Like I was sprayin… Nick Cave ain’t ya Grandma’s washed up Las Vegas Meatball… I’ve spoken to a handful of other fans and they agree that the show stays with you for about 3 days after… the same amount of time it took Jesus to rise up from the Dead or the stench from skunk spunk to wear off your skin. Most people have died trying to arrive to where Mr. Cave has found himself through lots of hard work, good luck dressed up as bad luck and just being touched. His laurels, his jeweled crown, his magnetic opulence and writing the kind of songs that more than just gothic people can resonate with… from the tender and serene to flamboyant and Hotter than a hosed up fire hydrant pissed on by a pack of stray dogs… Nick Cave is Our Man… and the difference between Mr. Cave and the Greats before him is that he never got greedy, he never signed on for the easy Hollywood sleazy cheese films, he remained the figurehead and the Captain of his own ship. Mr. Cave refused to take the Mac Davis route. No wooden gargoyle waterbeds, no butthole stains on his silk collar, no aftershave burn on his exposed and monkey’haired nipples, no, no, no… Nick Cave is no American Sleazeball belching out breathalyzer breaking hammerhed halitosis 5 cent songs about 2 piece swim suits and Gonorrhea cartwheels, Mr. Goddamn Hell No. Mr. Cave has All of Neil Diamond’s love on the rocks but none of that 70’s sperm bubbling up in the shag carpet… Nick Cave is like Mel Torme but taller and without a Tater-tot penis. He’s a crooner, a swooner, a well dressed NASA babooner. Like Pat Boone meets deep throat,
like Tony Bennett without the New Jersey dandruff and dentures, like Engelbert Humperdinck but a lot more Hump for your buck and a lotta less dink. Nick Cave is like Julio Iglesias but understandable and without the suntan melting onto the floor from his facelift smile. Nick Cave is like Wayne Newton without all that Wayne Newton. He’s like Vic Damone, just not headless and Dead… wait a minute.. that’s Vic Morrow, never mind, you know what i’m sprayin’!
Nick Cave stands on his own… Not your Grandma’s meatball, baby,
he is the Last of the Great Entertainers…
17:13 – Onwards