Cave’s son met misfortune through a naïve experiment with drugs, the sort of cruel irony that might easily be found in one of Cave’s songs but in truth, reflecting a long-standing domestic reality. The wild Birthday Party years are a distant, if vivid, memory. Cave has been a respectable man of letters, with sober(ish), disciplined work habits, for a very long time. As he sought to pick up the pieces, it was to those work habits that he was always likely to return.

Step one was the film One More Time With Feeling.  Then there was the album that was already in progress when tragedy struck. The next step was to return to the road. One suspects the opening shows in Hobart and Ballarat were scheduled to allow all concerned the chance to feel their way into proceedings. So it was that some several thousands congregated in a garden setting, on a clear, cool Ballarat evening.

Opening with a stripped-down Anthrocene, Cave and band followed with Jesus Alone. Written before the tragedy, its seemingly prophetic opening lines – “You fell from the sky, crash landed in a field” – forever link the song to that event. Magneto completed an opening salvo from the new album. A long, dreamlike Higgs Boson Blues wended its way, before Cave lightened proceedings, sardonically recounting a sentimental journey he and Warren Ellis had undertaken the previous day, as Ballarat-born Ellis reminisced about the places of his childhood. A certain fish and chip shop should expect a spike in business.

Then it was back 30 years, as Cave “told us about a girl”, in From Her To Eternity. As the ominous rumble of Tupelo cranked into gear, the predominant themes were well established. Following The Ship Song, Cave invited audience participation for Into My Arms – “I don’t believe in an interventionist God” – and was clearly delighted by the response. Then it was back into harrowing emotional terrain, with Girl in Amber and I Need You. Red Right Hand drew a rousing response, despite Cave losing his way in the opening verse. The always epic Mercy Seat fed into the building crescendo of Jubilee Street, then the achingly beautiful Distant Sky. The main set was rounded out, naturally, by the title track from Skeleton Key.

Curfews dictated a prompt return for encore, which began with a ramshackle run through Nobody’s Baby Now, lifted by Ellis’ violin solo. Just in case all this reflection was too much for some, Cave provided a dose of the old spit and vinegar,  launching into his take on the old blues classic Stagger Lee, climaxing in its usual scarifying blend of cacophony and mayhem. Just to remind us that the sentimental and the macabre have always co-existed in his work, Push The Sky Away saw us out into a night sky illuminated by a dazzling, bright moon.

There was a slight feeling of cobwebs being blown out  –  Cave forgot a couple of lyrics, the band felt its way into a couple of song arrangements – but overall, Cave and his Bad Seeds amply reinforced why they have held our attention for nigh on 40 years.

Against many expectations, Cave’s career has endured beyond most of his contemporaries. He has also outlived a son. No parent will ever really work that out. But in his efforts to work his way through, he is creating compelling art.

John Butler