The Boatman's Call

by

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

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You know, the more I listen to "The Boatman's Call," the more I'm convinced that it's not only one of the best albums I own, but may simply be one of the best albums, period. I'm not usually given to untempered praise, but Cave's intelligent, moody and melodic attempt to work through crises of love as crises of faith is a sobering and powerful reminder of just how far brilliant lyrics and great instrumental hooks will get you.

What I like best about this album is that it thinks big. Cave is tangling here with fierce questions: religion, love, whether human nature is naughty or nice. Themes that would often elicit unreflective power ballads or incoherent and angsty slop from other artists pull instead from Cave some of his best pieces, balanced but yearning, often clever but never cute, and understated but overwhelming.

Cave makes his position clear in the album's first line; he's not religious, not a believer, but song after song seems to insinuate that he can't help seeing something of the divine and the devilish in the powerful emotion of love. "Into My Arms," "Are You the One that I've Been Waiting For?", and "The Brompton Oratory" all marry erotic or romantic longing with a sort of spiritual unrest in search of rest.

Other people have tried this mix, of course--Madonna's "Like a Prayer," for example or Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus"--but none have succeeded as Cave has. Even the very few less-than-perfect moments are never less than interesting. But really, almost all of the tracks are songs you'll have memorized before you know it, and they'll still surprise you every time you hear them. With warm and soft pianos, light guitars, occasional strings, and Cave's soothing bass, "The Boatman's Call" sounds like the kind of prophetic and life-changing stuff you'd hear in a dark lounge somewhere, the room dense with cigarette smoke and hazy with flourescent light, and the audience so quiet you could hear the parting of air as a pin drops.