Nick Cave “I have to spend hours talking to fucking idiots like you”

cave_cdr_tender-prey_1Classic, and very long, Nick Cave interview from 1988.

Nick Cave is a man of many voices. Right this second, outside the VIP Hotel in Hamburg’s Holstenstrasse, his larynx has the timbre of The Reaper.”You scum-sucking shit!” he screams at me, aiming a scuffed cowboy boot at my groin. Luckily he’ll never play football for Australia, even the junior squad. The foot misses its target, resulting only in a bruised thigh.

I’m stunned. Reeling. “You’re nothing but a shite-eater,” he shrieks, taking a scythe with his fist at my head. He’ll never get a gardening job chopping down weeds, let alone collecting my skull. It misses.The hate in Cave’s eyes burns more fiercely than a funeral pyre. We’re too far into this ugly scene for him to quit or back down now. “I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard,” he bellows, trying to tear out my left eye with filthy spatula nails. He couldn’t drive in a tack with a mallet. He misses.

Nick spies my travel bag nearby. He lunges after it. Picks it up and runs like an ostrich with its head still buried. Nowhere far. “Where’s that fucking interview tape,” he hisses, ripping the contents of the bag out into the street. “If it means that much to you, I’ll give it to you,” I offer. It’s no big deal. All I want is to get out of this damned city and never have to look at Cave and his dishrag limbs again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” castigates Nick’s press officer as Cave fumbles with my zips – the one’s on the bag, you understand. “Stop acting like a child. Do you think that Jack hasn’t got a memory?” Nick stops. Dead. Something is sinking in. But not far enough. While I kneel down in the street and gather up the gear Cave cocks his boot at my head. He’d have trouble pissing against a lamppost. It misses.

Eventually the press officer comes between Cave’s gale-force windmill limbs and my passive resistance. I’m glad. Horrified. Angry. And scared. Nick has had his revenge. The “fight” is over. The story has just begun. It’s time to tear out the pages of his book and light a fire.

Jack Barron’s interview, originally published in NME, is from Rock’s Backpages

via Nick Cave: ‘I have to spend hours talking to fucking idiots like you’ | Music | theguardian.com.

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