An impossibly warm evening with Nick Cave...and 10,000 others!

Just when I thought it could not possibly get any better this wonderful summer in Melbourne, Nick Cave, suitably supported by The Bad Seeds (sans Mick Harvey), sections of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra and a choir of small children from Gardenvale, staged one of the music events of the season.  Melbourne's Sidney Myer Music Bowl, an outdoor venue with more than a little history and notoriety, was awash with the deep, dark and moody and tones of the indomitable Mr Cave for more than two glorious hours on yet another warm and balmy Melbourne evening in March.

Being a Melburnian himself, Mr Cave was truly at home 'on the green' and performed his ample heart and soul out...even throwing in a couple of pure gems for the oldies in the crowd, including one of my all time favourites, "From Her To Eternity".  

I find it difficult to dispense with superlatives where this concert is concerned but suffice to say, I enjoyed myself immensely...enough even, to move away from the literal pictorial, to a more "interpretive impression' of the concert at large.

Of course, no warm, balmy evening with Nick Cave is ever complete without imbibing one substance or another...and fortunately, unlike so many outdoor venues that refuse to serve libations to its adult patrons, The Myer Music Bowl has no such restriction. While the choice of tipple was indeed limited, an ice cold Heineken or two proved a suitable enough lubricant for me to join in the more than a little moving rendition of "Into My Arms".

A night...and day on the tiles.

I survived the cellars and, might I say, it was like frolicking in a vat of mead except, thank goodness,  it was port. After some considerable and serious recovery,  and a great deal of reflection, it occurred that one can't go past a Good Friday without some sort of pilgrimage to a construction of God.  I have never seen such suffering and blood letting than I did in the churches of Porto. Amazing iconography...so dark, portentous and reminiscent of my old gothic friend Nick Cave, the old churches of Portugal are indeed amazing. The tiles that embrace each haven of worship tells a story of epic proportions that one can only marvel at the skills of the craftsmen that dedicated themselves to the construction of these glazed wonders. In benediction and supplication, the only suitable honour is the consumption of a sweet dram of Benedictine...that sumptuous liqueur made of herbs, roots and sugar with a base of Cognac.  These churches must be seen to be believed...and I feel blessed.