Nick Cave, the god
Nick Cave, the god
A review of the entire evening:
We met Michael at Zen Palate on Broadway (we went vegetarian because Michael is a vegetarian and last time we got together I did not know that and took him to the Outback, which is a steakhouse). Chris hadn't arrived yet, but as we sat down we saw someone who appeared at first glance to be a skinhead walking past the restaurant and upon further inspection realized it was just Chris dressed like a "butch lesbian" in his words.
It was interesting to sit across the table from Michael and Chris, who are polar opposites of each other. Michael is quiet, demure and soft spoken. Chris is, well....Chris is manic. I don't think he stopped moving the entire time we were there. But he is funny and entertaining. A one man show, really. I would pay to see him.
So, the show. Nick Cave is a god among men. I have been to over 300 concerts in my lifetime, from crappy local bands in venues that looked like a barn to huge extravaganzas of U2 proportions, and this show was far and away the best I have ever seen.
Cave seizured his way around the stage, bumping and grinding and looking at times like a man in the throes of an convulsive nightmare. Every song was a story, every note a masterpiece, every word full of passion. He went through a great mix of slow and fast, ballads and crazed stories woven together in an incredible tapestry of talent. The words "stage presence" do not do justice to the ego this man brings onto the stage with him. He commands your attention and mesmerizes you into believing you are living the song with him. If you ever have the opportunity to see Nick Cave live, do not hesitate. Go.
(Chris has the setlist up, and I totally agree with his take on which numbers were more extraordinary than the others)
So, the chick. You know Macy Gray, and that hair she has? Imagine that hair exponentially increased to the 100th power. Imagine Buckwheat sticking his finger in an electric socket. Imagine this on a 5 foot tall, 90 lb. white girl. I think her hair was bigger than her entire body. So who does she sit in front of? Justin. Now, the seats at the Beacon theater are inclined. So this chick was about a foot below us and still her hair was in Justin's way. Then her posse came. 3 guys who all spoke a language I have never heard in my life, at decibels louder than a Jamie Lee Curtis scream. So the girl is sitting there, making out with her boyfriend, when another girl comes running up to her and smothers her in kisses. And I mean kisses. Tongues down throat, hands through hair, the whole bit. Between the hair, the girl-on-girl action and the boyfriend slipping his hand up the girl's shirt occasionally, I had plenty of entertainment in between songs. And the second girl chain smoked cigarettes that smelled like dog shit, and she was wearing a tank top and every time she raised her arms in the air I got a view, and a whiff, of someone who doesn't shave nor use deodorant.
So besides the posse from hell in front of us, the girl with the three month old baby strapped to her and the guy who puked all over the train on the way home, it was the best night I've had in a while. We did miss Baz terribly (she had to work late) but I vowed to go back into the city next week to hook up with her and for Christ to take us comic book shopping. No tofu cheese this time, Michael.
Tonight, it's Spiderman. I love my life.