IN REVIEW: GOLD COAST CARNAGE // NICK CAVE & WARREN ELLIS
Warren Ellis & Nick Cave // Credit Matthew Thorne
A crowd adorned in their Sunday best piled into the Gold Coast Convention center, ready to be led to redemption on a wayward Saturday night. I was not sold on the venue due to the corporate nature that comes with a place that typically shares its walls with wedding exhibitions and high school formals, but I suppose salvation isn’t situational and I was eager to be proven wrong. A unique sort of sombreness ran through the crowd as they busied themselves in the hazy lobby beforehand, making small talk with long lost friends and washing down their impatience with overpriced beer as they anxiously awaited to meet their maker.
The bar bell rang and we hurriedly made our way to our assigned seating, as three thousand old and young sat in the dark like small children, excitement swelling through their well behaved legs swinging off the edge of the pew. A large black curtain wreathed the bleachers, cutting the space in half and transforming an otherwise subdued arena into that of a sort of Pentecostal revival tent. Anyone who has had the pleasure of experiencing this man before, whether that be with his Bad Seeds or solo, could fully understand how exceptionally special this degree of intimacy was.
As the lights rose; so did sporadic members of the congregation, cheering to welcome in tonight’s clergy - a trio of singers consisting of T Jae Cole, Wendi Rose, and Janet Ramus, with Colin Greenwood of Radiohead on Bass, and Larry Mullins keeping beat. As vicar, the ever awe-inspiring Warren Ellis triumphantly armed with a violin, a flute and a bottle of San Pellegrino that he savagely spat out in intervals during the course of the evening. Finally striding in last across the stage, adored in his iconic dark three piece suit and slicked raven hair, acting as famed preacher to this devoted mass; the one and only king of the goths, Nick Cave.
Since opening with a bang would simply be oh too cliche, our evangelist began instead with a haunting serenade in the form of ‘The Spinning Song’. Lovers around the room couldn’t help but tangle their limbs. For others, tears began to well in their widened eyes, and not one person so much as coughed, so as to not disrupt a second of this sacred opening prayer.
Once the holy spirit within us all felt invited enough to draw itself out and whirl around the room with the other strange souls; it was truly time for the musical catharsis to begin. The driving beat of ‘White Elephant’ proved too much for Gold Coasters to behave any longer, and a runaway mosh abruptly began forming around the front of the stage after individuals were pulled from their pews in a single bound and leapt into faith by the music alone.
As the crowd cemented itself upfront and new physical arrangements were being formed amongst the crowd, strangers quickly became familiar through the exchange of mutual tears, laughter and sing-alongs as the band began to weave some more prominent and familiar Bad Seed songs into the set.
He enlisted in the crowd to join in on his chanting of the lyrics “Hand of God” , as he slunk off stage and crawled his way through the waiting crowd, hungry and desperate to make physical contact with their leader.
Once he was swept deep into the sea of bodies, Nick took to bantering with certain characters amongst while attempting to catch a wave back to the stage.
A crowd favourite interaction belonged to a drunk couple, in which a woman yelled continuously “Oi! Love ya! Fucking well done love ya!” before Warren acknowledged her with a quiet “thank you gorgeous”. Nick quickly warned “watch out, she’s got a genuinely psychotic boyfriend AND they’re from the Gold Coast”. And a roar of self deprecating laughter filled the room.
There were a few stabs made at the Gold Coast throughout the night. Realistically, this isn’t the town who on paper would routinely welcome a show like this, particularly not in any sort of large number. Perhaps this is the reason we were unprecedentedly treated to such an intimate night. In a town so unsure of itself, consisting of plastic micro influencers and cashed up bogans; a redemption of this kind is needed so much more than any city priding itself on its intelligence or cultivation. For the church is not a select circle of the immaculate, but a home where the outcast may come in. The outcasts of the ever wicked Gold Coast had found their saviour, and lapped up every consecrated thing he had on offer.
It was obvious that Nick’s comments were in vain, and he understood our need for salvation. But to be honest it seemed that he enjoyed it even more than we did. Perhaps we acted as a much needed dose of common reality in the middle of a world tour.
Was the Gold Coast the diamond studded turd that Nick, Warren and Co needed? Who saved who?
Regardless, whether you were a fan of Nick since he first debuted to the public in the 70s, or were dragged along to the night by a loved one, it’s clear across the board that a night with Nick is unlike any other show you have seen or will see.
The thing that truly unified us all was the unparalleled grip Nick Cave has on human expression. The way he has taken his own experiences with love, life and particularly grief and spun them in a way that is so relatable to people all over the world, of all different walks of lives and generations is unmatched. Seeing his live is a symbiotic experience - when Nick moves, we move, when Nick cries, we cry, and when the time comes that this must end and we are all moved back to the now vacant lobby, we have no choice but to take a bit of Nick with us and dare to be even just a fraction more human. For if we could all even for a minute give to the world the passion, devotion and humanity that this man has, I truly believe we would be better off for it.
