On my twenty-first birthday, I was given a copy of the album ‘Kicking against the Pricks’ by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (1). While I knew of Nick Cave, I had not listened to his music. I was, however, aware that there was something about him that evoked strong feelings – outrage, confusion, loyalty. I also knew enough to realise that to identify as a Nick Cave fan might bring me a certain kudos, notoriety perhaps, among my peers. This was attractive to a young man keen to shed the hesitant, obedient persona built up over the course of ten years at boarding school in England; an outwardly successful, privileged young adult who shied away from expressing an opinion about anything. Announcing a love of Nick Cave could provide a means to shake things up, to experiment with a new identity. But despite my best efforts, I could not love the album. There was a harshness and brutality to the sound that I could not embrace. I tried, and then tried again before slipping back into the more comfortable edginess of Talking Heads and REM. Then followed a period of 36 years in which I hardly gave Nick Cave another thought.
Fast forward to 2022, to a life as a grown-up, a husband and father of three, working as a doctor in Perth, Western Australia, having left England 20 years earlier. As another birthday approached, my closest friend, still living in the UK, chided me for my lack of affection for what he considered to be the legends of Australian music. How could I call myself an Aussie without an appreciation of the country’s greatest artists? Where were the Go-Betweens, the Triffids and Nick Cave on my playlists and among my Desert Island Discs? And so, up for a challenge, I responded by booking two of the few remaining tickets, way up the back, to see an older, more reflective version of Nick Cave playing live in Perth. Thus, accompanied by my 21-year-old son, a fascination began. During that evening, I was captivated, occasionally bored, and intrigued by the performance of a man, dressed in a suit, who would intermittently walk into the audience and hug strangers.
After this initial encounter, I was drawn into Nick Cave’s world. Initially, it was the music. The menace and aggression that I had first encountered as a young man had softened. While still present, with the capacity to disturb and move, the edge was now accompanied by yearning, sorrow and beauty. Others have asked, ‘How can you listen to this dirge?’ They do not hear what I hear. Discussing my burgeoning interest in his music with a colleague, she mentioned that ‘he has some interesting stuff to say about grief’ – and I was off. As I read more about him, and by him, it seemed that Nick Cave was everywhere: interviews with journalists and archbishops, books, an on-line Q&A, the Coronation, a solo tour (taking two close friends to Chicago) and the promise of more albums. Now, almost four years on from that first concert in Perth, my fascination shows no sign of waning. Fortunately, Nick Cave (with or without the Bad Seeds) seems to love touring, writing and maintaining a highly visible on-line presence.
Entering my 60s, it has been wonderful to discover new music. It has simultaneously been disconcerting to acknowledge the development of such an obsession, accompanied by a wish to understand why, and why now. The music comes first. And then there are some potential areas of overlap: the link with Australia (weak), a lifelong tug of war arguing the merits and value of religion and atheism (much stronger), boarding school and, latterly, different versions of a career in the counselling profession. But I am not a musician, have only married once, and have never used heroin. Neither have I experienced heart-breaking grief and loss. While I have been anxious and, at times, depressed, my experience has been protected and, for the most part, happy. Yet there is something about the way that Nick Cave sings, writes and speaks that resonates. As is clear from a visit to his website, the Red Hand Files, I am not alone (2). In a recent interview, his wife commented that Nick Cave has ‘an extraordinary ability to put into words what so many of us can only feel (3). I believe that this is the key. What the music and writing provide is a means by which to recognise and acknowledge feelings and emotions which have previously been much less readily accessible; a means to make the implicit explicit.
If you were to attempt to gather together a group of people who struggle to identify and express their feelings, focusing on those who, like me, have spent their childhood and adolescence at boarding school would be an excellent place to start. It is now increasingly well recognised that, for many young people, navigating boarding school can involve learning to suppress feelings and avoid visible displays of emotion. Once this strategy is learnt, it is difficult to unlearn. This type of childhood and adolescence can push young people towards a reliance on themselves. Others may assist but cannot be depended on. For some former boarders, these adaptations persist into later adulthood. Vulnerability or perceived incompetence may feel threatening, provoking defensiveness, withdrawal and anger. Feelings that have long been suppressed can sometimes emerge unexpectedly when they become harder to contain, to the surprise and concern of others. Those authors and therapists who advocate for and work with ex-boarders stress how important it is to acknowledge the persona that has been constructed, to understand how it has developed and, gradually, to allow the mask to slip.
Music offers a way to facilitate this process. Nick Cave’s music, lyrics and writing tap into themes that are a natural fit for those who have spent a large part of childhood and adolescence living in institutional environments away from home, family and all that is familiar. These include sadness, anger, loss, abandonment, bereavement, uncertainty and confusion. The songs speak to these concerns, the words and music bringing to the surface feelings that may previously have gone unrecognised. Biblical imagery, and references to the person of Jesus, are also recurring themes in Nick Cave’s work and are, again, especially familiar.
I am aware that a fascination with a particular artist may lead one to abandon critical thinking, so I guard against this. I do not agree with everything he writes, and I still don’t warm to ‘Kicking against the Pricks’. But seen through the lens of a boarding school childhood and adolescence, I now feel a little clearer about why I have embraced Nick Cave’s work with such enthusiasm and joy. It has allowed me to recognise elements of myself that have developed over the years and provides a means to let some of these go. I know that his music is not for everyone but it works for me. And why now? Perhaps I just needed that nudge from an old friend who knows me better than most.
References
1. Kicking against the Pricks, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Mute Records, released 18th August 1986.
2. The Red Hand Files, https://www.theredhandfiles.com (accessed October 3rd, 2026).
3. https://www.countryandtownhouse.com/culture/susie-cave-interview (accessed October 3rd, 2026).
