Skeleton Tree

NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS

Bad Seed Ltd.

It wouldn’t normally be notable that Nick Cave’s new music is steeped with feelings of uncertainty, anger and a fixation on death, except that his teenage son died mid-production. As a result, “Skeleton Tree” is more fragmented than anything else Bad Seeds, yet there’s still holistic cohesion. You can usually tell what was conceived post-tragedy from Cave’s delivery, or when the lyrics become more forward, even harrowing (“In the bathroom mirror I see me vomit in the sink”). Strangely satisfying are the others: the crackly “Anthrocene” and the soulful “Rings of Saturn.” Warren Ellis’ strings-and-other-delights pick up the slack when Nick’s not feeling up to it — not to belittle his feelings, of course, but us outsiders do need to be cajoled every now and then.

The best song is “Girl in Amber,” whose deliberate flatness embodies abject depression; Cave’s wit steps aside for pathetic, mumbled lines like “I used to think that when you died you kind of wandered the world … I don’t think that anymore” as the chorus just sighs. The most important song is the funereal “I Need You,” which seems to describe the desperate here-and-now of Cave’s life. But “Distant Sky,” the most instantly bewitching tune, delivers a message of either warped hope or troubling resignation. Hopefully, the more uplifting “Skeleton Tree,” reminiscent of Cave’s own “New Morning,” is ultimately the intended sentiment. The only question I find myself asking is whether this album would have been as compelling without its unfortunate theme, but that’s beside the point. 

AIM

M.I.A.

Interscope/Polydor

Everyone’s favorite gadfly returns with album number five, apparently her last, though we’ve heard that one before (and I doubt she’ll pull a Bowie). Structurally, this one is similar to Mr. West’s “The Life of Pablo”; half these songs were already released over the past year, giving the finished product a hodgepodge feel. “Borders” seems a little late, and on “Jump In,” M.I.A. proclaims, “When I see that border I gon’ cross that line.” Kind of an empty statement, but she did specify that for once she wasn’t aiming to air grievances. That’s fine. The ethno-Skrillex “Go Off” is plain nice. The Zayn Malik collab “Freedun” is listenable. “Swords” (part of the day-one bonus cuts, technically) is an exciting piece of Middle Eastern flavor worthy of neologisms like “fire.”

M.I.A. was never strictly musical, and that’s not a criticism per se. It’s also not always true, including here. The synth dirges “Finally” and “Platforms” and anthem “Survivor” are haunting enough. If you pay attention to the lyrics you might learn something too, even when she’s at her most prosaic. On “Foreign Friend” we learn neat aphorisms about love and friendship like “You can be my best friend/You know too much to be a foe.” On “A.M.P. (All My People)” and “Ali R U OK?” we learn the real reasons she’s fed up with music. The album’s real problem lies in the number of aimless cuts awash with percussive clicks and claps — “Visa,” both versions of “Bird Song,” “Jump In.” A more sporadic format could actually suit her. I guess she already figured that out.

Travis Johnson lives in New London. He has a music blog that can be found at theoldnoise.blogspot.com. Follow him @ThisOldNoise or contact him at thisoldnoise@gmail.com.