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Rating:
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.
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
01 Rakim (06:25)
Favored son
Turn in the garden
Shades of one
Sins forgotten
Favored signs to find hope
In the rounds of life
Favored rhymes to find hope
In the sands of life
Favored son
Fence in your heart
Savored son
Sins forgotten
06 The Wind That Shakes the Barley (03:12)
I sat within the valley green
I sat me with my true love.
My sad heart strove the two between
The old love and the new love.
The old for her the new
That made me think on Ireland dearly.
While the soft wind blew down the glade
and shook the golden barley.
T'was hard the woeful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us.
But harder still to bear the shame
of foreign chains around us.
And so I said the mountain glen
I'll meet at morning early.
And I'll join the bold united men
While soft winds shook the barley.
T'was sad I kissed away her tears
My fond arm round her flinging.
When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears
From out the wild woods ringing.
A bullet pierced my true love's side
In life's young spring so early.
And on my breast in blood she died
While soft winds shook the barley.
But blood for blood without remorse
I've ta'en at oulart hollow.
I've lain my true love's clay like corpse
Where I full soon must follow.
Around her grave I've wandered drear
Noon, night, and morning early.
With breaking heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley.
09 American Dreaming (04:55)
I need my conscience to keep watch over me
To protect me from myself
So I can wear honesty like a crown on my head
When I walk into the promised land
We've been too long American dreaming
And I think we've all lost the way
Forlorn somnambulistic maniacal in the dark
I'm in love with an American girl
Though she's my best friend
I love her surreptitious smile
That hides the pain within her
And we'll go dancing in the rings of laughter
And live along by the shores
???
Yeah-ee, on the lea the rising wind blows
Fay-hee, on the lea the rising wind blows
How long how long?
??? in the grounds of allegiances we've left behind
Turned back by the foot of the doorway
Never lost and found
We've been too long American dreaming
I think we've all lost the heart
??? somnambulistic maniacal in the dark
Yeah-ee, on the lea the rising wind blows
Fay-hee, on the lea the rising wind blows
How long how long?
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By alaindelon
I was immersed in a deep and sweet torpor in which all five senses reached their maximum peak of pleasure.
The special ingredient of their magical recipes? Love, certainly: that pure and platonic love... that eventually turned into music.
