We live in interesting times. The music is turning back to the mood of the seventies, blues and rock’n’roll break a trail in the sound of contemporary albums, Nick Cave has grown moustaches like a doped Mexican hidalgo, and Lazarus has risen from the dead in New York only to go insane and to be dug back again. The 14th book of revelations of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds is a present-day sermon for the twisted morality of society. The songs swing between two main currents - speeches of the street preacher Nick Cave lined with refined musical minimalism, and the classic apocalyptically soft sound of the previous records of the international band of the Australian. The music is a strange homogeneous mixture of the density of contemporary rockabilly and the lofty-soiled garage blues of the seventies. A church organ with rusty pipes and minister standing on a pace to madness. And the cynical poetry of Cave is refined and rough, words that smell of heavy whisky and present the cracked glass to your lips with acceleration to feed you with broken glass. Speeches directed to the lost and the doomed, songs for the neon rails, fir the naked night streets, pulsating in the rhythm of the living and corrupt city. And the singer enters the role of a preacher; a dark silhouette as if steeped out off a Tarantino movie, with long moustache, combed backwards greasy hair, thick voice, waving a finger and reading about the fallen spirit. In the album there are alternate pictures of a road running under the wheels with the wandering in the spacious home of insanity called consciousness; the roaming across America Lazarus and the whore fallen asleep behind the windows of the St. James Hotel in “Jesus of the Moon”. The narrative sermons from the first half of the CD shade into the dark and deep verses of the hypnotically-melodic songs at the end. Dry warmth, desert landscapes, turned on radio in the heated car (“Hold On to Yourself”) give way for cool velvet sheets, cold walls and empty moon scenery (“Midnight Man”). Play again “Pulp Fiction”, “Natural Born Killers” or “Reservoir Dogs”, pour some whisky, light a cigarette and sink into the corruption of LA, Las Vegas or some dusty town in the Mexican desert. Then let Nick Cave bring you 11 more news from nowhere…