I was listening to Like Swimming when I pulled up behind a rival cab in front of Embers, where I allegedly had an order. It was the height of the Saturday-night bar rush, so I figured another cab would have already grabbed it. And indeed they had, but the guy got right out of that cab and into mine, as he was getting in: "Call me crazy, but I just prefer riding with you guys—oh my god, it's you, hi!" Sometimes I seem to inspire this reaction in repeat riders.
"How's your night going?" he asks. "Terrible, that's why I needed a hit of Morphine." "You're a Nick Cave fan, aren't you?" he asks. "Oh, hell yeah." "Yeah, I remember you were playing Let Love In the last time I rode with you." We head up North Interstate talking about Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, how I saw them play a few years ago. "Nick Cave sweated on me, that's how good our seats were." He's jealous; he's never seen them, and now he never will see the original line-up, as Blixa Bargeld has bailed out.
We talk about how most songwriters don't have the nerve to go quite as far as Nick Cave does, and how if they do they end up just sounding over the top, for the most part.
"Good to see you again—you always play great music." Thanks.
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