Nick Cave

Nick Cave is an artist who inspires ecstatic devotion to parts, or all of his incarnations or, at minimum, respect for his southern gothic by way of Australia and England musical and lyric rants and musings. Nick has always had a personality split between murder ballardeer and fire and brimstone raver. He's expanded the former for the past few years. He keeps his backwoods, crazy Jack eyeball, sound savant alter ego partner Warren Ellis close by in either case. The show is focused on their new gospel praising Carnage disk.

The three back up voices breath like horns. Cave unfolds like a quantum Sinatra at a strip club in a cellar like a church (you know the rest). The beats and especially Ellis' cheapo (?) Lap top keys echo Nico's wheezy harmonium. On electronics some deep notes mirror the lyrics. I was in like. The crowd mostly in love.

God is in the house. Nick has never shied away from his ecclesiastic side, his biblical roots or the duality of sin and redemption but tonight the set feels less existential and more personal.

Nick Cave

These songs don't burn like the unplayed mercy seat. They rise and fall in Cave's incantations, the dread and ecstasy of the gospel harmonies (Hand of God!) the low key base, drums and synth lines and Ellis' sound collages - especially his toothy forays on violin.

Even on the down low, Nick goes large. Love and redemption, hope, faith, the Kingdom in the sky. Some songs melt slowly the most artic of glaciers.

The most beautiful moments are exquisite. Chords ring out, the synth lines bend and stretch. Nick's high voice cracks - bit of a cold?
Just breath fade out

Its smokey and lounge in twin peaks. The log lady dances with the little man in the corner. It drifts like a dream soundtrack in pursuit of redemption amidst the carnage

The Mael Brothers - Sparks

Sparks take a far lighter, looser, and unabashedly joyous road to redemption then Cave and Ellis. The septuagenarian Mael brother have stayed busy during the plague years with writing and film work. Cave's one cover was T Rex's Cosmic Dancer but it was Sparks who were intent upon dancing there way into heaven.

The sound at the Shubert is pristine all the way to the last row of the orchestra. It lets the full band shine even minus a second guitarist recovering from covid. Brother Russ' infinitely malleable voice is a loony tune of virtuosity. The band switches styles almost every song - opera, classical, omm pah band drinking songs, Chasion, purposefully bad, old white guy rap, disco, and a switch to cut time on Get Into the Swing. Mael amazes with his vocal range and acrobatics. He also dances right out of the womb all night long. His brother Ron makes a couple of charming, deadpan, and hysterical song and dances cameos.

Russ Mael - Sparks

For all of the vocal filigree and lyric silliness - Stravinsky's Only Hit, Lawnmower, I Married Myself - the band its tight and robust. Double kick anyone. They give new twisted meaning to soft loud soft loud. Minimalistic smoke and lighting set a tone. The crowd can't wipe the smiles off their masked mugs. Everyone wants to have a good time and the band complies. They have a new disk and a soundtrack in the can.

They end with a relatively new tune, the heart on its sleeve, All That. There is big love moving between the boys and and crowd. The ending has a surprisingly moving, fading clap along. It ends and the crowd erupts again

Ron Mael - Sparks