Brendan Perry – My (life in) music lists

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“You build me up then you knock me down.
You play the fool while I play the clown.
We keep time to the beat of an old slave drum.“

Dead Can Dance is for all intents and purposes the duo of multi-instramentalists*, Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry. They formed the group with a third member, Simon Monroe (drums), when they were still a couple in Melbourne, Australia, back in 1981. They shortly afterwards relocated to London, enlisted new bandmates, and signed with 4AD. Their self-titled debut album was released and its dark and ambient sound fit right in on their new label. They then released a handful of albums throughout the 80s, using session musicians, rather than finding full-time bandmates. The release of their sixth album, “Into the labyrinth”, in 1993, though, saw the duo doing it all by themselves for the first time. It saw a marked change in their sound, adopting a strong influence of world music, and it also just happened to see the band’s most commercial success.

This is where I came in… though not immediately.

“The ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove” was my introduction to Dead Can Dance in 1995. I was living in university residence at the time and a fellow resident on my floor, a young man with whom I shared a first name, was blasting it one day, through speakers ridiculously too large for his tiny bedroom. I heard and was drawn to its unique sound from my room on the other side of the floor. When he satisfied my curious query about the sound’s provenance, I recognized the name as one I’d heard from friends and made a note that the music from them was not at all what I had assumed it would be. I went out and purchased a copy of “Into the labyrinth” shortly thereafter and not only fell for “Lovegrove” but also the whole album, it’s slow and plodding nature, the atmospherics not just in the use of traditional instruments but also in the fullness of sound of the very different of the vocals of the two principals.

Whenever I think of this song, though, it’s a different memory that pops up, that of an evening a couple years after this introduction, at the ‘Crawford mansion’. This was the nickname bestowed upon an apartment rented by a handful of my university residence floormates and good friends, the summer after that one year in residence. So named because it took up the top two floors of a house on Crawford street (a side street off College Street in Toronto’s Little Italy neighbourhood) and was large enough to (and often did) sleep a good handful of extra guests on top of its usual four residents. This became a downtown destination for parties and for crashing for many years because though all the four original renters didn’t all stay on after the first year of its lease, we always knew someone that lived there for almost half a decade. Before I get too off-track here, though, let’s return to the story at hand.

I was saying that I brought my girlfriend Victoria** down to the Crawford mansion (for the first and only time ever) and though there wasn’t a party planned that night, it inevitably turned into a soirée. Vegetarian canapés and finger foods were put in the oven (in honour of Victoria’s visit), other guests appeared from the ether, and yes, there was music. It was loud in volume but bearably so and the selections mellow but full in sound. I can’t remember every song that made the playlist but I can say for sure James’s “Out to get you: and Dead Can Dance’s “The ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove” were played***. I will never forget Josh’s friend Bryce pounding on a a set bongos along to the heavy rhythm, while the ragas, strange and unique wind sound, and Brendan Perry’s deep, booming, and (dare I say) ubiquitous voice and echoed and shook the walls of the apartment. It was one of those moments that you just look around yourself, the smiling faces around the room, and a general mood takes hold and everything feels like it’s going to be alright.