The frantic, jerky movements of Cave 's elongated frame are so extraordinary, so concentrated and passionate, it's practically hypnotism. The huddle of photographers snapping away beneath ol' Nick 's feet are certainly under his influence, fighting for any sort of angle before walking away in a daze, disorientated by the beautiful din conjured up by the Bad Seeds at the end of a thoroughly incapacitating rendition of 'Oh My Lord' . From here on in, we've crossed the line into blatant, shameless worship. It's fully deserved. Some say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Some people know better.
Therefore, some music is right, and some music is wrong, and sometimes, personal preference is irrelevant. Let's not discuss what is wrong, let us just be clear on one thing. Some musicians are impressionists, some are artists, while a handful are possessed by a form of genius so expressive, so explosive, and so emotional, that all hyperbole is irrelevant. As such, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are right. Right because the Bad Seeds can reduce the likes of Mogwai and Spiritualised to mere dabblers in the art of sonic terrorism, particularly when burying 'Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow' under decibels of pure white noise.