Issue #80 / January 2020
It’s fucking hard to write to Nick Cave. I’m currently (and have been for the past 9 years) emulating your rock n’ roll persona in a Nick Cave tribute band. I dress up like you (a cheap version, no stylist, can’t find a shirt like yours) and in a shamanistic way recreate your live performances, sometimes succeeding to trick the audience into a feeling of being nearer to you. I’m sorry if you feel I am a vampire sucking on you, but I’m not ready to “do my own thing”. In the name of the Cave Dogs (the tribute band from Serbia, not the power pop band from Boston) I have to ask you if you know of us, and what do you think of us?
NIK, BELGRADE, SERBIA
I was not familiar with the Cave Dogs, I am afraid, but having watched you on YouTube, I have this to say — you sound fucking terrifyingly like me. You have even perfected my peculiar relationship with the Gods of Intonation. In fact, when I was playing it Susie, my wife, walked in the room with her arms full of dresses and fabric swatches and said, “Wo! Babe, you’re sounding good.” And I’m like, “Thanks. It’s not me. It’s a Serbian imposter.” And she says, “Oh, sorry,” and walks out again. So, you are obviously doing something right. But you are also correct to suggest you don’t have the right shirt. If you send me your email address, I’ll send you one of my old ones and a suit — I have many — or a hit squad. I’m not sure which.
Love, the other Nick