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Happy Birthday to the Birthday Party’s Junkyard in Quietus

May 24, 2012 by A.S. Van Dorston


Nick Cave – a tall, wiry, spike-haired figure who has been prowling the stage with all the agitation of a condemned man about to make his final walk to the hangman’s noose – has bassist Tracy Pew in a headlock. The wriggling supplier of the low-end rumble could easily be a reject from The Village People; a moustache rests on his top lip, the cowboy hat on his head struggles to remain in place during the ensuing tussle while his black fishnet t-shirt barely conceals the underfed torso beneath.

As the pair grapple on stage, Cave launches a second violent front as his booted foot lashes out and connects with bone, cartilage and teeth at the lip of the stage. Immediately, several sets of hands reach out from the melee and grab both the howling singer, his face contorted in a mixture of rage and confusion, and his twisting cohort. Within seconds they fall backwards from the stage to the floor below and in the blinking of an eye the duo are engulfed by flying fists and angry feet raining blows and kicks with an unrestrained savagery. Amid retaliatory punches of his own Cave’s grunts and guttural screams remain unbroken as Pew’s bass guitar neck is seen making frantic upward stabbing motions in the direction of his assailants. Continue…

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