeds member. Mick Harvey with his ‘hold it all together responsibilities’ played his role with aplomb, while Thomas P. Wydler yet again showed how he is near unrivalled when it comes to the power and force with which he smashes his skins. Especially shocking was Warren Ellis who since arriving as a full-blown Bad Seed with No More Shall We Part has added to the mind trip that is Cave suddenly became a guitar god, whipping out dysfunctionally glorious solo after solo. He now IS a lead guitarist of little comparison and his ever-expanding abilities will almost definitely power the evolution of this collective’s already impeachable sound.

The encore set provided the appropriately volatile climax, beginning with a shortened version of Straight To You that finally gave Conway Savage the opportunity to sound like he belonged at the gig for one of the first times on the night. Following this, in true Cave style, were the songs which were to burn holes in our mind that were to remain for the hours following the gig. The ear-busting Get Ready For Love was followed by it’s bastard sister song, the Your Funeral… My Trial brooder Hard On For Love that may have thoroughly scarred the entire audience. To top it all off in gory malevolence Stagger Lee finished the gig in an explosion of Cave theatrics that truly reminded everyone that we’d seen Nick Cave, master of the macabre, presenter of the perverse.

The Bad Seeds live is a confronting and often alienating experience. In the previous times I’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy their carnival of depravity, I have eventually been left wasted and wounded on the grass outside Thebarton Theatre unable to walk, speak or think with any sort of ease or function. This time out was no exception and whilst this configuration of the band has yet another new rock-orientated, glammier sound then before, their expertise, mastery of aural theatre and intimate knowledge of their back-catalogue left no possibility for a concert anything less than breathtaking.

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