On: Faith, Hope And Carnage

Wednesday is about books, and writing. Today, a plug for Nick Cave's latest publication - "Faith, Hope And Carnage", a most wonderful book of conversations with Irish journalist, Sean O'Hagan.

Nick Cave’s new-ish book, Faith, Hope And Carnage (co-authored with Irish journalist Sean O’Hagan, and released late in 2022) is wonderful. A must-read for anyone interested in creativity, for anyone hopeful about what this world might offer in and around all the trauma (both personal baggage, and the collective misery we hurtle through and contribute to). It is many things, including of course, a stirring meditation on grief. It is a towering tribute to the love and bond between Cave and his wife, Susie (nee Susie Bick; former model and co-founder of fashion label, The Vampire’s Wife). And it is the correct way to long-form interview. O’Hagan is patient, thoughtful, wise, instinctual, gentle and informed. He is capable of drawing Cave out, he is able to interpret and prod, he is just as willing to not push, but most importantly in this case, he has his subject’s full trust.

Now, look, I’m telling you all this as someone slightly late to the party with this book – it was on many of the Christmas lists and end of year wraps, you can find any number of reviews gushing about its brilliance. And I’m telling you this as someone with a quite bizarre, love/hate fixation around the work and worlds of Nick Cave.

I wasn’t going to read Faith, Hope And Carnage. For the longest time, I wasn’t going to. Because everyone was telling me it was great. Everyone was asking what I thought. It didn’t matter what I thought. The verdict was already in.

Over the last decade, I feel like I’ve written about and reacted to Cave more than just about any other name in music. I have probably written about Prince and Bob Dylan, and maybe Joni Mitchell and Billie Holiday as much or more than I’ve written about Nick Cave. But that is all. And it’s still a close contest.

See.

One minute I’m telling you that seeing Cave and The Bad Seeds was the best gig ever, next minute I’m frustrated by the psycho-fans/sycophants that ask inane questions and gush too much over perfunctory performances that lose something without the band’s garnish.

But I’ve read many of the books by and about Cave. He’s released collections of lyrics and plays, travel diaries, collections of interviews and there have been a handful of probing biographies, as well as many documentaries. I’m no completist, but I’ve also hoovered up a lot of the material. Because just as I think I’m out, or bored, I’ll listen again to Jubilee Street, or take in all of Push The Sky Away in fact. Or I’ll revel in the intensity of the Live Seeds version of Papa Won’t Leave You Henry, or just sink down deep into The Boatman’s Call, or, well, there are several albums that contain favourites. So, you see, I’m always floating in and out of the world and the work. And I’ve finally made peace with that.

But even if I didn’t have this love/hate type of thing, a Cave fan for close to 30 years now, with his 40+ years of work to explore, I still think that Faith, Hope And Carnage would have made an impact. The book might seem extra special if you’re already a fan, with its insights and behind-the-scenes peeks, but it’s not a case of you needing to know the work to find the magic in between its covers.

In recent years, it’s been impossible to consider Cave’s work without thinking about the death of his teenage son, Arthur. It is in the work, and it is the reason Cave is so committed to his work currently. He’s as prolific as he’s been, adding pottery to the mix, making many soundtracks with his musical foil, Warren Ellis, still exploring songs with the band, and smaller versions of the band, taking solo tours and generously giving of himself through his Red Hand Files – a sort of permanent Ask Me Anything where Cave is in dialogue with both himself and his fans, replying to questions both mundane and profound with answers that are sometimes spiky but always considered.

Faith, Hope And Carnage eschews the obvious memoir-path for a widened version of his Red Hand Files, bringing in the aforementioned journalist he could trust. It started as a cathartic Lockdown escape – some 40 hours of conversations that ruminate across 40 years of music. The taglines are easy. But through the distillation we get grief, religion, love, connection, creativity, and of course the tie that binds them.

Cave is eloquent, funny, contemplative, and still a little prickly at times. And it’s all largely thanks to the work he’s been engaged with, the trauma he is confronting, and, here, the guiding hand of his co-author.

These are deep conversations about art through life, and life through art. These are spiritual awakenings and there is some sense of regret, as well as the title’s hope. (“Hope is optimism with a broken heart”, chuckles Cave, off the cuff, at one point).

Nick Cave doesn’t really want to talk about his years of addiction, but realises he must. He doesn’t always want to talk about the death of his son, but acknowledges that it will now be there in his work forever. That he is in service to that grief. And that he and his wife are now more strongly bonded than before, but it is a shared grief that holds them together so tightly.

I took great strength from this book. And I didn’t want it to end. I returned my copy to the library, then two days later, I went to the store to purchase a volume for the bookshelf. I know I’ll read it again. I know I’ll loan it out – or want to. And I feel like this might be the highest praise a book can get: You bought a copy after reading it.

It was interesting to tackle this straight after reading Bono’s book. I feel like the two volumes would go together well, in a way that Cave would probably dismiss in an answer if anyone was to suggest that to him in his Red Hand Files. But then, one of the side-line revelations of Faith, Hope And Carnage is that Cave is good friends with Chris Martin of Coldplay. He laughs that people wouldn’t pick it, and wouldn’t line up the music, but he says it's about the spirit of the person and the work ethic, and he admires Chris for those things.

Anyway, as with Bono’s book and my reconnecting with U2, I started listening to Cave’s music again while reading, but late into the book – in fact I’m still going on a deep dive through the Bad Seeds catalogue, and I’m only really at the halfway mark, I’m yet to get to the albums that totally sold me on him (Let Love In, The Murder Ballads, The Boatman’s Call – that mid-90s trilogy is a tower of work all on its own). Well, by the time you read this I’ll be hitting up one of those albums anyway.

So I’ll leave you with a playlist of some of my Nick Cave favourites and highlights, a wee sampler. I love the idea of soundtracks for books, so maybe this could work like that?

But even if the music never meant anything to you – and I’m not quite sure how that could be, but hey, each to their own, some people truly do love the music of Chris Martin, or so I’ve been told – I really do think that this book is a must. Buy one for yourself, for the special person in your life, or for as many of the special people as your budget allows. Form book clubs to discuss this work. Start your own Substack and even if you copy and paste this newsletter and re-send it out, it would be a good thing to do – in terms of spreading the word.

I haven’t said much about the actual book but that’s been on purpose – because its contents are the magic, I don’t want to ruin the magic. But I truly believe this is one of the best books I’ll ever read.

Have you read it? Or will you? Is it on your list? Read any other great books by or about Nick Cave? And if the answer is not all of that and you’re still here, what’s the best music book you’ve read so far this year?

Postscript: Here’s a recent favourite example from Cave’s Red Hand Files.