Pitchfork

Hey, did any of you guys catch Nick Cave on "Letterman" last year? There he was, sitting at a piano, wearing a really nice suit, and singing some mushy stuff about love or something. I mean, he may as well have been Elton John. Apparently, old Nick had been seduced by tautology: i.e., that since Nick Cave is edgy and compelling, and simply by virtue of the fact that he happened to be Nick Cave, anything he did would necessarily be edgy and compelling.

Well, back in 1981, Nick Cave really was Nick Cave, and he was considerably more likely to light a bonfire on stage than get all mushy. I mean, this is a guy who liked to perform wearing a t-shirt that announced "I Hate Every Cop in This Town. The Only Good Cop is a Dead Cop." Elton John would never wear a t-shirt like that. Elton John would never jump into the audience, kicking and swinging and screaming about strippers, either. But Nick Cave would. Did. Used to. And somebody back at the soundboard had the guts and good sense not to abandon ship.

For us youngsters, it's hard to imagine what seeing the Birthday Party back then must have been like. At the time, the band was freshly transplanted from Melbourne to London, a move evidently motivated by the fact that they had been banned from playing in all the clubs there. They were unleashed on a totally unsuspecting and unprepared public. I like to think of the boys pacing back in the forth in the cargo hold of some military airship, quarantined like dangerous animals, set loose upon landing to wreak havoc in London clubs, while some crazed Aussie big game hunter swung a bullwhip over his head, screaming, "Sic 'em, boys." There aren't too many concert experiences available today that have the mix of uncertainty, fear and dread that a Birthday Party show must have created. Jewel, maybe. Or Limp Bizkit.

Well, most of us will never know first- hand what it's like to see scrawny little Nick prowl around onstage with "HELL" painted on his chest in big black letters, but it was nice of 4AD to give us the next best thing. The best moments of two early- '80s shows, one in London and one in Germany, excellent sound quality, no filler, no dull moments, and no mushy stuff. Those of you familiar with these songs won't notice any real differences from the versions you already own-- some of the studio flourishes are missing (like the horns on Nick the Stripper, for example), but for the most part the arrangements are the same.

And we're not talking about Phish here, folks. Still, these recordings are maybe a bit slower, heavier, lower, and-- if this is possible-- scarier than the album versions. Nick screams more, Mick and Rowland loosen their guitar parts up and lose their shit more often, Tracy Pew's basslines are brasher and lewder, and Phil Calvert just pounds and pounds away in the back. It's not for the faint of heart. But for those interested in hearing one of the more elemental forces in rock and roll history at their peak, this one's an indispensable document.