As Sunday night’s storm clouds gathered, one of rock’s great polymath-storytellers whipped up a tempest of his own on the stage of the Hammersmith Apollo with the help of his six compadres.
Sharp-suited and spivvy, Nick Cave howled and crooned his way through songs of death, sex, savagery and deviancy interspersed with love ballads of exquisite tenderness.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Get 3 months of digital access, absolutely free
Subscribe to The Spectator Australia today to get the next 3 months of unlimited website and app access for free.
- Full access to spectator.com.au and spectator.co.uk
- The Spectator Australia app, on Apple and Android
- Podcasts and newsletters, including Morning Double Shot
- Our archive, going back to 1828
Or
Unlock this article
You might disagree with half of it, but you’ll enjoy reading all of it. Try your first month for free, then just $2 a week for the remainder of your first year.
Comments
Get 3 months of digital access, absolutely free
Join the conversation with other Spectator Australia readers. Subscribe to leave a comment.
CLAIM OFFER 3 months freeAlready a subscriber? Log in