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Showing posts with label Worst To Best. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Worst To Best. Show all posts

Wednesday 24 May 2017

Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino

Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino

Tarantino has always felt like the most tasteless of all directors to label as your favourite. It seemed like the moment he simultaneously fell upon everyone’s radar in my high school at the exact same time, there was not a youth with enough education to dare call anyone better, and still to this day, he seems like the laziest go-to choice for the casual movie viewers' title of 'greatest director in the world'. I lose respect for anyone who says this, even in our old age.

However, I must stay true to my tastebuds, and sheepishly surrender that, yes, indeed, Mr Tarantino may very well be the greatest director to appear in the scene in the last two decades. And I know why this is. It’s because he cheats! Everything Tarantino has ever done was shamelessly stolen without even trying to hide it, his entire filmography working like a mashed amalgamation of pop culture goodness, rebranded as his own with the original label still visible beneath; a copy cat without any reservations, essentially flexing his film knowledge out in the sun, like a rapid succession of pretentious winks for anyone else who had been paying as close attention as he has—which isn’t anyone. And it is exactly this theft that makes him so captivating. It’s his absolute adoration for the film medium itself, a love which runs deeper and more obvious than any other director that could possibly come to mind, no matter how far back you look. His very glee inside of the artform glows with each and every piece he’s presented us with, which may just be the most exciting and beautiful movie thing I’ve ever witnessed.

Ok, so now that I’ve exposed his exclusive technique of plagiarising for his own gain, let’s step back and admit that this is not a completely fair assessment in the bigger picture. All forgery aside, the true magic of Tarantino’s massacre is that he has got to be the most fearless director the mainstream has ever accepted into their circle of trust. He runs knives-first into the most needless depths of violence whilst shouting the n-word like it was an offhand conjunction; such a loud display that even he can’t hear the queues of offended people left behind, begging him to stop. How he’s managed to maintain this level of momentum without the masses boycotting his career is no secret: it is achieved by haphazardly balancing the most politically incorrect of scenes with the fairest portrayal of those who need a fair portrayal. Yes, he’ll write about a black man getting torn apart by dogs for racial motives all the while being called a 'nigger' by everyone in proximity. Yes, we’ll see various examples of a woman getting the blood beaten out of her eyeballs by multiple fists from larger men. But no one can deny that his lead characters are proud representatives of the people he appears to unjustly discriminate against on the surface level, and whether of an African descent or of the female genetics, these are often the heroes of his stories without shying away from treating them like shit and tackling these historic issues without any dread of a backlash, regardless of what Spike Lee may tell you. And that takes balls. Big fat hairy balls, that's what Quentin's got.

But none of this would matter in the context of the medium if he didn't make damn good movies. And he makes damn good movies. They are thorough, with their peculiar storylines delivered in a snazzy punchy style, with a careful focus on the backing soundtrack and loads of close-ups of feet, whilst refusing to shed the ambience of humour no matter how dire the circumstance. Oh, and his dialogue? It’s better than anybody’s, truly. All of which conspires together to make any attempt at a 'Worst to Best' list of Tarantino's work so insulting (albeit a rather easy and predictable effort to order) because, no matter whether discussing his greatest work or his most disappointing, every single one of his films reek of genius. All of them, it’s always genius. And I’ve seen each of them, many, many times.

So let’s get to it then, but before we do, please note that this list only considered full-length works which the man has written and directed himself. This means I did not even look at such films as My Best Friend's Birthday (it’s a short), Four Rooms (he was only responsible for one of four segments), Sin City (guest director), True Romance, Natural Born Killers, From Dusk till Dawn (he wrote those, but did not direct them) etc etc. If that’s ok, light me up a Red Apple, and let’s get rambling. Or even if this is not ok, Jesus Christ, Joe, fucking forget about it. It's beneath me. I'm Mr Pink. Let's move on.


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 09. Grindhouse: Death Proof

09. Grindhouse: Death Proof (2007)

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“To me, it’s all about my filmography, and I want to go out with a terrific filmography. Death Proof has got to be the worst movie I ever make. And for a left-handed movie, that wasn’t so bad, all right? So if that’s the worst I ever get, I’m good. But I do think one of those out-of-touch, old, limp, flaccid-dick movies costs you three good movies as far as your rating is concerned.”

Death Proof may be everyone's local ‘worst Tarantino ever made omg’, but whatever this flick lacks in execution, it weighs out with the man's inescapable love of film, more or less. Teaming up with Robert Rodriguez, the idea was to recreate a double grindhouse exploitation feature just like they did in the old days: two films back-to-back, one being Rodriguez’s waaay over the top Planet Terror, and the other, this: a tale of a stuntman who uses his death proof car to murder young ladies by crashing into shit, which is just lovely. Inspired by slasher films and muscle car movies from the 70s, the low-budget damaged tape vibe was stylistically impressive, but not even close to as impressive as the energetic high speed motor chases which employed absolutely no CGI whatsoever, meaning that (the Kill Bill stuntwoman) Zoë Bell's first on-screen role was an incredibly dangerous one, and verifying that even at his lowest, Quentin still knew no half measures. That said, all the overloaded fun value in the world could not escape the reality that this was pure junk food, a mindless formula consisting of fast cars, hot girls, and violent action thrown together to support one relatively flimsy plot, wholly lacking the depth that convinced Tarantino's followers to give up their pocket money in the first place. Fans of the genre may love it, but even the biggest fans of the director (me!) will more than likely be left with a craving. It's still awesome though!

Recurring contributors: Michael Bacall; Zoë Bell; Omar Doom; Helen Kim; Jonathan Loughran; James Parks; Michael Parks; Tina Rodriguez; Eli Roth; Kurt Russell


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 08. Jackie Brown

08. Jackie Brown (1997)

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“Jackie Brown is better the second time. And I think it’s even better the third. And the fourth time… maybe even the first time we see it we go, ‘Why are we doing all this hanging out? Why can’t we get to more of the plot?’ But now the second time you see it, and the third time you see it, you’re not thinking about the plot anymore. You’re waiting for the hangout scenes”

A crime thriller homage to 1970’s blaxploitation films, Jackie Brown was adapted from Elmore Leonard's 1992 novel Rum Punch, meaning this was the only film Tarantino has adapted from a previous work, which could be where the problem started. Telling the story of (you guessed it) Jackie Brown, here we have a middle aged air hostess who finds herself in the middle of a large money smuggling conflict, performed elegantly by 1970’s action film heroin Pam Grier, whose Golden Globe nominated role reportedly revitalised her career—a fact which does not surprise me whatsoever. But while Grier may have been the glue between the already impressively well chosen cast, general consensus is that this Tarantino contribution was lacking a certain something. Perhaps it was that, as his third film, the relaxed pacing, lengthy running time, and moderate storyline couldn’t compete with his previous two masterpieces' flashy fashion and rabid violence; a simpler submission far too grown-up for his standard bloodthirsty fans, who struggled to murder their neighbours to its down-to-earth narrative and lack of any comic book teenage appeal. But what you need to know before passing judgement is that these factors were all very calculated and intentional, which places Brown as still one fully commendable project, criminally underrated even as one of his worst, and requiring multiple views to fully appreciate, no matter what this low position tells you. Don't listen to me.

Recurring contributors: Michael Bowen; Sid Haig; Samuel L. Jackson; Venessia Valentino


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 07. Kill Bill: Volume 1

07. Kill Bill: Volume 1 (2003)

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"Let's pretend we're little kids and we're making a Super 8 movie in our back yard, and you don't have all this shit. How would you achieve this effect? Ingenuity is important here!"

The fact that Uma Thurman helped Quentin Tarantino conceive the martial arts film Kill Bill during Pulp Fiction’s production becomes acutely obvious very quickly, as this film is undeniably The Uma Show. Her character, a nameless bride, wakes up to find her unborn baby is gone, and she seeks vengeance on the team of assassins she was once a part of. And you better believe she does just that, with so much bloody cartoon violence and such an immensely excessive death toll left in her footsteps, that there was no real need for any backstory here in the first place. Rather, this silly bit of cinema hyperspeeds along the surface, supported solely by flaunting fight scenes and sharp eye-candy, featuring characters void of any depth, who cling onto so many cultural nods that Quentin’s love for film is worn more proudly on his semen-encrusted director’s cap here, than probably anywhere else. However, any soul or intelligence deficiencies are expertly distracted by its overpowering entertainment value, swords swinging and guts spraying so abundantly that you can almost hear Tarantino laughing joyfully behind the camera, like the sick sadistic fuck we know he is. Granted, this film may only be half of the whole story, but once it reaches the credits, it doesn't feel like an incomplete piece of work whatsoever, and while it wasn’t every fan’s favourite cup of revenge, $180 million box office (his highest up to that point) doesn't lie really.

Recurring contributors: Zoë Bell; Michael Bowen; Laura Cayouette; Julie Dreyfus; Sid Haig; Samuel L. Jackson; Helen Kim; Jonathan Loughran; Michael Madsen; James Parks; Michael Parks; Stevo Polyi; Shana Stein; Bo Svenson; Uma Thurman; Venessia Valentino


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 06. Kill Bill: Volume 2

06. Kill Bill: Volume 2 (2004)

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"What if a kid goes to school after seeing Kill Bill and starts slicing up other kids? You know, I'll take that chance!"

The Bride may have continued on her sweet little vengeful mission here, but the two Kill Bill parts were almost incomparable. Gone was the gore and the rushed action of the original, now replaced by personal developments, lengthy dialogue, and a carefully relaxed pacing which lay down with a significantly decreased body count (92 less, to be exact). Such an encouragement of heart over heart attacks was not as immediately appealing as the previous slaughter commotion, and initial fans struggled to stomach the anticlimax, failing to appreciate how the additional substance justified the first part’s absurd assault, ultimately leaving the second volume as the far more important of the two. It gave the first bloody mess a purpose and a better context, which I guess is what happens when you split one film in half, but whatever, that doesn't matter. What does matter, however, is that many used the Kill Bill chapters as landmark examples of where Tarantino was supposedly spiralling, the public doubting whether he had any good films left in him whatsoever. Thankfully, hindsight has proved them all deadly wrong. Instead, time has passed and other great (great!) films were produced, and now we can all appreciate this affair as yet another fantastic and worthy Tarantino work, because he always had the talent to make any movie he wanted. He just wanted to make these movies.

Recurring contributors: Zoë Bell; Michael Bowen; Laura Cayouette; Julie Dreyfus; Sid Haig; Samuel L. Jackson; Helen Kim; Jonathan Loughran; Michael Madsen; James Parks; Michael Parks; Stevo Polyi; Shana Stein; Bo Svenson; Uma Thurman; Venessia Valentino


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 05. The Hateful Eight

05. The Hateful Eight (2015)

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“Twice per season, those shows [Bonanza, The Virginian and The High Chaparral] would have an episode where a bunch of outlaws would take the lead characters hostage [...] I don't like that storyline in a modern context, but I love it in a Western, where you would pass halfway through the show to find out if they were good or bad guys, and they all had a past that was revealed. I thought, 'What if I did a movie starring nothing but those characters? No heroes, no Michael Landons. Just a bunch of nefarious guys in a room, all telling backstories that may or may not be true. Trap those guys together in a room with a blizzard outside, give them guns, and see what happens.”

Of all the entries from the Tarantino cannon, The Hateful Eight had unquestionably the most turbulent history. Personally, I was somewhat disappointed that this mystery film was yet another Western, initially envisioned as a Django Unchained sequel, indicating that our special Quentin had found his passion and it didn’t coincide with mine. Even more damaging, was when the script leaked almost two years before the release date, enraging the man so passionately that he nearly shelved the whole idea—imagine! It’s a goddamn blessing, then, that neither of these concerns were warranted, as this movie turned out to be the man’s most thought out piece of work since Pulp Fiction, as well as furthering the impressive continuation of his second wind. Telling the backstories of various heinous characters who are trapped in a cabin due to a snowstorm, it reveals its intent at a heavy pacing by using all the signature Tarantino carnage and dialogue you demanded, really forcing the viewer into the claustrophobic room whilst achieving so much stress with so little accessories, communicating like a stage play over any usual film techniques. Which is to summarise, that there wasn’t all that much to work with here, and in that way, demonstrated that Tarantino was still challenging himself above challenging any of us, which is invaluable. And then... there’s Jennifer Jason Leigh. My God.

Recurring contributors: Zoë Bell; Bruce Dern; Walton Goggins; Dana Gourrier; Lee Horsley; Samuel L. Jackson; Keith Jefferson; Michael Madsen; Belinda Owino; James Parks; Tim Roth; Kurt Russell; Craig Stark


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 04. Django Unchained

04. Django Unchained (2012)

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"What happened during slavery times is a thousand times worse than [what] I show. So if I were to show it a thousand times worse, to me, that wouldn't be exploitative, that would just be how it is. If you can't take it, you can't take it.”

Surprisingly, for such a latter day film, none came with the same potent controversy as Django Unchained did. Telling the tale of a freed slave attempting to rescue his wife, this extravagant Spaghetti Western tackled the dark side of black history without giving a fuck in the way only Tarantino would dare. It was called an exploitative, politically incorrect, inaccurate and tasteless portrayal of slavery, crudely balancing the revolting shock of the era with a cheesy playfulness, without approaching the harsh topic with caution or to even turn around and apologise for what he has done. However, it was this lack of restraint that made Django Unchained potentially his most entertaining (and funniest!) flick, delivering on everything his past talents had promised (the cartoon violence, the chatty narrative, the rich development, etc) with the most immaculate of immaculate casting to back him up, as long as you ignore the director’s worst cameo yet. Take Jamie Foxx’s main character, for example, as the greatest hero in Quentin’s factory (in my opinion), whilst Leonardo DiCaprio gives a career defining performance, and round it off with Samuel L. Jackson's uniquely treacherous character, a risky individual for an actor who usually just plays himself. That said, none of these outstanding acts managed to out-stand Christoph Waltz, who stole the whole fucking film as his own, which I guess is just what he does. Sadly, these pretty faces may not have been enough to carry such a tiring length to the very end, and most agree that the picture did beg for a small edit, but as a whole, this ride was so fresh and wild that it was here and only here that Tarantino’s genius was solidified as something beyond any reasonable fluke. Because, by this point, he's made far too many treasures for his skills to be anything but God-given. Bang!

Recurring contributors: Michael Bacall; Zoë Bell; Michael Bowen; Laura Cayouette; Bruce Dern; Walton Goggins; Dana Gourrier; Lee Horsley; Samuel L. Jackson; Keith Jefferson; Belinda Owino; James Parks; Michael Parks; Craig Stark; David Steen; Shana Stein; Christoph Waltz


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 03. Inglourious Basterds

03. Inglourious Basterds (2009)

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"I'm going to find a place that actually resembles, in one way or another, the Spanish locales they had in Spaghetti Westerns – a no man's land. With U.S. soldiers and French peasants and the French resistance and German occupation troops, it was kind of a no man's land. That will really be my Spaghetti Western but with World War II iconography. But the thing is, I won't be period specific about the movie. I'm not just gonna play a lot of Édith Piaf and Andrews Sisters. I can have rap, and I can do whatever I want. It's about filling in the viscera."

When it came to the intentionally misspelled Inglourious Basterds, even Tarantino knew he was onto a winner. The American-German war film (unlike any other war film) took it upon itself to rewrite the past however it saw fit, guaranteed to piss historians right off with its inaccurate tale of vengeful Jews and their violent plans against Nazi leaders—which was just the type of irresponsible idea that Quentin would be very precious about. So much so, that he spent over a decade writing it, a feat that alone verified his adoration for cinema, especially when ‘love of cinema’ was an essential part of the whole plot. And his dedication paid off, as this was the director’s undeniable comeback film, finally a real movie after such a strew of self indulgent wobbles, setting the stage for the greats that followed soon after (even if none of them were quite as good as this). It may have been a silly plot if you stepped back and thought about it, but he never gave you the chance to step back or think, rather cutting into your forehead with a devilishly devious story which did not rely on artiness or excessive violence to express itself, ultimately standing up there with the very best of his best, and a complete masterpiece in my respectful opinion. Hell, Christoph Waltz even won an Oscar for his part, because, goddamn, he made this film what it was, as much as this film made him who he is right now today.

Recurring contributors: Michael Bacall; Zoë Bell; Omar Doom; Julie Dreyfus; Samuel L. Jackson; Harvey Keitel; Tina Rodriguez; Eli Roth; Bo Svenson; Christoph Waltz


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 02. Reservoir Dogs

02. Reservoir Dogs (1992)

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“Reservoir Dogs is a small film, and part of its charm was that it was a small film. I'd probably make it for $3 million now so I'd have more breathing room.“

I was far too young when I watched Reservoir Dogs for the first time. I can still remember it all too well: little Jared, witnessing the aftermath of a jewellery heist gone wrong, criminals speculating that they had a cop in their crew, stitching together the nonlinear plot with pop culture references and extravagant profanity, the story exclusively herded by the criminal’s individual personalities, entirely dependent on their natural dialogue and quick wit to make this show work, because there wasn’t enough money for anything else. And this fucked me up. The reason for my youthful troubles wasn't so much the grisly violence, as Dogs' bloodshed was quite tame in comparison to the exaggerated disturbances that came later in the man's career, but rather, it was the delivery and consequence of said violence that made everything all that more unnerving. So ruthless. So ugly. So sadistically sick that even horror film pioneer Wes Craven walked out of its initial screening due the savage nastiness, and that’s about as complimentary as you can get. Meanwhile, the rest of us called it a cult classic, the greatest independent film of all time, and even the greatest debut of all time, none of which I can disagree with. Fuck me if I can think of anything more worthy of those crowns, can you?

Recurring contributors: Steve Buscemi; Linda Kaye; Harvey Keitel; Michael Madsen; Stevo Polyi; Tim Roth; David Steen; Rich Turner


Worst to Best: Quentin Tarantino: 01. Pulp Fiction

01. Pulp Fiction (1994)

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"I got the idea of doing something that novelists get a chance to do but filmmakers don't: telling three separate stories, having characters float in and out with different weights depending on the story [... the idea] was basically to take like the oldest chestnuts that you've ever seen when it comes to crime stories—the oldest stories in the book.... You know, 'Vincent Vega and Marsellus Wallace's Wife'—the oldest story about ‘the guy's gotta go out with the big man's wife and don't touch her.’ You know, you've seen the story a zillion times [...] I'm using old forms of storytelling and then purposely having them run awry [...] Part of the trick is to take these movie characters, these genre characters and these genre situations and actually apply them to some of real life's rules and see how they unravel."

Ok, so here we go. With several disjointed violent crime tales interconnecting everything all out of order, Pulp Fiction is at least four films rather than one. It was reportedly 'too demented' for Columbia TriStar, and instead became the first fully-funded film Miramax ever put out. It demanded the attention and concentration of multiple viewings to fully appreciate the dark wit and sharp sleaziness of this director, one who had gained full confidence without losing his B-movie edge inside of an overindulgent-prostate, like pretty much everything else that came out of him afterwards. You can actually watch this movie as many times as you like, I’ve seen it a million times and want to watch it right now. Its pop culture references and countless homages were twisted so far from their original mothers that they became unrecognisable, whilst every (every!) scene from the film became easily parodied cinema classics themselves. It single-handedly revitalised Travolta’s career. It was the first 'indie' film to surpass $100 million. It was nominated for seven Oscars. It was an influential masterpiece, essentially a phenomenon, and the best film Tarantino ever made. One of the best films ever made? Perhaps the best film ever made.

Recurring contributors: Steve Buscemi; Samuel L. Jackson; Linda Kaye; Harvey Keitel; Tim Roth; Uma Thurman; Rich Turner; Venessia Valentino

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Worst To Best: Stanley Kubrick
Worst To Best: Stanley Kubrick

Wednesday 25 January 2017

Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

I wanted to start this devotion to Mr Cave and the Naughty Seedlings by detailing the revelation as to when him and me and the gang first decided to elope, but I found my fingertips brushing the keyboard rather than actually pressing down on any letters, let alone provide them in a coherent order that made sense in English. Wait, when did I actually fall in love with this Australian rock band again? I obviously have a considerable amount of affection towards them, because I’ve found myself writing this article. The evidence is right here, right? So why can’t I recall that special moment when they jumped in front of my windshield and derailed my train of thought? Maybe my devotion was a lie. Maybe I should just scrap this whole post and write a guide about how to save money or something, I wasn’t sure. But then I took a small break from coffee and contemplated it with a calmer mind, and that’s when I remembered something. Of course! The story of me and St Nick was unique, so true to his fashion that it slithered smoothly under any obvious avenue, making it impossible to initially detect by any standard means of analysis. There wasn’t a grand epiphany here! No, rather, Cave had seduced me so gradually and secretly, that by the time I was publicly announcing him as perhaps the greatest artistic figurehead alive today, I didn’t even notice I was doing it. I just assumed it had always been that way.

This is the third Worst to Best I’ve written for a musical act that I meekly kneel before (the other two being David Bowie and Sonic Youth, both of which you should read because naturally they are very well done), yet despite the immense talent of the previous subjects, I found this here attempt to be the most enjoyable by far by far by far. I guess this is because, unlike them two, Nick Cave has mastered the art of never straying too wildly away from his core signature noises, yet moving freely with enough variation from album to album that the listener is refused the right to get presumptuous or jaded. Not to mention that there is legitimately not a bad album in their repertoire, which is an accomplishment even the most accomplished of legends can hardly ever brag. Basically put, Bowie is God, so far out there, watching us from the stars; and the Youth are the disciples, destroying whatever they touch and ruining the fun for everyone. But Nick Cave, he is Jesus (or whichever prophetic preacher you subscribe to), more down to earth and definitely a mortal with mortal feelings and mortal ideas, except way more superior than any of us or anyone we’ve ever met. Ok, so let’s never ever make such stupid comparisons again, thanks.

I guess my point is that I feel great all the time these days. And this group make nice music with even nicer words. Words so good that even my words became a bit gooder, almost as if Nicky Cavy was rubbing his talent juice into my mouth whilst I wrote these reviews, and now my own vocabulary had blossomed and then perished within these very pages, except not quite like that, way worse than anything he’s ever said actually because I suck and he’s Jesus, as we’ve already established. What the fuck, this isn’t a worst to best, this is a best to better, and it begins like this:


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 16. Kicking Against the Pricks

16. Kicking Against the Pricks (1986)

Post-Punk Blues
Spotify


First and fucking foremost, it’s imperative to praise this album as something conclusively brilliant. It is the first Cave album which actually sounded like a Cave album in context of our modern expectations, an assured step away from the early 80s rawness, and now headed directly towards the more romantic chew we adore today, arguably the initial example of where the group had worked out exactly who they were and where they wanted to go. Which begs the obvious question: why do I consider this release, one I am noticeably so fond of, as the band’s absolute worst? And the answer is simple. It’s because this isn’t really a Nick Cave record, is it? It’s a covers album. But what a covers album! Fantastic song choices (some highly recognisable, others not whatsoever), each so organically performed and seeded up that they feel way more Cavey than their originals, working like some bridge record that helped push their core sound into something spectacular, an open display of their influences, pointing towards the magic path to greatness which they followed shortly afterwards. But that said... it’s still a covers album. It’s still not Seed songs. It still doesn’t really qualify, does it?


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 15. Nocturama

15. Nocturama (2003)

Alternative Rock
Spotify


Released to much critical acclaim and then slowly reconsidered as Cave’s utmost worst, Nocturama is worth defending for a multitude of factors. Primarily, if this is indeed the group’s midlife fail record, then it may well be the greatest midlife fail record ever made. That’s because it’s not a fail whatsoever—not up to regular standard, sure, but far from a waste with nothing really that bad about it, complete with the plushest of production and more moods than any other album the band have ever put together. That said, admittedly something is missing here, and something most definitely went wrong, entirely down to the songs themselves. Certainly, they nail something or other at points, but its weakest links are very shaky indeed, none of them offering anything new, and sounding like a collection of slightly boring and forgettable Boatman outtakes, featuring perhaps the only soppy examples of Nick Cave giving an ingenuine and lackluster performance, falling heartbreakingly flat unlike anything else we will talk about in this collection. So yes, ok fine, it probably is the worst material in their armoury, but it still should satisfy anyone’s attention, and nevertheless stands statures above most things, at times relatively excellent even, so whatever. I had fun anyway.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 14. From Her to Eternity

14. From Her to Eternity (1984)

Post-Punk
Spotify


After the Birthday Party broke up, members Cave and Harvey wasted no time to harness their flair for challenging the darkest fractures of post-punk, and put together a new outfit called Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, you know of them? And this here was their debut album, their first swing intended to destroy everything beautiful, and yet like any typical band beginnings, they only just managed to clip the target. They simply had not found themselves yet. But, damn, the commitment was there, attacking every angle with an experimental dread and unamused horror, the quiet production and rough music intended only to build noisy repetitive scenes which allowed Cave himself all the grim space he needed to growl and moan his signature poetic wordings without interference, now the epicentre of the show. But while the overall nauseating thrill of the album is a powerful initial introduction, and while the title track still holds as one of the greatest Cave classics ever written, overall it is lacking a certain sophistication of their later years that doesn’t quite rise up in comparison. Yet we must appreciate that even if the band hadn’t exactly mastered their weaponry here, they shot to kill regardless.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 13. The Firstborn Is Dead

13. The Firstborn Is Dead (1985)

Post-Punk Blues
Spotify


Less than one year later, and the Seeds’ sophomore had already exposed itself whilst cursing the playing field with some voodoo shit, probably. It may not have been a huge stride into any uncharted musical venture, but it still proved they were not a band who were willing to stand still, especially when considering the small amount of time that had passed between records. With a title inspired by Jesse Garon Presley (Elvis’ stillborn identical twin), the gritty upset of the storm still snarled with the same sinister intent, but had more of a meander to its strut, following the traditional blues progressions, calming the violence, teasing the gloom, and reserving its cool instead of blindly striking in haste like before. Even Nick had updated his output this round, less reliant on creepy impersonations, more confident in his own ability, and at times sounding far from a vocalist of a rock band, rather closer to a preacher man—which he is. But, of course, even when considering this debatable improvement, these were still early days, too premature to quite deduce the best direction to aim their stream, and yet definitely getting there. In fact, this was the final album before they did get there, so that's nice, dear.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 12. Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!

12. Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! (2008)

Post-Punk
Spotify


Very few Cave records get me as excited as Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! Openly, I worship the Seeds when they mourn, but we must not forget the band are well versed in tearing throats out with sharp claws, and this album strikes with more energetic passion than any other they have released. The upbeat momentum and invigorated freedom should go down in history as the very blueprint of how to get old and act your age without getting soft, the hard rocking alternative garage edge sounding about as revitalised as any music could do without literally exploding. Furthermore, the frontman is at his peak, with narrative lyrics driven by a sly humour and the ideal attitude tailored to suit the man’s persona so perfectly that it’s frustrating as to how seldom he visits this side of his talent elsewhere (except Grinderman, of course). I guess that’s what makes this release so special and why so many of my friends claim this as their favourite Cave of all time, but personally, I felt the songwriting was a bit too direct and unmemorable, not to unfairly mention that no song could possibly follow the opening title track, as one of the dirtiest (and greatest) songs they’ve ever put together.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 11. No More Shall We Part

11. No More Shall We Part (2001)

Chamber Pop Piano Rock
Spotify


Before this album was released, it became obvious to Nick that he had to kick his crippling heroin and alcohol addiction before proceeding, and after a four year Seedless gap, our sober hero rose victorious with No More Shall We Part. What had come out of the other side shouldn't be too surprising: it was a broken man, weighed heavy by a lethargic melancholy, too delicate to pack a punch, rather compelled to cry about God in piano ballad form, for over an hour worth of time. Which sounds exhausting—and is exhausting—but is also a complete success, not exclusively thanks to Nick’s sincerity and newfound critically acclaimed vocal range, but also due to possibly the most well composed songs in the band’s catalogue, less Cave-centric, with a stronger focus on the instrumentation’s depth itself, and a simpler, more consistent nonstop ultrasoft sweetness until the very finish line. But, of course, the burdensome length and monotonous journey became its overshadowing weakness, and no matter how much of this mood-dependent album may grow per listen, it simply did not relieve our itch for the Cave viciousness left unscratched for far too long, and we were forced to wait even longer.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 10. Tender Prey

10. Tender Prey (1988)

Post-Punk Gothic Rock
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Tender Prey is a peculiar one for me; a fan favourite held high above the herd and as an unequivocal Cave classic, celebrated with the best, yet truthfully not one of my personal front-runners. Now, I speak cautiously, ashamed of my incompatibility with this record, but still able to deduce some reasons as to why this discrepancy may have come to occur. First of all, the hype was a size too big, and I blame you for that. Secondly, the production is a bit shit, isn't it? Even the performances sound somewhat rushed and uninspired in my head, less of the sharp jabs I prefer and not working as a collective of likeminded songs, but rather a topheavy flatline of ideas connected at their end points without much purpose. But above all this, would be the world’s agreement that Prey was the band 'finding themselves', when I consider it a small step backwards—an improvement on most of their 80s gifts, unquestionably, but a devolution from Your Funeral... (their previous record), returning to the sloppy post-punky darkness and signature eerie playfulness that I’d rather was lightly salted, not the main meal. Once again, I blame you for all of this.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 09. The Good Son

09. The Good Son (1990)

Gothic Rock
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A brand new decade seemingly brought in a brand new Cave. He had completed a stint in rehab, had fallen in love with Brazilian journalist Viviane Carneiro, and had started to reconnect to his more spiritual center, all of which influenced The Good Son on a very grand, very obvious level. For this record was the outfit’s boldest move up until this point, a massively unfamiliar and refreshing direction, steered straightforward into a calm darkness driven by more relaxed pianos and focused percussions—still creepy, but completely absent of any punky violence, the sinful smile of Satan replaced by an almost happy sing-a-long gospel affair, which (as you can imagine) didn’t digest all that well with his suddenly-betrayed disciples. It was too mellow, too balladdy, and too cringey for those who favoured blood, and honestly, I sympathise: we simply weren’t ready for it. However, hindsight has elevated this record’s status drastically, now almost everyone sheepishly admiring this ballsy mature path for our adventurers, working as the Seeds album which is most likely to appeal to any age group, perfected by inarguably one of the most appealing pieces of artwork they have ever packaged their sound up with, to this very day.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 08. Push the Sky Away

08. Push the Sky Away (2013)

Art Rock
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Odds had gathered against this album, not only because Nick was well into his 50s by this point, but also because this was the first release without founding member Mick Harvey, having just left the outfit after 36 years of service. However, both of these factors may have worked in Push the Sky Away’s favour, the sound creeping into the very softest realms of the band’s catalogue, a proud midlife offering which indicated the Seeds’ relevance was invincible. Because they were fluid. Because they were indifferent to nostalgia or any attempts to impress the kids (Miley Cyrus references aside). Such a subdued magic may not be immediately apparent, and perhaps its hookless melodrama or romantic grace could be misconstrued as some meager placidness, but repeated listens reveal this sexual allure to be a whole new breed of Cave disturbance; a patient violation which will haunt without violence, rather an ominous quiet in the mist, exposing your ghosts and letting you to kill yourself by yourself. It’s a full body of work, some songs resonating deeper than others, but all conspiring together to prove that even age cannot discredit Cave. In many ways, he only seemed to get better.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 07. Henry's Dream

07. Henry's Dream (1992)

Post-Punk Blues
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Now here is where things got really fucking good. And even though I consider the artwork to be a little on the tacky side, it does serve to introduce a certain desert-y almost Western standpoint of the Cave character, one cowboy hat shy of a villainous cool which compliments the album’s attitude very effectively. Not without its own brand of delicacies, it’s the harder cutthroat fire which I will truly treasure Henry's Dream for, built upon a folky acoustic dust which settled into an answer against any softer urges that previous albums had temporarily fulfilled and discarded from our protagonist's system. And while we must appreciate that Cave himself has openly confessed his distaste for the tight production featured, I personally consider this to be the earliest example of where the group found an ideal high commercial quality without compromising their trademark venom, clearing an uncluttered view into yet another Seeds record of rejuvenation, more self assured than anything they’ve done before, and really coming into their own, right here rather than anywhere else other people might say. For the first time on this list, I don’t have a single complaint, oh yeah, yeah yeah yeah, oh yeah.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 06. Murder Ballads

06. Murder Ballads (1996)

Alternative Rock
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The key lies in the title. Conceptually, this album is built around homicides of passion (64 deaths in total), the horrors of murder balanced out by romantic and erotic motivations, told so casually that the seedy morbid theatrics become all that more disturbing. Depending on who you speak to, such an over-the-top approach has been ridiculed over the years, many fans using such lazy adjectives as ‘comedic’ or ‘comical’ to blunt the stabs or mop up the blood left behind, but in this humble reviewer's opinion, here is the band's greatest commercial success for good reason. The good reason is because it’s archetypal Cave, his gothy subject matter and authentic swagger at its pinnacle of joyous devastation, complete by the antagonistic wet dream feminine touches from indie hero PJ Harvey as well as pop princess Kylie Minogue (of all people). In fact, the latter lady’s contribution, Where The Wild Roses Grow, is often (deservedly?) the extent of a mediocre fan’s education, the go-to Cave classic that even resulted in an MTV award nomination, to which the man’s integrity politely declined. Regardless, even without this, Ballads is still a consistent and sinister offering, so intensely suited to Nick’s persona that it hurts. Literally. People die in here.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 05. The Boatman's Call

05. The Boatman's Call (1997)

Piano Rock
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One quality we must praise Cave for, is how he either finds himself as some snarling beast or the most emotionally frail of all men, never comfortable in any middle ground, but always executed so perfectly that only his lyrical eloquence and baritone expressions tie the two together as the same artist. On The Boatman's Call specifically, we uncover the strongest example of the hushed and aching central character, unhurried and earnest as Mr Cave’s most personal and cry worthy of records up until this point, inspired by a field of heartbreaks which are painted by minimalist piano arrangements and not much else really. Personally, I could write a lengthy standalone review for any one of these songs, because (no matter whether remembering the first time hearing them, or whether listening now for the thousandth time), they never overstay their sorrowful value as the ideal collection to play in the background and sit silently still, watching the sad world pass you by, passively taking part in life, reflecting on nothing but the depths of your own desolate spirit. And as his 10th album, I think it was around now that most people grew suspicious, for no catalogue should be this consistent.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 04. Your Funeral... My Trial

04. Your Funeral... My Trial (1986)

Gothic Post-Punk Rock
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Forget Cave for a second, Your Funeral is a classic post-punk record, not only in the purest definition of the word ‘classic’, but also in the purest intention of the genre, adhering to all its cold trademarks of darkness in that Joy Divisionary isolation type of way. During these recording sessions, Nick Cave was elbow deep in a severe heroin addiction, which was more than likely the primary contributing factor to its numbed overcast, as it stumbled along into its own death, an affliction I’d never wish upon anyone, but, goddamn, it historically makes for fantastic music, doesn’t it? So fantastic, in fact, that I consider this album to be the outfit’s very first of many (and one of their most exceptional) masterpieces, Cave introducing new climaxes of vivid imagery while the air is more dangerous than any of their other 80s incarnations, the very last of its kind, marking the end of their dirty punk run before experimenting with further pacified approaches. Despite its bleak content, Nick has since expressed his enthusiastic happiness for the results, and I wholeheartedly agree, hailing this as one very underrated release no matter how many long term fans have already started to admit the superior brilliance of it all. It's not enough! You must love it more!


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 03. Let Love In

03. Let Love In (1994)

Post-Punk Alternative Rock
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When it comes to recommending Nick Cave to virgin ears, Let Love In will always be my initial endorsement. It leans deeper into the radio-friendly alternative scene than any before or after, which grants it a specifically attainable entry point, one which is packed so tightly of recognisable Seed classics that it could almost be misinterpreted as a Best Of compilation rather than a collection of brand new Cave works, reading like a band with a historical reputation of excellence who got particularly lucky this round. I think part of this success is that it hasn’t completely shed the taunting eeriness and romantic murderous brand of Nick Cave, but it’s not as explicitly obvious here as it was before, more alluded to by a unified aura, stalking your steps rather than stabbing your stomach, smelling your hair rather than barking at you, fondling you in your sleep rather than leaving a trace of a bruise. Ample devotees deem this to be the greatest record this list has to offer, and when I find myself discussing style of this caliber, I dare not argue too loud, as any comparisons have become pedantic debates over minute details, and that’s a useless practice for everyone involved.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 02. Skeleton Tree

02. Skeleton Tree (2016)

Art Rock
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During the sessions for Nick Cave’s most recent record, his son Arthur died from an accidental cliff fall. And even if the majority of these songs had already been written before the tragedy, this father’s suffering was heavy enough to prove that you did not need lyrics to expose the strife of one's emotional mournings, but could address the emptiness of grief indirectly by using sound alone. Skeleton Tree is not an album anymore than an eulogy is a performance. It’s the most drastically unique of any Seed work (or anyone else's work for that matter), the uncomfortable stare of a naked man, exhausted by torture, surrendered to nausea, and spewing his vulnerable devastation from such a crippled worthlessness that we all topple ruined in response, as if Nick was forcing the last of his breath to imprint Arthur's very soul into this record, just to hold him one final time. It’s their shortest album because that is all the effort they could muster, yet its depth is sickening. And I break instantaneously, every time. It’s the only Cave release I’ve cried to.


Worst to Best: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: 01. Abattoir Blues / The Lyre of Orpheus

01. Abattoir Blues / The Lyre of Orpheus (2004)

Alternative Art Rock
Spotify


Every double album comes with the following cursed suggestion: maybe they should have trimmed it down into one single record? Which is almost always true. Almost. But not always. Not Abattoir Blues / The Lyre of Orpheus at very least, because it is the best double album of all time, in my opinion. What makes this pairing so extraordinary is that it’s not a legitimate double album whatsoever, rather two separate masterpieces sold as one, distinctive from each other, each calculated only to balance their respective colleague out. Abattoir Blues is the vigorously spirited partner, eager to be rowdy, threatening to be naughty, dashing around and making the most noise. These flames are then quenched by The Lyre of Orpheus, naturally the tranquilised twin, one sentimental affair, a bit more mournful, but at relative peace within its passive moodiness. Such contrast over such a large quantity demonstrates their mojo at maximum flex, even the lesser tracks never dull, whilst background choirs support the band as they stick to what they already know works—a summary record boasting their accumulated strengths, designed to appeal to fans primarily, discarding the new kids, fuck you, goodbye. Agree or not, this is their most inspired, ambitious, and triumphant achievement ever, comfortably my personal favourite Cave of all time, and I won't hear any different, not listening.


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