Dead Can Dance’s Lisa Gerrard on Watching the World Burn
Photos by Jay Brooks
At this point in her four-decade career, rafter-rattling Australian diva Lisa Gerrard has no idea what diverse new musical projects will waft her way each year. So she basically just goes where the inspirational winds take her. And the past couple of years alone have easily been one of her most productive periods yet, as she found work on such diverse, often demanding projects as: Dionysus, the ninth studio album from Dead Can Dance, her sonorous duo with singer/multi-instrumentalist Brendan Perry; Melodies of My Youth, her collaboration with Polish composer Zbigniew Preisner, sung in his native tongue; a team-up, live and recorded, with the Genesis Orchestra on Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs (also in Polish); and—with France-based composer and DCD keyboardist Jules Maxwell—BooCheeMish, the latest offering from the exotic Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares, or The Mystery of Bulgarian Voices. Additionally, Gerrard released Hiraeth with percussionist Petar Dundakov, which was nominated for a Best New Age Album Grammy in 2019, while she simultaneously juggled several film scores and/or soundtrack requests.
At 60, and with four solo sets behind her, Gerrard’s whirlwind of a canny keen still ascends from sepulchral to seraphic in a show-stopping heartbeat (as anyone fortunate to have beheld a meticulously staged DCD concert over the years can attest), and is such a force of nature that Maxwell couldn’t resist compiling, then completely reworking seven tracks from their Les Mystere sessions that went unused into the panoramic new Burn collection, with production hammered out in England by James Chapman, aka indie artist/conceptualist Maps. His instrumentation is exotic and textured, conjuring up visions of desert oases (“Noyalayin (Burn)”), storm-tossed oceans (“Heleali (The Sea Will Rise)”), Wagnerian operas (“Orion (The Weary Huntsman)”) and even layered folk simplicity (“Keson (Until My Strength Returns)”). The singer is more than overjoyed that her chum rescued these flickering clips from the cutting room floor. “Because honestly, there’s so much work that you do in your life that just dissolves, lost inside your computer or your hard drive, and it’s gone, gone forever, after you put all this emotion and passion into it,” she laments.
Perhaps the most telling aspect of Gerrard’s wise, cosmopolitan—but entirely affable—demeanor is her down-to-Earth humility, in line with Australia’s folkloric Tall Poppy Syndrome, wherein any flower that grows too glamorously high above the others is quickly scythed down to size. To tell the truth, she says, she’s still unsure why she keeps getting all these amazing assignments, even though fans would probably pay top dollar just to hear her sing the phonebook, from Anthony A. Aardvark to Zelda Z. Zygote. “I mean, when it comes to my voice, I’m not a contralto, I’m not a baritone, I don’t know what I am,” she puzzles. “So I don’t really have a proper place in the grand scheme of things. So I just find my own thing in each project, and it doesn’t really matter—it’s okay, and it all works out.”
Paste: You were living in the famous Snowy Mountains, soon to be known as just The Mountains once climate change really revs up.
Lisa Gerrard: I’m no longer there, though. I’m west of there, in the foothills of the Great Divide. We came down here, where we do still get a little bit of snow. But the weather’s gone crazy—I mean, we didn’t even technically have a summer this year, which was actually nice, because normally it’s just burning all the time. But it was so lovely this year because we had rain and cold.
Paste: Your new record with Jules Maxwell is ominously titled Burn, and the closeup elephant photo on the cover shows the animal on its side, looking distressed. Is that an eerie nod to climate change?
Gerrard: Well, Jules picked the cover—I didn’t pick it. So there might be some hidden meaning, but I don’t think so. So I don’t think it’s spooky at all. I just think it’s really beautiful. When I did these songs with him, I really felt that it was important for him to be allowed to pick the artistic content, because he really is the motivating force behind this. And I thought the pieces that I’d written with him would probably just disappear. And that happens sometimes. You write so much music, and it just disappears, you know? But I didn’t take on the street signs of the album—Jules did that. He’s got all the street signs and road maps, and my contribution was the singing.
Paste: But it all started when Jules got commissioned to compose for the women in Les Mystere des Voix Bulgares—or The Mystery of Bulgarian Voices—for that choir’s BooCheeMish album in 2018? Which you ended up collaborating on, then touring behind in 2019?
Gerrard: And when Jules talked to them, I was quite amazed that he turned to me for something. But I realized when singing with the Bulgarians, and there were just three of them, that they don’t sing in bel canto scales—they sing in Occidental scales, with quarter tones and drones and sixths and eighths and ninths, and then they doubled it. They are just totally different. And I realized that the only way that I could find the key to what they were doing was to bend the voice—bend it to find the sweet spot. Because the problem was, singing in quarter tones just wasn’t working. But you don’t need to hear about all that because it’s not conducive to the album. But when we finished with all my singing, I thought we’d cut some really great stuff. And I don’t want to sound rude or arrogant, but I knew that it was fantastic work. And the reason that Jules and I work together is because we wrote a piece of music every night in Dead Can Dance one tour, and at the end of each concert, we did a piece called “Rising of the Moon,” and we grew the piece together over a period of three months. And we learned to trust each other out of that, and something really remarkable grew between us. So when he came here, I knew I could trust him, because we’d stood in front of thousands of people, completely naked, metaphorically, in concert, so that we could create this piece of music together every night. So when he came here and we did the [Bulgarian] pieces in the studio here, we did something like 15 or 16 pieces while he was here. And then he left with only three of them for the Bulgarians, and the rest were just sitting. But then, God bless Jules, he went off and turned them around and said, “I’m not going to just let these go out the window—I’m gonna use them, and I’m gonna make sure that people hear them!” And consequently, it’s been quite serendipitous, because there’s such a lovely positive energy inside that music, so I’m glad that he took that work and did something remarkable with it.
Paste: The track “Burn” itself feels almost Lion King-ish in scope.