In a story published in his Red Hand Files, Nick Cave tells what is the worst thing about being an old rock star. It has to do with selfies, so you know in case you happen to meet him in the next few days, as he will be performing with the Bad Seeds at the La Prima Estate festival on Friday 26 June.
Cave, who is 68 years old, begins with the story of a morning when he wakes up feeling great, dyes his hair, puts on a suit and leaves the hotel: it's a beautiful day. «Two elderly people shuffle in my direction, a hunched over husband and an even hunkered down wife. They have matching cardigans and are both wearing Cure t-shirts. They see me, stop and gasp. I see on their battered faces the sudden flash of recognition, followed by a spasm of joy when they realize that the last item on their wish list is about to come true. They're about to meet Nick Cave! They begin to tremble and shake, stammer their names, Dorrie and Sven, repeat: “Oh my God!” and “Nick Cave!”, they say incredibly depressing things like “We've been your fans for half a century” and “We saw Robert Smith in the supermarket once but didn't want to bother him.” Until finally the inevitable question arrives: “Can we take a selfie?”».
It's not a drama, Cave writes, «except for the fact that I hate having my picture taken and especially taking selfies. Anyway I agree because I suddenly feel tired and don't have the energy to say no. They start rummaging through their bags for their phones, continuing their “Oh my God!” and “Nick Cave!”, and wondering if I've listened to the new Cure album, until I point out that Sven's phone is hanging around his neck on a lanyard. I stand there, feeling my life slowly leaving me, and Dorrie tells me how much her mother loved me – his fucking mother! – and that the mother is now dead, and that they put the Cure at the funeral and so on.”
And in that moment, suddenly, Cave realizes what's the worst thing about being an old rock star. «It reveals itself to me in a moment of total clarity. The worst thing about being an old rock star is that old rock star fans don't know how to use their damn phones. The couple stands there tapping uselessly on the screens, trying to activate selfie mode or whatever, saying, “I'm no good with phones” and “How does this thing work?” and “Oh my God” and “I can't believe it's Nick Cave,” and I try to help them, but I don't even know how to use their phones.”
«In the end they manage to take the selfie and, in that fleeting and infernal instant, I see my image on the screen: the face of a crazy old man, the tight grimace, the veiled and restless eyes, the angry and imploring Pavarotti eyebrows. And I understand that the only difference between me and these old idiots with dentures smiling next to me on the screen is that I dye my hair black. And I understand, in a terrible flash of existential clarity, that this makes me seem even older and completely ridiculous.” Eventually the couple trots away and repeats “Oh my God!”, “Nick Cave!”, “What a lovely person!”. He goes back to the hotel to write these lines and puts on the Cure.
