Nick Cave – Skeleton Tree


Warning: Things might get dark, real fucking dark. 

I’ve been petrified of this album. I’ve avoided it like that chatty drunk that talks about the good old days when coke was sweet and fucking was gigantic. I’m sitting dressed in a black button up shirt and tie after the funeral/send off of the century. If you haven’t followed these rants and have no idea what I’m talking about, check out my M.Ward write-up. It’s a pretty good indicator of where I’ve fucking been lately.

If you don’t know Nick Cave, or you’ve heard about him and want to start somewhere, don’t start here. Bad fucking idea. This album could ruin a happy demeanour faster than a hard wet shart in a crowded elevator. Cave wrote most of these songs before his son’s death but, somehow, it’s the subject this album revolves around. Ya, I warned you, motherfuckers. This shit gets deep. This is that hard shit. That messy shit. Luckily, Nick Cave don’t give a fuck. The song “I Need You” alone could overflow your pool with salty fucking tears. This isn’t a beach party album. It’s not going to win a Teen Choice Award. It’s a grieving album. And, by fuck, it’s one of the most beautiful albums to have ever graced this fucking earth.

Nick Cave is legendary. He’s at this point where he doesn’t have to make good music anymore. He could make a 6-hour album called “sounds of chainsaws and disappointed sighs from my ex” and it would be nominated for a fucking grammy. But that’s not Cave’s style. While other motherfuckers wrote pretty songs, stupid songs, songs for cash, Cave got honest.

This album came out in 2016. And I didn’t really give it a solid listen. I listened to parts and thought, “That sounds heavy. Fuck that.” Cause really, who wants that shit on a sunny day? It felt dishonest to listen to this shit without feeling something similar. But now, on this fucking night and at this fucking time, I can see how wrong I was. This album is about grief, sure, but it can be listened to without all this. Each and every motherfucker has something to grieve and mourn. We’ve all experienced heartbreak, death, or tragedy that hit us like a goddamned freight train. And that’s why music exists. It connects us. This album makes you feel like Cave is next to you talking about his deepest fucking heartache of all fucking time. And, by fuck, when music can make you feel like you’re not alone at the worst of times, that shit is legit. 





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