Whether he likes it or not, for the time being at least, each new project released by Nick Cave and his trusty Bad Seeds will be scrutinised for additional depth; be it intentional or otherwise. Every arched eyebrow, contorted mouth and pointed finger will be interpreted as some sort of significant, conscious gesture hinting towards the residual imprint left as a result of the tragic, sudden passing of his son Arthur, who died aged 15, in 2015.

It was in this manner that 2016’s touching, elegiac One More Time with Feeling reverberated. In that instance, what began life as a straightforward documentary primarily aimed at charting the recording process of what would become their latest record (Skeleton Tree, also released in 2016) ended up as a visual parchment of pain and loss that far outstretched and transcended the original MO. If the experience acted as any sort of therapy for the grieving family remains unclear, but it appears to have fuelled the latest round of activity undertaken by Cave and co.

On the surface it has therefore been business as usual. For the last thirty-plus years, Cave and his band have conjured hell and high water with their singular brand of musical craft. In David Barnard’s rather unfussy, straight-up concert film ‘Live in Copenhagen’ (unimaginatively titled too), there is ample evidence that they remain the foremost purveyors goth-laden tunesmithery capable of rattling both the gates of St. Peter and dancing salaciously with the Devil.

This feature, recorded on a Scandinavian stop on their 2017 tour, draws heavily from the aforementioned recent record and its predecessor Push the Sky Away; both of which are works that focus first and foremost on ambience. It has been a period in the Bad Seeds’ career where they have become increasingly preoccupied with mood over bombast. The advantage of this preoccupation with atmospheric soundscapes is that it provides a sympathetic platform for yearning existentialism. And this is proved in the opening moments of this film.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Distant SkyCave, perched upon a stool whilst the plaintive ‘Anthrocene’ rings out, is pensive. “All the things we love, we love, we love, we lose”, this haunted figure croons. His eyes, undeniably and unmistakably, portray a shadowy glimpse of the stocky weight that lurks imperiously in his mind; and they infer illusion. An illusion of stoic imperviousness, even though fragility peeks through. Meanwhile, the Bad Seeds themselves might well look like Tim Burton’s house band (if he indeed had a house band), but this spindly and smartly attired ensemble are masters of the art of dynamics. Multi-instrumentalist and chief mischievous imp, Warren Ellis, gyrates and spurs the band on like some sort of wizened, effusive conductor. The cyclic musical chug of ‘Higgs Boson Blues’ unleashes a hypnotic rumble in a signpost of change to a heavier track after an opening brace of gentle reverie.

As Barnard’s glossy film progresses, the diversity of the material ensures an engaging experience. Sometimes awkward and hard; sometimes bewitchingly soft and gentle: the Bad Seeds can turn it on or off at will. ‘Into My Arms’ is an affecting torch song engendering a mass singalong. An explosive ‘Red Right Hand’ is followed by the ever-seductive, mysterious and elusive plea-from-the-gallows ‘The Mercy Seat’. An encore containing of ‘Weeping Song’ is replete with an extended vacation by the frontman into a crowd frothing from deliriousness, whilst ‘Stagger Lee’ and ‘Push The Sky Away’ conclude with a packed, chaotic stage bursting with the giddy delight of enraptured audience members.

If the task of a troubadour is to document their life’s observations, experiences, sorrow, happiness, joy and despair, then Nick Cave’s ascendency to the plinth of rock royalty has been propagated by, and brandished with, all of the aforementioned. If you are romantic enough to believe in the mercurial magic of music as being as natural a panacea humankind can find, then it appears to be so for this wounded songwriter, who cuts an ever more maniacal figure expunging the scorched wounds of his scarred, bloody soul. He’s fighting for his life up there.

As for the film itself, do not go expecting any between song deviations to backstage footage. Do not go expecting any visually unconventional art-house effects. Barnard keeps it simple and lets the music do the talking. It is no less affecting for it. Stately and reverent, ‘Live in Copenhagen’ is a glistening portrait of a band in middle age, having weathered life’s blows and carrying on belligerently with both poise and purpose. What do we learn? We learn that this musical troupe aren’t running on empty. They are cooking with gas. This worthy time capsule makes that fact compellingly plain for all to see.

REVIEW OVERVIEW
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Live in Copenhagen: Distant Sun
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Having made it out of Essex alive, aside from the glorious confines of HeyUGuys, Greg can also be found scribbling regularly for Front Row Reviews and many other film-related publications. When not bashing away at a computer, he can also be found occasionally locking horns with the politically diametrically-opposed Jon Gaunt on his radio show, as well as conducting the odd webinar for film schools. Lowlights, thus far, have been the late, great John Hurt admonishing with a 'do you really think like that?', upsetting acclaimed filmmaker Ondi Timoner with his piece for the Sunday Mirror and falling out with the blog editor of the Huffington Post. He also brought Liv Ullmann to tears for a piece for this very site (but in a good way... more of a highlight, that one). He can also be found writing on theatre and music for the Islington Gazette, Ham & High, Hackney Gazette, NME and others. Often found moaning about how tired he is, as well as how frustrated he is – particularly as a musician.
distant-sky-reviewAn unadorned close look at one of music's most enduring and enigmatic presences.