Dead Can Dance
Anastasis

Point-blank: what do Dead Can Dance and Soundgarden have in common? Well, very little, if not for the legitimized status as groups of enormous prestige. However, on closer inspection, these ensembles of artists are also linked by a peculiar curiosity: both return to release an album after sixteen long years (at least at the full-length level). Now, it is known that silence is a philosophical problem of central importance: just think of Wittgenstein, or another genius, Peter Steele, who warned us about its misinterpretation. However, what puzzles us listeners, more than silence itself, are the reasons for deciding to break it and, above all, what can be conceived afterward. There is little to say: if for Cornell and company we will have to wait for the November chill, the new creation of Perry and Gerrard is already a concrete and highly valuable reality.

"Anastasis" comes from Greek and means "resurrection": this is what you find written everywhere. No one, however, says this: Jesus, before resurrecting, had to descend into limbo. For this album, the discourse doesn't change: we will be able to derive peace and serenity from it, but only after immersing ourselves in the world we live in and in ourselves. Often, the music of Dead Can Dance is defined as "metaphysical": well, here we are dealing with a Neoplatonic type of metaphysics. We act within ourselves, reflecting on the world around us, and we will reach the level of the Intellect, where everything is in everything; a mental state that the art of this splendid duo has gifted us more than once.

Brendan's baritone and soothing voice, although it infuses a nearly luminous track like "Children Of The Sun," warns us immediately: "We are the children of the sun—Our journey has begun." We are thrown into this world, and we can process it and transcend it only through a meditative journey. "Anastasis" is a journey of dual soul, now rational and vaguely tormented (Perry), now orient-tinged and transcendent (Gerrard). Hence, reflections on the weight and importance of the past and memory ("Amnesia") and on a desire for liberation almost Hindu-like (the introspective "Opium") are embraced by fragments of Eastern thoughts ("Agape"), medieval-like ("Kiko") and folk ("Return Of The She-King"), proclaimed by an angelic voice in a language that we humans are not meant to understand.

It may not be another "Within The Realm Of A Dying Sun," but "Anastasis" remains a masterpiece to savor, and it seals, at least for now, a majestic career which (let's say it) we didn't want to have as a final seal with the much-maligned "Spiritchaser." Dead Can Dance find the right balance between ethnic and gothic, and they offer us a work that must be counted among the best of this 2012, whose only flaw might be the excessive length of some episodes, risking becoming pompous.

This work is indeed a journey, but of the duration of a day: from the dawn of "Children Of The Sun" to the solemnly announced dusk of "Return Of The She-King," only to fade into the sweetly melancholic shadows of "All In Good Time," imbued with the awareness of those who have found the true relationship with the world and know they have done their time. A cathartic ending to set sail purified and happy. Dead Can Dance, once again, achieve that much. Who knows, maybe the dead can really dance.