Resurrection Can Dance

At such rock concerts as I have been to, the audience does not sit in rapt attention for the duration of each song and curtail applause in order to not disturb the next. But at no orchestral or operatic performance have I ever witnessed people seat-dancing and calling “Lisa, I love you!” from the stalls. So what exactly did I attend at the Sydney Opera House on the night of Monday 4th?

I attended an appearance by Dead Can Dance – the first in Australia for twenty years - accompanying the release of Anastasis, their first new album in sixteen. This was the first time I saw Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry live. The publicity described them as Australia's worldbeat-electronic pioneers: I don't know what that means. I know that they master arcane instruments such as the yang ch'in, the bouzouki and uillean pipes; they recover tunes from 14th century Italy and Haitian voudoun rituals; they interpret Bertolt Brecht, Irish folk songs and compose their own inimitable works. They create magic.

I'm not the sort to waste precious experience by taking photos or making illegal recordings, so I must now rely on words to evoke the scene. A vast hall, ceiling ribbed as intricately as any gothic cathedral but each curve designed expressly to channel the energy of sound. This ceiling is washed in amber light, constantly changing patterns of spirals that may be flowers, stars that may be pentacles, as the curves of seating below fill with people of every age, colour, shape and stance: leather and tattoos next to cardigans and tie-dye, fluorescent red heads beside balding grey. One genteel goth playing it down for the evening, accompanied by her handsome partner. On the stage, the light show continues across a shifting, gauzy curtain, mere backing to the instruments.

The only fanfare as they enter is provided by the audience, now plunged into darkness. There are four accompanists, who over the evening will range through keyboards, drums and vocals, and percussive things I simply can't identify. I note the shifting muscles of the central drummer and the hands of the keyboardists, dipping like white birds into the light: the woman on the right especially, clad in blue-black velvet with a silver pendant about her neck. But Lisa Gerrard is unmistakable even before she sings, blonde hair crowning her pale, flawless face, wearing the velvet with a glistening, silver scapular like a Byzantine cleric. Each motion, even the slightest, has a grace and sense of deliberation that effortlessly commands the eye. Brendan Perry wears a grey shirt, bald head and white beard. He too is a powerful presence and now, as “Children of the Sun” begins the performance as it begins the album, I can borrow his words.

“...All the elder children come out at night,

Anaemic, soulless, great hunger in their eyes.”

Anastasis was played in full over the evening, although it took until the second encore to reach the triumphal “Return of the She-King”. But I also recall the intricate hammering and drumplay of “Rakim” from Towards The Within, another piece showcasing both these artist's incredible voices. People tend to go a little crazy trying to describe Gerrard's voice and I am happy join them. When she sang, I felt a sense of the sky opening up above the hall, the infinite black pinpointed with stars. The first notes of “Sanvean” provoked an audible gasp and palpable intensity below. I hesitate to call this piece, subtitled (I Am Your Shadow) a song, although other labels sit equally uneasy. I cannot describe it nor quote the lyrics, for Gerrard has the gift of using her voice as pure instrument. Everyone who hears this song knows what it means and I can't hear it without weeping.

“Nierika”, the opening track of Spiritchaser created the most motion: both onstage, as the percussionists laboured in silhouette against an intense blue light, and in the seats as people writhed and nodded. But “Song of the Seraphim” simply split my skull. Living, breathing people standing on a stage in front of you, whom you have even seen sipping occasionally from their water bottles, cannot possibly produce such sublime sound. It is possible, dear reader, that you have heard this piece even lacking knowledge of The Serpent's Egg. It was used by Frank Darabont under the climax of The Mist.

Things I had never heard before included Perry's performance of “Lamma Bada” - an eight hundred year-old ballad from Moorish Andalusia - and “Ime Prezakias” which apparently translates from the Greek as“I Am A Junkie”. “Greece has lost one of her legs, she lost it in a game of dice” was the other snippet he provided. It dates from the 1930s but you'd never guess.

In an encore, he covered Tim Buckley's “Song to the Siren” and Gerrard provided a last, exquisite glimmering I believe is called “Rising of the Moon”. But to be honest, the real surprise for me was “Now We Are Free”, which the reader who has seen The Mist almost certainly knows as the finale of Gladiator. And perhaps the real joy was to hear “The Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove” from way, way back in Into the Labyrinth. I know I wasn't the only one smiling.

And so, to answer my initial question: what did I attend at the Sydney Opera House that night? With Lisa Gerrard leading us in ecstatic worship and Brendan Perry delivering the sermon and homiles, it was a religious service demonstrating the essential fact that all such are both performances and spells.