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Boomkat Product Review:
It's mightily impressive that this album made it out as quickly as it has, following if not hot, then warm-ish on the heels of the midlife crisis noise romp that was the Grinderman side-project and the soundtrack to The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, both of which surfaced last year. Just twelve months down the line and this new Bad Seeds album shows no signs whatever of quantity over quality. By no means have Cave and his cohorts abandoned the hard-rocking garage outings that cropped up on that aforementioned Grinderman material, but there's undoubtedly a greater breadth to this record. Compare and contrast, for example, the wall-of-distortion rocker 'Albert Goes West' with the stately Scott Walker-like elegance of 'Hold On To Yourself', or the ominous prowl of 'Night Of The Lotus Eaters'. Of course the lyrics are exceptional throughout, charged with sexual and religious imagery all filtered through the idiosyncratic Nick Cave mental filter, able to offhandedly take swipes like "I turn on the radio - there's some cat on the saxophone/laying down a litany of excuses". It's one of many references to the difficulties of self-expression that crop up throughout the album: Cave spurts forth tangled, spittle-coated poetry through 'We Call Upon The Author', which motors along in a manner that at once recalls the Velvet Underground and Can. He's as funny as he is insightful and articulate: one moment dispensing insults toward Charles Bukowski, the next he's questioning his own abilities: "Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing that mediocres my every thought?/I feel like a vacuum cleaner, a complete sucker!" Bringing the album to a close, 'More News From Nowhere' maintains a dishevelled chug throughout its eight minutes, while Cave elegiacally catalogues visitations of ghosts from his past. He certainly doesn't sound like a man who's past fifty years old, and if the last twelve months is anything to go by he's just hitting his stride. Excellent.