I am not built for Goth-dom, but Nick Cave is my man. Australia’s coolest export has just published his second novel The Death of Bunny Munro (which even has a tres cool web site – sign up and you can win a bunny suit!). He also recently rocked at Glastonbury, and in keeping with his contrary cool offered a shout out to Farrah Fawcett instead of MJ.
Why Nick? Like my previous pick Stephen Fry he has layers and layers to his genius – having written novels, a play, movie script ( the brutal Aussie Western The Proposition) and soundtracks, and a poetic sensibility so potent his lyrics have been published in book form.
Cave is intrigued and fascinated by the muse, and the creative process, giving a series of talks on The Secret Life of the Love Song. He has been through the junkie tormented artist stage, and now treats the creative process more like going to the office (a recent exhibition in Melbourne explored this ‘work’ element).
He’s a storyteller with a distinctive vein of Southern Gothic – deep, dark, bloody, biblical – but peppered with a dry wit and laconic romance that is endlessly appealing. He’s been making music for more than 30 years, but his creativity is undimmed – his latest musical venture Grinderman is ballsily bluesily good.