Crumpled and frayed, a sharp intake of breath lets you know that a journey is about to begin, deep in the liminal spaces between body and mind. There is no anchor, says Perfume Genius (real name Mike Hadreas), to bind us to this physical realm. We are born into broken bodies, unreliable and faltering, and then we die. “Half of my whole life is gone,” he begins on Whole Life, the opening track to the seminal Set My Heart On Fire Immediately. There is no betrayal greater than that which the physical form unleashes on its owner. There it is, scheming against us from the moment we are born, plotting our downfall. Yet it also comes to us as a friend, the vessel through which we experience life itself. The body is the ultimate paradox: both shield and tomb for the soul.

Hadreas has long painted a question mark over our physical existence, prodding and poking, toying with what it means to materially exist on Earth. That was never more true than on fourth album, No Shape, released in 2017. Hadreas casts himself as wraith, spiriting in and out of baroque-pop confections, voice drifting through cacophonies of angels as he sings of a longing to live as a spirit freed from the physical realm, an observer as time rushes past. In standout track Wreath, days stack up, days go by, and the spirit lives on, circular in its journey round its celestial plains. Yet this is no nirvana. Unmoored, Hadreas’ spirit wails out against the very immortal existence it previously desired.

In the wake of No Shape, Hadreas collaborated with choreographer Kate Wallich for contemporary dance piece The Sun Still Burns Here. Here, Hadreas discovered what he called “a movement language”, embracing his body in fresh and previously alien ways. The body became more than a prison, evolving to become the medium through which Hadreas was able to finally tune in to himself. Looking back on the period in an interview with The Quietus, Hadreas said ‘I found I was getting that same, almost divine feeling that something is coming out, something I haven’t been able to name. Usually I did that through music, but I was describing it energetically, with people or with a chair, in this really physical and hyper-present way.’

Dance has long been a venue for unfiltered expressions of the human condition, and it was this energy that Hadreas carried with him in the wake of The Sun Still Burns Here and onto 2020’s Set My Heart On Fire Immediately. Rugged and raw, Hadreas emerged from his neo-romantic shell with a swagger of which we’d only previously seen glimpses (think the brazen pop glory of 2014’s Queen). First single from the new record, Describe, is positively buzzing with energy, with dirt-smeared guitars thrumming underneath Hadreas, grounding his previously elvish presence. That the spirit cannot be contained, and Hadreas eventually drifts off into some amorphous cosmos towards the end of the track, does little to dispel the sheer focus on the earthiness and grit that he carries with him this time around.

On The Floor, one of Hadreas’ most traditionally ‘pop’ tracks to date, narrows that focus on the body even further. Here, the form is elastic, made to be thrown around, and cast into weird and wonderful expressions of feeling. For the first time, it feels like Hadreas isn’t just inhabiting his body, but revelling in it.

Indeed, the entire aesthetic of the release stands in stark contrast to its predecessor. Take a look back at the visuals of No Shape, and be greeted by pure romantic fashion: frilled cuffs, flowing shirts, soft-focus floral hues. Then move forward to Set My Heart On Fire Immediately. On the cover, Hadreas stares the camera down, torso bared as he challenges you to bear witness to the body in its purest form. In other promotional images from the era, he channels what can only be described as ‘mechanic-core’. Long gone are the elvish fantasies of No Shape.

Yet this isn’t necessarily born solely out of a new form of appreciation of the body – this newfound ‘hypermasculinity’ is, in itself, a form of protest. ‘That specific presentation just feels closest to how I’m presenting as a person at the moment. I sometimes think people expect me to be wearing a ruff, or a full clown collar. Part of it is rebellious,’ said Hadreas. This reclamation of male physicality feels like an important step for a gay man who, in the past, has felt ostracised from both his gender and body.

Hadreas’ newly physical expression also found form in the music videos released alongside the album – Describe is earth-toned and folkish before the song’s ambient second-half kicks in, when bodies writhe around, connecting create divine new shapes. On The Floor is sepia-toned and smeared with dirt, a piece of solo choreography that feels like you’re watching an intimate bonding between Hadreas and his own body.

Some Dream presents itself with the most abstract video from the album, focusing on a half-pig, half-man going about his warehouse job before having a breakdown, eschewing his humanity and reverting to full pig. When the body is not respected, and is treated as nothing more than fodder in the capitalist machine, what is left, asks Hadreas.

In retrospect, there’s a certain irony to the fact that Set My Heart On Fire Immediately arrived in May 2020. At a time when Hadreas found greater faith in the corporeal than ever before, the rest of the world was beginning to doubt the very trustworthiness of their own bodies. In a pandemic which saw us all cocooned in our own little microclimates, Hadreas’ bodied and propulsive release stands in stark contrast to the more escapist, flighty tones that came to signify many other ‘pandemic albums’.

That’s not to say that this was an easy time for Hadreas. Finally tuning into the body had ushered in this desire to ‘pick people up and be picked up and roll around’, only for that to be taken away by the violent isolation of the pandemic. This loss then fed into the creation of IMMEDIATELY, a remix album which saw collaborators both old and new carving up the body of work that was Set My Heart On Fire Immediately, and create a new Frankenstein’s monster on its foundations.

As we now look towards the release of Hadreas’ next studio album, Glory, it seems his exploration of the body will continue: perhaps even tackling the ultimate question – what does it truly mean to die? While it’s still early days, it’s interesting to note that the music videos for both pre-release singles, It’s A Mirror and No Front Teeth, end with Hadreas either self-immolating or being shot at point-blank range. As he gets older, it’s only natural that Hadreas’ mind will continue to fixate on his tenuous relationship with the body, and even begin to reckon with what it might mean as it begins to fail.