Dead Can Dance
Toward the within

THE REVIEW

At the edges of reality.
It couldn't be said differently about this live album by the Australians Dead Can Dance, recorded in 1994 in the magical atmosphere of the Mayfair Theatre in Santa Monica, California.
On very few other occasions have I felt so disarmingly what it means to be captivated by sound, or rather to consciously let oneself be transported by it to other solar systems where everything seems to flow with a paradisiacal harmony, and above all, not a single note—not a single—seems useless or superfluous.

A Lisa Gerrard singing completely dressed in white and playing the yang ch'in with lightness and ethereal detachment manages to lead the very attentive and knowledgeable audience towards an authentic karma; something that can be sensed when listening to the album, paying attention to the short lapse of time that elapses between the end of each song and the applause that follows. As if, indeed, after each piece, a snap of the fingers was needed to wake the audience from their trance.
Beside the demi-goddess Gerrard, who gives the impression of levitating on stage wrapped in her tunic and practically motionless throughout the concert (I recommend seeing the DVD taken from this concert), is the other mind of the group, that Brendan Perry surprising on the 12-string guitar and even more mystical as a vocalist, thanks to his familiarity in transitioning from lower tones to high notes that one wouldn't expect from him. Completing the ensemble, about a dozen top-notch musicians who play practically everything: from djembes to Tibetan bells, with instrument exchanges among musicians that give an idea of the versatile talent of those who enchanted the Californian audience that night eleven years ago.

It's difficult to give a connotation to this work, given the multiple influences that characterize it, offspring of the latitude of origin of DCD, and the numerous "study" trips undertaken by Gerrard and Perry during their careers. They sing in Arabic ("Persian love song", "Rakim", "Oman"), there are erudite citations ("The wind that shakes the Barley" is a poem by R.D. Joyce from the mid-nineteenth century; "Tristan" even dates back to the twelfth century, the brainchild of Gottfried von Strassburg) and they venture into questioning themselves with tracks like "Song of the Sibyl" (a kind of lullaby that was sung in some parts of Catalonia up to 100 years ago... not bad for an Australian group) and "I am stretched on your grave" (which for an Irishman is what "Nel blu dipinto di blu" is for an Italian, obviously in terms of notoriety...).
The hopes of keeping the eyes open during the listening are really reduced to a minimum, the trance is constantly lurking, and DCD rightfully break the catharsis occasionally with some lively moments (the violence with which "Cantara" is performed recalls the most ancestral initiation rites of Central Africa, a true delirium).

But the moments when the soul detaches from the body are truly too many, and here in hindsight one feels the anger for an album that, in the end, is known only by those who already had the complete 4AD catalog at home.

It is consequently difficult to assign the title of the best track. I can say that, aside from "covers", the peak of goosebumps is reached with "Sanvean", a track that also appears on Lisa Gerrard's solo album "The mirror pool", but which in this live version constitutes a real flash abduction of all five senses: a few tears could surprise even the toughest. And a separate mention is deserved by the ballad that closes the album, "Don't fade away", with a Brendan Perry almost moving in what probably remains his best interpretation. It's even more poignant to follow this last song from the DVD, as the end credits roll and dozens of roses rain down on a Lisa Gerrard who finally hints at a smile, just returned from worlds that are very far away but which we too managed to at least touch this time.