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This article by Robert Loerzel originally appeared in The Daily Southtown on September 30, 2008.

Performing Monday night at Chicago’s Riviera Theatre, Nick Cave repeatedly leaned into the crowd, pointing his finger and intoning his lyrics like some mad preacher.

Cave, an Australian-born singer-songwriter with some 20 albums, is not the only rock musician who borrows stage moves from old-style evangelists — the sort who shouted the word of God in revival tents and inspired their followers to speak in tongues. Cave is a scary sort of preacher, and he prowled the stage with barely concealed sexual energy, his white shirt completely drenched with sweat.

It was a remarkably fiery performance by Cave, who came to Chicago with his stellar backup band, the Bad Seeds, to promote his latest record, “Dig!!! Lazarus, Dig!!!” Although Cave has been making music for almost three decades, he shows no signs of flagging energy or creativity. In fact, he’s on a hot streak right now, with several top-notch albums in a row.

In addition to his music, Cave has written novels and screenplays, proving his literary talent. And many of his songs are practically bursting with witty, dense and profane words, which Cave tosses out with wild abandon. Before launching into one of the best songs on his new album, “We Call Upon the Author,” Cave gave a classy nod to Chicago literature, dedicated the song to legendary local author Nelson Algren.

With two drummers, guitar, bass, keyboards and few other assorted instruments, the Bad Seeds deftly covered the gamut of Cave’s musical styles Monday, from brooding Gothic rock and hard-charging punk to piano ballads and gospel. Cave played songs from throughout his career, including fan favorites from his early days such as “Red Right Hand” and “Deanna” and more recent tunes like “Get Ready for Love.”

Cave’s outing last year with a side project called Grinderman seems to have inspired him to play guitar more often, and he picked up the instrument several times Monday night, casually cranking out some loud chords. Cave also went back to the piano for one song, “God Is in the House,” bringing the raucous concert down to a hush as he whispered the line “If we could all hold hands and shout … hallelujah!”

Cave closed his encore with “Stagger Lee,” his updated version of the old blues song about a killer. Leaning over the crowd one more time, Cave began to clap his hands slowly to the beat, with a swaggering swing in his arms. By now, his shirt was practically translucent with perspiration. The crowd clapped along with Cave, and then he leapt back onto the stage and let loose a blood-curdling scream.

Leaving the stage, Cave let the audience know how long they’ll have to wait to see him again in Chicago. “See you in a couple of years,” he said. Cave’s acolytes will have trouble waiting that long.

An enthusiastic female bartender at the Riviera, who’d experienced a Nick Cave concert for the first time on the previous night, proclaimed, “I’ve discovered God, and he wears a mustache!”

Photo by Robert Loerzel

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This article by Robert Loerzel originally appeared in The Daily Southtown on February 11, 2008.

Cat Power, the singer also known as Chan Marshall, was once notorious for abandoning songs or entire concerts before she was halfway through finishing them.

When she played at Chicago’s Vic Theatre two years ago, she gave an erratic performance, with some brilliant moments and lots of awkward silences. She was back at the same venue Sunday night, but this time she exerted complete mastery over the music.

Although Cat Power is a strong songwriter in her own right, she focuses on cover tunes on her new album, “Jukebox,” and those songs dominated Sunday’s show. She chose a diverse lot of songs, ranging all the way from the Frank Sinatra hit “New York, New York” to Joni Mitchell’s meditative “Blue.”

Marshall showed a jazz singer’s sense of timing, letting her words drop behind the beat or run ahead of it. She almost always sings in a breathy tone, but she knows how to sing in a way that’s strong and breathy at the same time, pulling the microphone away from her face on the more forceful notes.

Freed from playing guitar or piano, Marshall seemed to feel an uninhibited freedom to roam the stage with her peculiar pantomime-like dance moves. She often crouched down low as she sang, making gestures with her hands that sometimes acted out the words of the songs – or just reflected one of her fleeting whims. She held her hands in prayer, she flicked her fingers with a fish-like motion, she pretended she was clicking a remote control, and she circled a finger next to her head (the universal sign for “crazy”).

One of the reasons Marshall probably felt so free on Sunday was the excellent band acting as her safety net. Billed as Dirty Delta Blues, the four-piece group plays a bluesy, rootsy style of rock music that evokes the days when Bob Dylan first went electric or the Rolling Stones recorded “Exile on Main Street.” The band also knows how to play simmering, quiet grooves — perfect for Cat Power’s ballads.

In addition to the tracks from “Jukebox,” Marshall and the band indulged themselves in several other cover songs, including George Jones’ “Making Believe,” Patsy Cline’s  “I’ve Got Your Picture” and James Carr’s “Dark End of the Street.” It was only late in the concert that fans got a chance to hear Cat Power do some of her own songs, including the new track “Song to Bobby” — apparently, a letter of sorts to Bob Dylan — and a few songs from her popular 2006 release “The Greatest.”

Cat Power may have mastered the personal demons that caused trouble at her past concerts, but she still refuses to play by all of the rules. Instead of doing the usual routine of leaving and coming back for an encore, she remained onstage as the band left, spent several minutes tossing T-shirts into the crowd, basked in the applause and then disappeared.

Photo by Robert Loerzel

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This article by Robert Loerzel originally appeared in The Daily Southtown on August 21, 2006.

As Tom Waits and his musicians approached the Auditorium Theatre’s stage Wednesday night, their shadows loomed high on the curtains, like specters in a haunted house.

Even in the flesh and blood, Waits seemed supernatural. Twitchily gesturing with his outstretched fingers, Waits looked as if every hoarse note emerging from his throat required maximum exertion – the cords in his neck and the muscles in his face bulged with strain.

And what notes they were. Of course, skeptics will tell you that Waits can’t sing to save his life – or that his gravelly vocals are a gimmick. His singing is undoubtedly an acquired taste, but on Wednesday he once again showed that he’s a master at what he does, barking like a dog with a bad case of the blues and howling high notes like a forlorn feline.

Waits doesn’t come around very often, so this was a major event for his fans. His last Chicago concerts were in 1999, and the ones before that were in the late 1980s. And Chicago was lucky to get him on this tour, a quirky itinerary that skipped New York and Los Angeles while hitting more obscure towns like Asheville, N.C., and Akron, Ohio.

Maybe Waits has a soft spot for Chicago, though he said he was disappointed that the city’s Cows On Parade had disappeared since his last visit.

At one point, he reminisced about staying in a rundown hotel at Belmont and Sheffield. “The lady behind the counter was the mother of the Marlboro Man,” he noted, adding how disappointed he is when the colorful places he recalls from years ago have become generic and gentrified.

“Now you say, ‘9th and Hennepin’ to someone in Minneapolis, and they say, ‘Oh, yeah, my wife got some sandals there.’ Sandals? I got shot there,” Waits cracked.

Waits, who’s famous for telling shaggy-dog stories and surreal jokes, was less talkative than he has been in the past. He didn’t linger very long at the piano, either, playing only two songs there – 1985’s “Tango Till They’re Sore” and 1976’s “Tom Traubert’s Blues,” which brought enthusiastic shouts and whistles of appreciation from the galleries.

For the most part, Waits was playing the role of blues-band front man, occasionally picking up a guitar but leaving most of the playing to his crack band, which included his son, Casey Waits, on drums.

The band stripped some of the junk-shop clatter from the songs off Waits’ most recent album, 2004’s “Real Gone,” making them sound more like lean blues songs. Performed in this context, they weren’t all that different from the seemingly more conventional songs Waits recorded in the late ’70s.

For his first encore, Waits played acoustic guitar for the first time all night, bringing a gentle touch to “Day After Tomorrow,” a song that closes “Real Gone” with lyrics about a soldier’s letter home.

Applause broke out as Waits sang: “You can’t deny the other side don’t want to die anymore than we do. What I’m trying to say is, don’t they pray to the same god that we do? And tell me, how does God choose? Whose prayers does he refuse?”

Waits came back for one more encore, closing with the wistful “Time” on acoustic guitar. And then, even though the crowd made an unholy racket of clapping and foot stomping, Waits was really gone.