Dead Can Dance

Friday night at the Arcimboldi in Milan, black was decidedly the dominant colour: a crowd of devotees flocked in from all over the country to attend a ritual they had been waiting far too many years to officiate, suspending the evening in a very particular mood somewhere between a masonic gathering and a media happening. The cult of Dead Can Dance could only have been fuelled by a deafening sixteen-year absence, and tonight is the proof of it.

However far removed today's two erudite world music scholars may visibly be from the esoteric combo they once were, the "arcane" element and dark aesthetic continue to persist stubbornly in the imagination of the faithful, a good number of whom tonight too have probably shown up chasing that trademark laid down in the Eighties by "Spleen And Ideal" and "Within The Realm Of A Dying Sun".

In a case more unique than rare for events of this scale, the auditorium is free of the usual background chatter; the excitement comes with an overall calm, until the lights go down and the sextet that slips quietly onto the stage is met with a genuine stadium-style ovation.

The intro to "Children Of The Sun" triggers an unmistakably physical rush of emotion: the rite has begun, I open my shoulders to receive the sermons of the prophet Perry and sink into my seat to better absorb the bass. The years have turned him into a true priest, from the meditative, "universal" lyrics to the absorbed, almost trance-like way he approaches the microphone to explain that his voice is unchanged, right down to the sober, severe look to which his recently shaved head has added further charm.

The opening could not have been more triumphant. Following the tracklist of "Anastasis", they launch into "Anabasis", on which an immense Lisa Gerrard comes on stage: black dress and long blue shawl, the Australian artist is in staggering vocal form (let's be honest, unexpectedly so), scaling her daring vocal excursions without the aid of any effects whatsoever, ranging as in the old days from Middle Eastern lament to Gregorian chant with utter naturalness. The emotions, too, are the same as ever, and when a "psychedelic" sun appears behind her, for a moment one truly gets the impression that that towering woman is the incarnation of the Great Mother.

The setlist proceeds with the more ethnic numbers, from the resurrected "Rakim" to a marvellous "Kiko" (another highlight of the evening), alternating tracks from "Anastasis" with a couple of new songs: the band plays impeccably, nothing is out of place, yet everything feels extremely natural and lively, without that coldness of which they have so often been accused.

Only a few fragments of earlier albums have survived: "Nierika", "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" - another heart-stopping moment met with a burst of applause - "Dreams Made Flesh" and, above all, a splendid version of "The Host Of Seraphim", perhaps the only truly "gothic" moment of the evening.

Towards the end, Perry sends the crowd into raptures by dusting off "Song To The Siren", symbolically closing a circle opened forty years ago by his spiritual father Tim Buckley and kept alive over the years by Liz Fraser's unforgettable rendition, all the way to Gerrard's return and the ethereal close of the liturgy with "The Return Of The She-King".

As the lights come back on and everyone slowly returns to linear thought, the impression is that tonight's concert perfectly captures the current state of affairs for the Australian band, for whom a "Xavier" or an "Avatar" would probably have felt completely out of place in what can now be called the new course, the "rebirth", of the Perry-Gerrard tandem.

This is Dead Can Dance in the year 2012, take it or leave it. As far as we're concerned, we'll gladly take it.

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