In which Nick Cave preaches the secular gospel. Much as with The Boatman’s Call, the glorious successes of Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus are made possible in large part by the idiosyncrasies of juxtaposition. That is, if Nocturama hadn’t been such a lackluster effort, it’s entirely possible that this double album wouldn’t have had such a joyous, fevered racket to make in the interest of reclaiming lost territory. Nevertheless, time and turmoil aside, the huge stylistic sprawl and songwriting heights of this double album make one hell of an argument that Cave and his Seeds were rejuvenated and simply teeming with ideas and energy. So much so, in fact, that the album often feels very nearly on the verge of collapsing under the weight of its own fertility. The strength of the songwriting, though, along with the versatility of the Bad Seeds and the canny decision to generally segregate the rock outbursts and ballads to their own discs, means that Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus is a modern-day classic, and feels like a creative rebirth.

Abbatoir Blues is highlighted by the gospel irruptions of “Get Ready For Love” and “There She Goes, My Beautiful World,” the former of which features perhaps one of the Nick Cave-iest Nick Cave lyrics ever penned: “Praise Him ‘til you’ve forgotten what you’re praising Him for/ Then praise Him a little bit more.” Despite the departure of Blixa Bargeld following Nocturama, Mick Harvey sounds like an entire army of guitarists here, squealing and noodling and riffing and cutting in and out of frame across the entire album with a wilder yet more constrained garage rock bandit wail than we’ve likely heard since the Birthday Party days. Even though this is the “rock” side of the album, there is considerably subtlety, as on the slinky “Hiding All Away,” which skirts and feints right until the tension is unbearable, and then, well, “there is a war coming.” Another of the album’s indisputable gems is “Let The Bells Ring,” the sturdily aching tribute to Johnny Cash (who died in 2003, not long after both recording Cave’s classic “The Mercy Seat” and singing with Cave on Hank Williams’s “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”).

The Lyre Of Orpheus is hardly less powerful, despite the toned-down nature of the instrumental arrangements. The title track is a grimly hilarious retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, in which the musician’s famed instrument becomes a murderous tool, eventually killing his wife and awaking God, who then kills Orpheus, too, sending him down to Hell. The contrast with the fanciful flute and delicate strum of “Breathless” is striking, even though both move with quieter gestures. Warren Ellis’s strings animate the beguiling folk dance of “Supernaturally,” and “Easy Money” simmers in low, tense beauty. “O Children” brings the full double album to a close in shimmering, gothic intensity, with the London Community Gospel Choir lifting the chorus to a rising swell of self-defeating praise that underscores the disquieting, Murder Ballads-esque lyrics. (In what surely must rank as one of the most bizarre song licensing arrangements of all time, “O Children” was used in Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows, Part One, issuing from a radio while Harry and Hermione engage in a head-scratching bit of giggling dance in a tent pitched in the woods.)

If Nocturama felt flat and without direction, Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus is spoiled for choice as it finds Cave and the Bad Seeds rocketing off in one hundred different directions at once. Listening back to all these albums in order, and placing them in context, it’s hard to see this double album as anything other than a creative renaissance, one that provided limitless avenues for future exploration for the participants, and yet, one that has not since been matched in terms of emotional weight and graceful clutter.