Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Preston Park Brighton
Britain is currently “blessed” with two ageing goth idols, both enjoying almost mythic status. Whilst a certain Robert Smith increasingly resembles a pantomime dame on acid, and seems desperately intent on securing national treasure status at any cost, Nick Cave retains a far clearer aura of dignified cool. Returning to play in Brighton, his former home town, was always going to guarantee a huge crowd and a rapturous reception.
Preston Park, in the north of the city, is a natural amphitheatre surrounded by hillside terraces, and makes a fantastic venue for outdoor concerts. On this occasion the gig was neatly aligned with Brighton Pride – Britain’s largest Pride event. Earlier in the day Nick Cave had actually performed an unadvertised set from the top of a record shop in Brighton’s North Laines, a nice little taster for what was to come.
The residents of Brighton were certainly out in force to see their adopted son. All ages were represented and every variety of those who live an alternative lifestyle – or at least still dress like they do – could be found enjoying a baking hot day in the Sussex sunshine. Four support acts – Warmduscher, Cate Le Bon, English Teacher and The Flaming Lips – completed an impressive bill.
Personally, I cannot see what all the fuss is about The Flaming Lips, who I find distinctly mediocre. Their regular gimmick of inflatable eyes, lips and a giant figure carrying the lead singer felt as contrived as ever, but the crowd seemed to think it was the best thing since H from Steps learned a new dance move and were generally appreciative.
Later in the afternoon, and a few beers further down the line, it was time for the star turn. Though perhaps star is the wrong word for a performer like Nick Cave. He is more like a fiercely burning, ever-restless comet.
From the outset the intensity of the performance set a standard that few modern performers – often so reliant on dancers, visuals and special effects – can hope to match. He was backed, as ever, by the expert musicianship of The Bad Seeds, including his long-time collaborator, the inimitable Warren Ellis, who throughout resembled a deranged monk as he smashed the Bejesus out of whatever instrument happened to be in his hands at the time – keyboard, violin, guitar, it made little difference. Special mention should also go to Janet Ramus, who proved herself to be far more than a backing singer for much of the evening.
It was another female vocalist, however, who inevitably grabbed the headlines, and no doubt generated several thousand Instagram and TikTok posts. Kylie Minogue appeared on stage for a brief Aussie love-in and a breathy rendition of Where the Wild Roses Grow, playing the white pop angel to Cave’s vampiric darkness.
An impressively long set of two and a half hours allowed for a generous run through much of the Nick Cave catalogue, including all the old favourites. (The cheers from some that greeted the opening bars of Red Right Hand being the sure-fire indicator of a Johnny-Come-Lately first-timer.) From start to finish the songs carried an intensity that never dipped. Nick Cave performs with an energy and passion that belies his 68 years.
As the sun disappeared behind the hills overlooking the stage, the gathering darkness saw Cave in his more natural environment and only heightened the morbid beauty of his songs, and the feeling that this was more than simply another concert. It was an experience. An experience brought to an end with Cave alone on piano singing Into My Arms backed by an audience both delighted and overawed to be part of such a finale.
So good!