Every Album I Love is a series where I attempt to write about every album that I love, or die trying. Sometimes I’ll explain why I love them, sometimes I’ll tell the stories behind how I fell in love with them, sometimes I’ll do both. Most importantly, I hope you love them too.

I never used to consider myself a Nick Cave fan. The first song of his that I heard was his duet with Kylie Minogue from the ‘Murder Ballads’ album, which is juts a little silly, and perhaps not the perfect place to begin. My next exposure to his work came with Mark and Lard’s parodies of two of his songs on their Radio 1 show, and this, unfairly, established Cave in my mind as a bit of a figure of fun.

Over the following years, I heard some songs of his that I liked, and a few I wasn’t so keen on, and I never really made that emotional connection with his music to cause me to investigate more deeply. In 2010 I moved to Brighton, where Cave also resides (Hove, actually). Cave had become hugely acclaimed, to the point where he almost seemed almost beyond criticism. It seemed especially true in Brighton and Hove, where he was seen as a local hero in his adopted city. The contrarian in me wanted to proclaim him as overrated, although the knowledge I did actually enjoy many of his songs (and not wanting to be a douchebag) usually stopped me from doing so.

In July 2015, some time after I had left Brighton and started a family of my own, Cave’s 15 year old son Arthur, fell from a cliff and died. I felt for Cave and his family of course, and shuddered at the thought that I had walked along the underpass where Arthur had fallen many times myself The tragedy only briefly flickered across my consciousness though, as the tragedies of strangers are wont to do. I was no doubt too mired in my own minor trials and tribulations to think much about what had happened to the Cave family.

Then came ‘Skeleton Tree’, Nick Cave’s first album since the loss of his son. It wouldn’t be true to claim the album is about that event, as most of the lyrics were written before it occurred, but many are eerily prescient (“You fell from the sky” is the first line of the album). However, the accompanying film to the album ‘One More Time With Feeling’ made clear the effect Cave’s loss had on the recording of the album. Even had the film not existed, it would be difficult to separate the album from that event.

Cave’s voice, usually a powerful, menacing thing is fragile, almost broken at times, and the structure of the album seems to mimic the journey of loss. Opener ‘Jesus Alone’ has an angry, raging quality, ‘Girl in Amber’ is plaintive and yearning. ‘I Need You’, is the sound of knowing but not accepting, a lost love, a broken heart. Closing track ‘Skeleton Tree’ has a dreamlike quality, and is as close as such an album can get to hope, an acknowledgment at least, that somehow things must continue.

Some have said that the album has an unfinished feel, but to me it is a masterpiece of arrangement. Instrumentation which was too dense or loud could have overwhelmed Cave’s voice and lyrics, which are as good as any he has ever written. Allegorical at times, at others almost painfully direct. On ‘Ring of Saturn’ words almost tumble over each other. On ‘Distant Sky’ each phrase is drawn out, given time to breathe, including perhaps the most powerful line on the album “they told us our gods would forgive us, but they lied”.

Cave’s long term collaborator Warren Ellis, adds perfect, subtle instrumentation to these songs, minimal pianos, gently pulsing electronics and touches of strings. Occasional, but expertly used backing vocals. The boldest, most successful choice on the album is the use of soprano Else Torp to duet with Cave on the aforementioned ‘Distant Sky’.

‘Skeleton Tree’ is a deeply beautiful album, my favourite of that year, and perhaps even that decade. I listened to it repeatedly in the months after it was released. But there’s a part of me that never wants to listen to it again, and wonders why it appeals at all. I’m not sure I could even claim to have enjoyed this album. It moves me, close to tears. It compels me to listen, almost overwhelms me at times. But how can I enjoy the aftermath of such a tragedy? It feels voyeuristic, even ghoulish sometimes, to listen to these songs.

Of course it is a question as old as music itself, why do we want listen to sad songs? It’s not a question easily answered, but has something to do with the need to empathise, to share, to experience every aspect of the human condition. We can never truly understand an event such as this, even those of us who have experienced something similar, for every tragedy is tragic in its own unique way. Cave though, comes closer than anyone else could to helping me understand.

When you listen to a song about an unrequited love, a broken heart, you know that some day the heart will mend. When you listen to a song about of the loss of a child, you know it never will. No music, no art, no matter how beautiful, can lessen a tragedy such as the one Nick Cave and his family have experienced. I can only hope that they have, or will, find some form of peace.