Show Review: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds at Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, 5/14/25

Walking into the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium always brings a pulse of memory with it. Named for the fearless impresario who gave the Bay its psychedelic sprawl, the space has a reverent hum. But the crowd outside this time wasn’t so much buzzing as bracing. A black mass of required patience, funneled in slowly, tension rising as the early hour ticked on. This wasn’t just another show; it was the final stop of the U.S. leg of the Wild God tour.

The stage was set like a cathedral crossed with a fashion runway, a gleaming catwalk out front for Nick to preach from. Warren Ellis had been signaling online that this one would be a spiritual setting expectations. I’ve seen Nick in many forms: composed, mythic, devastated. I’ve watched him carry the unbearable on The Red Hand Files, let us into his grief post-tragedy, and sing through the mist on Ghosteen. This show was about trying to find form mid-transformation. Like watching a caterpillar halfway through its own unmaking.

Wild God is a tricky album. Sad in tone, but not drowning. It holds its grief in one hand and something like hope in the other. In person, that tension made for a wild ride. One moment, Nick was a mystic; the next, a man caught off guard by joy. He ran the runway like a man on fire, flinging his arms wide, reaching for every outstretched hand. He needed it as much as they did. There was this weird little “yeah yeah yeah” chant—started by Nick himself—that turned into a kind of soccer-stadium echo. The crowd couldn’t help but repeat it back, loud and loose, like some bizarre Bono-era mantra. I had to laugh. It was deeply un-Nick but somehow still… divine?

And then there was the band. Tight. Unshakable. Ready.
Here’s who we had on stage:

Nick Cave – vocals, piano
Warren Ellis – violin, synths, loops, beard full of thunder
Thomas Wydler – drums
Martyn P. Casey – bass
George Vjestica – guitar
Toby Dammit – percussion, keys
Luis Almau – guitar, texture
Wendi Rose and Janet Rasmus – backing vocals, spirit channelers, longtime collaborators who gave the whole thing its breath and backbone

The set opened with “Frogs,” a jangly, quilted gem from the new record. It set the tone, hopeful but twisted around itself. The whole show had that vibe: beautiful but barely holding its shape.

Of course, there were some classics. “Red Right Hand” made its appearance with appropriate menace. “O Children” and “Into My Arms” still hit like slow-motion confessions. But for me, it was “Bright Horses” that cracked something open. I sat down, ready to let it wash over me, but a swarm of talkers interrupted the quiet.

Nick’s performance had a Hot August Nights / Jim Bakker kind of energy—sweat, salvation, raw contact. At times, the physicality bordered on uncomfortable—he kept sprinting across the stage, reaching out, being touched, pulling people into his radius. He needed to be seen.

By the time we got to “Push the Sky Away”, it felt like we’d been through something elemental. No smoke and mirrors. Just truth and shadow ,and a room full of people trying to hold both at once.