Wilson - Adam's Rib / Nono - Das atmende Klarsein (Dublin, 2026)

Wilson - Adam's Rib / Luigi Nono - Das atmende Klarsein

Dublin International Chamber Music Festival, 2026

Bernie Sherlock, Lina Andronovska, David Stalling, New Dublin Voices

Chapel Royal, Dublin Castle - 5th June 2026

Composing a work for the same distinctive instrumentation as one of the great works from Nono's late period and having it performed in its world premiere performance at the Dublin International Chamber Music Festival side-by-side in a way that invites comparison could not be something any modern composer would undertake lightly. While there are inevitably sonic and conceptual similarities between it and Nono's Das atmende Klarsein, Ian Wilson's latest work Adam's Rib nonetheless has a quality of its own that bears the comparison well.

From the wordless Orpheus descending into the Underworld in Orpheus Down to his latest work available on CD Lost Voices that explored the theme in various contexts, the use of voices, silence and the space in between them has been a significant feature of Ian Wilson's recent work. Another familiar feature has been the use of the texts of the Serbian poet Draginja Adamović and - much like Nono's use of Rainer Maria Rilke texts for Das atemende Klarsein - the vivid imagery found in those poems is the inspiration for musical exploration that relies to a large extent on the human voice to bring it to life.

Inevitably, Wilson's arrangements are different to Nono's in respect of how they relate to the texts and their imagery. Described in the programme notes as "dreamlike poems [that] inhabit a world of shifting realities, elemental imagery and fragile transformation", the composition fully reflects this shifting reality, using the bass flute to interact with the text and underline its expression, playing on the ambiguity within its contrasts ("Eve holds a flower in her hands/More beautiful than death") to suggest that even within horrific experiences, there is always the hope of truth and beauty gaining supremacy. It's very much in line with the composer's journey of Orpheus and the experiences recounted in Lost Voices.

Unlike Das atmende Klarsein, where the flute, tape and live electronic manipulation play out separately from the sung text allowing for response and reflection, Wilson uses the bass flute to play alongside the sung text. In the venue of the Chapel Royal at Dublin Castle, the texts in Adam's Rib were more clearly audible and not just for being translated into English, as Nono attenuates words and phrases almost beyond audible sound towards dying breaths. Flautist Lina Andonovska - a musician who has clearly been another source of inspiration for the composer, someone capable of fully exploring the shifting realities and marshalling forces behind them - moves between soft accompaniment to the sung voices to occasional jabs towards the vivid imagery expressed in them, the two finding a joint moment of almost ecstatic revelation in the fourth section where "The deepest light/Flooded me with its radiance". But if there is any sense of rediscovery of "I Who again Am I", it has clear that it has come from out of a very dark place.

It's in that sense that Wilson's Adam's Rib reflects and contrasts with Nono’s Das atmende Klarsein. While I wouldn't call the piece a radical departure from the great Italian avant-garde composer's previous works, or even a refinement, there is nonetheless a sense of the composer exploring new possibilities in sound, in the voice, in the use of the words; one that would lead towards his late masterpiece, the momentous Prometeo. Using poetic fragments from the Seventh Duino Elegy written by Rainer Maria Rilke, along with fragments from political and Greek funerary inscriptions, it explores that moment of "breathing clarity" that comes after a thunderstorm "nach spätem Gewitter, das atmende Klarsein". It also strives in its choice of musical and vocal resources to touch on that moment of radiant revelation expressed in the extraordinary text, nature itself providing the inspiration for the drive and focus of the music, the piece ending with the words "Aus Dunkel steigt ein buntes Offenbares" ("Out of darkness rises something radiant").

The piece itself feels like it is delving into those words and letting them hang there to be contemplated for their meaning as well as their sound, the work - particularly in live performance - still holding the capacity for expression of tremendous tension and release. The use of space around it is also embraced, in the acoustics of the venue that naturally disperse the range of the voices, as well as in how the bass flute is enhanced through electronics and sound projection controlled here by David Stalling. The voices disappear, almost seeming to dissolve into the ether, the texts - at times scarcely decipherable - no longer mere words but actions, their resonance taken up by flute and electronics and dispersed around the auditorium. The voices return again to take up the train of thought, restate their place, holding, sustaining, straining to expand out "into the open". 

If there were electronics for spatial dispersion used in Adam's Rib, they were less evident and more gently introduced, whereas in Das atemende Klarsein they a have a more vital role to play in the dynamic of the 40-minute piece. As does every part really. If I wasn't already familiar with the flute playing of Lina Andonovska from other works composed for her by Ian Wilson, I would have been astonished at her playing here pushed to a new level by Nono's extraordinary piece. The New Dublin Voices conducted by Bernie Sherlock have an equally challenging dynamic that explores the subtleties of the words in the articulation of the words and the breath that surrounds them. With David Stallings live electronics, all of this is a reminder that works like these can only truly be heard and felt in performance, breathing the same air as them, echoing and reverberating in a thrilling and evolving way. Even more so in the location of the Chapel Royal of Dublin Castle, an ideal venue for the performance of both works.

External links: Dublin International Chamber Music Festival

Bellini - Norma (Wexford, 2026)

Vincenzo Bellini - Norma

Irish National Opera, 2026

Maurizio Benini, Orpha Phelan, Salome Jicia, Mario Chang, Siobhan Stagg, William Guanbo Su, Aaron O'Hare, Leanne Fitzgerald

O'Reilly Theatre, National Opera House, Wexford - 3rd June 2026

Directing a bel canto opera is always going to be a challenge, but the history and origin of Bellini’s Norma makes it a little more difficult than most. The opera is not short on high emotional drama, but the shape and tone of the work is tied to its composition in 1831 as a star vehicle for the talents of the leading soprano of the time, Giuditta Pasta following on the success of her La sonnambula at La Scala earlier in the same year. Directing Norma for the Irish National Opera, Orpha Phelan however is unable to do little more than update the drama away from its largely static setting of Gaul during the Roman occupation (100-50BC) and make sure it avoids druidic processional mannerisms, but in a work that is dominated by its famous aria 'Casta Diva' and a plot that amounts to little more than a romantic love triangle melodrama, the opera still feels mired in the past and as little more than a star vehicle for the dramatic soprano. Sometimes however that can be more than enough, and that proved to be the case with the INO production, where they were fortunate enough to have an outstanding soprano in the leading role who was more than capable meeting the challenges.

If it's hard to make Norma feel relevant and feel like it has something to say that relates in any meaningful way to contemporary concerns - who doesn't know what it's like to be in a disintegrating love affair with a general from an occupying enemy force? - Bellini's writing for the opera at least makes it feel like the life and death of thousands depend on the outcome of Norma's actions. I'm being facetious of course, but there is a Medea-like dilemma in the work where Norma's children are caught in the crossfire and that is something that is touched upon deeply in the opera, if not quite to the same level of horror as Greek mythology. Orpha Phelan rightly doesn't let the work get bogged down in a historical period that has little relevance to the dramatic action, and instead depicts it in a post-apocalyptic setting to presumably enhance the idea of this being a matter of life, death and survival against overwhelming forces.

The term post-apocalyptic used to mean to mean a future dystopia, but the dull heavy clothing and makeshift living conditions out of ruins and rubble now looks like an all too familiar scene in parts of the Middle East and Eastern Europe. If there is any suggestion of such a comparison, it's not explicitly stated - and perhaps doesn't need to be - but if it is the intent to make it look like something we can relate to more easily and more deeply than ancient Gaul, the production succeeds on that level, even if it doesn't really make any greater statement about the state of contemporary world affairs. There is a nod however to the Roman period where Pollione and Flavio have red tinted Mohican haircuts, which I found a bit silly. 

The setting itself is however the least important part of Norma. I'm no fan of original period settings as they can make the opera seem stuffy and old hat, but I'm not sure that it would have made any difference here, as the real challenge the director faces is that there is not a lot of actual drama or movement in Norma. It's all sung emotional turmoil, and Phelan works with the expression of it in the music and does what she can with it, particularly in the overture which is used to show the pain and the human cost of war (something this director also did in an RNCM production of Owen Wingrave in Manchester last year). I would have loved if the INO had been able to find a way to make the opera feel a little more meaningful and contemporary, but Norma is what it is and you have to work with what you've got. Any attempt to manipulate it into something it is not (see Àlex Ollé's Spanish Civil War production for the Royal Opera House in 2016) risks impacting on the whole fabric of the opera and work against where its real strengths are.

The most that Phelan was able to achieve was to tweak the focus to make Norma a little less victim of betrayal by a man and more taking a determined and principled self-sacrificing stand for the sake of her children. I didn't think this really came across or even that it was needed, but in passing - again never made overly explicit - the underlying Greek tragedy elements of this situation could be seen as having wider implications for the individual and society (not just a woman in a relationship with the wrong man) on opposition to controlling and corrupting figures of authority. If little or any of that came across with any noticeable intent and the production didn't have any new ideas as a concept to sit the drama upon, it was clear nonetheless from the overall impact on the night of the performance in Wexford that it wasn't needed.

Under the musical direction of Maurizio Benini - invited by INO artistic director and principal conductor Fergus Shiel as an authority on bel canto opera - it was a truly thunderous account of Bellini's wonderfully calibrated score, with choruses well-employed throughout to give that punchy impact where the opera needs it. Not that it needed much, as the Georgian soprano Salome Jicia delivered all the emotional impact and volume required at a pitch that struck you fully in the heart. This was a real powerhouse performance, outstanding on every level, completely up to the quite extraordinary challenges of the role. Jicia's voice was strong from the outset ringing out with a passionate force that she maintained throughout and which remarkably even gained emotional depth as the opera progressed.

It's a hugely challenging role, one sung by some of the greatest sopranos in opera history - and there are few enough capable of singing this role effectively today. The delivery of the opera as a whole was perhaps enhanced by the custom designed acoustics of the National Opera House in Wexford. Lesser known and rarely performed bel canto works have been the primary focus of much of the Wexford Festival Opera's 75 year history and the new building, opened in 2008, remains ideal for the performance of works like this. Being more used to seeing opera here during the festival's October dates, the heat in the auditorium on a June evening however was an added challenge for the audience in a pretty much full house for this performance in Wexford.

If I have reservations about the relevance of the opera and the production's dramatic focus, the nondescript but functional production design, I am in no position to argue with Bellini's writing for the voice. And, after all, the principal attraction of Norma is the singing and the Act I aria 'Casta Diva' - you could have heard a pin drop in the reverent silence during Jicia's performance here. The role of Norma is a challenge in itself, but it still needs the strong support that Bellini builds in to give dramatic and emotional depth to the role as more than a singing showcase. It helps then when you have an outstanding team to deliver it and, in addition to Jicia, I was most impressed with the solemn authority that bass William Guanbo Su's Oroveso brought to counter the high melodrama elsewhere. Siobhan Stagg held her own against Jicia's Norma, Mario Chang was a robust Pollione, and Aaron O'Hare as Flavio and Leanne Fitzgerald as Clotildhe rounded out an impressive singing cast.

And really, when you have singing like that, when you have the orchestra playing as it did here under Benini, when you have a well-managed chorus and a director who focuses on the singers making the characterisation feel meaningful and vital, Norma takes on a life of its own and renders any reservations about relevance or dramatic credibility as pretty much irrelevant. It sweeps you towards a finale then that was everything it should be; grandstanding drama, shock revelations, underscored (probably not a suitable word in the circumstances) by the heft of dramatic musical writing and a roaring chorus. You can see why Norma is a popular work, with one of the most famous arias in the whole canon, but also why it's not as frequently performed as it might be. The reason for that is clearly it requires a singer of exceptional ability and all the other elements built around that. The INO production had that with Salome Jicia and they made it count.

External links: Irish National Opera

Dusapin - Antigone (Paris, 2025)

Pascal Dusapin - Antigone

Philharmonie de Paris, 2025

Klaus Mäkelä, Netia Jones, Christel Loetzsch, Anna Prohaska, Tómas Tómasson, Jarrett Ott, Thomas Atkins, Edwin Crossley-Mercer, Serge Kakudji, Natalia Cellier, Cosma Moïssakis

Philharmonie Live streaming - October 2025

The themes and presentation of the ancient Greek dramas of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus remain just as important a foundation for opera as it does for contemporary theatre. Even more so in opera which was originally conceived in the belief that Greek drama was sung. Medea, Orpheus, Elektra, and Oedipus have inspired some of the greatest works of opera from early baroque to modern times, which is not surprising, as the subjects and treatments are inherently dynamic and dramatic in their grappling with always relevant human and moral questions. Filled with death and destruction on a cataclysmic scale, the tragedies present dark tales about the price to be paid for contravention of moral laws and defiance of the gods, but there is more than one kind of god and the dramas still have something important and vital to tell us today about humanity and moral imperatives today. Especially today in our troubled times, when the rule of law is in danger of being disregarded, when what should be unthinkable atrocities are committed and permitted before our eyes.

It's in these febrile and dangerous times that Pascal Dusapin produces his latest work based on Sophocles' Antigone. Dealing with one woman's stand against injustice and belief in a higher law than that of corrupt or foolish rulers, it's a timely reflection on the horrors that we are seeing around us today and the potential consequences for us all if authoritarianism is not resisted - and even if it is. Created for the Philharmonie in Paris, Dusapin presents the work as an "opératorio", partly in concession to it being performed in the Grande salle Pierre Boulez concert hall rather than on an opera stage, but more to give it the concentrated force that the work merits.

Seen as a typically moral question of holding to individual beliefs or divine order above those of man-made laws of the state and resorting to activism when they are wrongfully employed, the subject of Antigone however raises many complex questions and ambiguities when viewed in a modern light. This is another reason why Dusapin chooses to work with Friedrich Hölderlin's 1804 German translation of the work, a reduction to a concentrated form of text. As an 'Opératorio in Five Acts', reduced to an hour and a half performance, the composer uses his always powerful musical expression to provide weight and subtext to explore the ambiguity within that version, and Dusapin's score for his Antigone indeed imbues the work with all the force and meaning that its subject merits.

The essence of the drama is retained and remains simple enough in outline, where as a background to what unfolds in Antigone, Eteocles and Polynices, the sons of Oedipus and brothers to Antigone and Ismene, have both been killed in a dispute over the rule of the city of Thebes. As a punishment for having gathered an army to march against the great city, Creon, their uncle and now ruler of Thebes (and uncle of Antigone) refuses a burial for Polynices, denying even any funeral rites to be said over his body. Antigone is horrified by the order, as much from human decency as for the fact that Polynices was her brother and, against the advice of her sister Ismene, defies Creon's proclamation and performs a burial rite, throwing soil and praying for her fallen brother where he lays.

The drama of Antigone is certainly is adaptable to the times and political events. I recall the segment 'The Postponed Antigone' by Volker Schlöndorff from a script by Heinrich Böll in the 1978 film Deutschland im Herbst, where the public TV executives pull a filmed theatre performance of Antigone from the schedules at a time of high tensions in Germany around the activities of the RAF/Baader-Meinhof terrorist group. That is an indication of the potential of the original work to inspire activism, while at the same time showing how the authorities can control and prevent such controversial views from being aired - but Dusapin's choice of Hölderlin's translation and his own efforts to take a neutral position calculatedly avoid any contemporary political interpretation of the work.

In terms of what is the just and moral action to take, the message of Antigone's defiance and her stance in standing up for what she believes is right may seem fairly self-evidently and difficult to challenge, but as is often the case in Greek drama, all actions - even doing what seems to be the right and just thing in the circumstances - can have unintended consequences that reverberate down the line. You could even see the fate of the children of the incestuous marriage of Oedipus and Jocasta as being cursed by the time of Seven against Thebes and Antigone. In Antigone itself, Antigone's actions have immediate consequences for her when she is condemned to death, takes her own life and a series of other deaths follow in her wake.

So there is a lot to take in and consider in Antigone, and you have to say, based on the premiere performances of the work in October 2025 at the Philharmonie de Paris, Dusapin handles the subject impressively, finding the opposing contrasting forces within the drama and letting them assert their own power without imposing any heavy-handed contemporary reading on the work. More than Antigone, who is single minded and certain of her position - and who inevitably cuts an impressive figure as performed here by mezzo-soprano Christel Loetzsch - Creon has perhaps the more decisive and conflicted role. He knows a ruler cannot appear weak, that Antigone represents a challenge to his authority, but even knowing what will follow when the soothsayer Tiresias makes an appearance, he is unable to do anything to prevent the tragedy that is unfolding.

Dusapin obviously depicts this clash between Antigone and Creon in all its intensity, but despite the concentrated focus of this version, the other conflicts and views are all similarly well expressed and have a vital role to play in the overall balance of the drama, as well as introducing other perspectives that the individual viewer can relate to without being swayed to take one side or another. Ismene's advice to her sister to keep a lower profile and know their place as women, while Antigone wants to shout 'injustice!' from the rooftops introduces the inequality of women's views; Creon's son Haemon brings love into the equation, for Antigone, as well as between father and son. Fraternal love is there too of course in Antigone's conducting an unauthorised dignified burial of sorts for Polynices. Moral questions are agonised over, there are questions of self-sacrifice, honour and respect, both sides believing they have authority, creating a conflict the wisdom of age and holding to old ways over youthful impetuousness and new beliefs.

The dominant tone of the work however is one of unfolding tragedy and that is reflected in the orchestration of low dark sustained notes and lines on strings and brass. At times - as in Dusapin's more recent operas Macbeth Underworld (2019) and Penthesilea (2015) - there are occasional Reimann-like blasts from a large orchestra, although without quite the same sustained battery of seismic eruptions. The anger of Creon in pronouncement of the fate of Polynices is accompanied by a fusillade of rattling violent percussion crashes followed by ominous, rumbling mournful music. It's a musical language more in the line of Richard Strauss' Salome by way of Wagner, and under the direction of conductor Klaus Mäkelä it's every bit as expressive, operatic and dramatically visceral as that implies. Harp, bells and flute can stir up just as much menace and even while Creon brays out his threats, the music can hint at his words being empty; of compassion, of authority perhaps, moral and regal.

Directed by Netia Jones, who sees it as a kind of performance-installation for the concert hall of the Grande salle Pierre Boulez at the Philharmonie in Paris. the Antigone opératorio is nonetheless also fully operatic in performance. Jones can tend towards maximalism in her productions, but here settles for a monochrome minimalist set design that lets the singers take centre stage - figuratively speaking. The majority of the stage is taken up by tall imposing grey-white freestanding monolithic pillars (can it be a monolith if there is more than one?) which are reactive to lighting and effects created by Lightmap, projecting shadows, abstract markings, lines, swirling mists, clouds and gathering darkness, leaving only a corner for an array of microphone stands which are not used for oratorio purposes, but pleas and proclamations. Two video screens occasionally show time-delayed overlaid distorted images of the singers adding to the mood of a distorted reality, while the appearance of Tiresias seeing an enhanced reality wearing a VR-type headset is a good touch. The direction of the video recording of the performance by the Philharmonie de Paris for ARTE Concert makes creative use of movement and angles to capture the drama.

The singing performances are exceptional, and a fully rounded range of voice types just add to the characterisation and the feel of this being fully operatic. It's certainly more declamatory by its very nature, less action-oriented, but deeply operatic in the presentation of the themes and the range of expression in the music and singing. Mezzo-soprano Christel Loetzsch sings Antigone with all the sense of a 'true believer' (whether of the will of Gods or of her own sense of moral certainty), but you can feel the deep emotional sense of loss at the tragedy of her brother's/brothers' fate. Soprano Anna Prohaska's timidity as Ismene can also be seen suggesting a more cautious response, a wiser one even. Creon is of course a bass, and Tómas Tómasson's performance makes you feel deeply involved in his predicament as one bad decision sets off a chain of horrific events. There are solid performances here to from baritone, Jarrett Ott (a Messenger), tenor Thomas Atkins (Haemon), bass Edwin Crossley-Mercer (Tiresias) and even an unearthly sounding counter-tenor Serge Kakudji appropriately as the Greek Chorus.

External links: Philharmonie de Paris, ARTE Concert

Rossini - Armida (Ghent, 2015)

Giaochino Rossini - Armida

Opera Vlaanderen, Ghent 2015

Alberto Zedda, Mariame Clément, Carmen Romeu, Enea Scala, Robert McPherson, Dario Schmunck, Leonard Bernard, Adam Smith

Dynamic DVD

Operas set around the Crusades were popular in the 18th and 19th century and, often drawing inspiration from Ariosto's Orlando Furioso and Torquato Tasso's La Gerusalemme liberata featuring the mythical figures of Orlando/Rinaldo and the sorceress Armida, you can see the opportunities for heroism and enchantment. Composed in 1817 for the reopening of the Teatro San Carlo in Naples which had been burnt down, Rossini's Armida however, while it certainly draws on these elements for some fine musical writing and has its share of heroism and enchantment, appears to be more geared towards presenting a showcase for its leading singers than in delivering any meaningful narrative purpose or emotional truth.

That however doesn't prevent Mariame Clément from trying to impose some kind of half-baked 'concept' onto the 2015 Opera Vlaanderen production. I can understand that playing it straight with Armida is just as likely to not be very successful, but Clément's half-way house approach, aligning the idea of heroism with sporting achievement and throwing in some random elements doesn't really achieve anything. At the start of Act I, we see the celebrating Frankish soldiers in robes and chainmail, covered in the blood from their latest battle, fooling around with a blow-up doll in what looks like a sports stadium. Goffredo, on the other hand dressed in a modern suit, orders them to respect the honour of their dead commander Dudone.

In the midst of the celebration, Armida the sorceress arrives, full of Eastern mysticism, asking for help to claim the throne that has been stolen by Idraote. It's a scheme of course, but she was perhaps not counting on Rinaldo being chosen to lead a group of warriors that will be sent to help her. She and Rinaldo have history, but Armida's ability to use her magic for enchantment allows her to bind and blind Rinaldo and the other men to her wiles. What she wasn't counting on was her love for Rinaldo resurfacing or the devastation it would cause when his men help the similarly lovestruck Rinaldo escape from her clutches and return to his heroic mission.

It's not the most thrilling or dramatic of situations. Schemes are weaved, declarations are made that aren't particularly noteworthy, but they often lead up to dramatic finales with rousing choruses, huge crescendos and show stopping numbers at the end of Act I and Act III. Act II however feels rather more like a time filler and the director is unable to find any way of enlivening it. As with Act I the production doesn't resemble any visual descriptions in the libretto or synopsis. The Prince of Hell, Astarotte’s demons are the former Crusaders, still drenched in blood but now wearing black football shirts. Armida and Rinaldo wake up not in a forest on the pleasure island of Fortune but on a couch, and since Armida is a sorceress there's no reason I suppose she shouldn't make their repose a little more comfortable than on a forest floor. There's not much else in the way of enchantment spectacle, the couch merely floating up for a group of nymphs to make their entrance.

Act III doesn't get a great deal more exciting dramatically, but the interesting resonances that Armida has with operas past and to come is more evident here. On the one hand you can clearly hear Rossini's debt to Mozart's Die Zauberflöte in the enchanted forest with the return of the nymphs and there are echoes of Così fan tutte's 'Soave sia il vento' in the duet between Armida and Rinaldo. Wagner comes to mind more than once in terms of mythology and heroism, not so much musical, in the attempted seduction of knights by the Parsifal-like flower maiden nymphs and there are parallels with Tannhäuser's leaving of Venus in Rinaldo's escape from the enchantment of Armida for a more noble enterprise. Originally written to showcase the range of Isabella Colbran, it's Armida however who gets the last word here.

If Mariame Clément's direction doesn't really bring any more depth to the work, the fault is probably more with the opera than the production. The narrative might be slim and the characterisation paper thin, so the most you can hope for is that the production at least remains close enough to give you a sense of where the real qualities of the work are, which is in the music and the singing. The sporting rivalry, chainmail and football outfits don't really work, but at the same time there is no reason to take this opera seria too seriously. The rivalry of the jealous Gernando plays well with some comic elements in Act I, but Act II is rather inert and not much to look at, failing to make anything of the nymph seduction pantomime. Rossini’s 'danza' music however is wonderful. There are no new ideas floated in Act III, with simple backdrops and more imagery of the 'soul' of Rinaldo (or something) as a footballer. It definitely looks like there is a shortage of ideas with what to do with the opera, but maybe it's not the most inspiring work by Rossini. Or maybe the budget isn't there.

Rossini's Armida may not be the most exciting or magical episode in the story of Orlando/Rinaldo and Armida, but as an opera seria it certainly presents opportunities for strong heroic roles and sparkling singing performances and the chance for singers to show their range. Carmen Romeu sings Armida well, but it's clear that it is an enormously challenging role and the direction never quite manages to give her much character to explore. Armida's final number 'Se al mio crudel tormento' is delivered well, but in the context of the work/production feels like it is lacking any real purpose. The other roles, the opera having no less than four tenor roles, are well taken with an impressive Enea Scala as Rinaldo contrasting well with Robert McPherson in the high tenor range as Gernando and Dario Schmunck as Goffredo. Musically, there is much to enjoy in Rossini's score and the Vlaanderen orchestra is well-conducted with delicacy and a lightness of touch by Alberto Zedda.

The quality of the Dynamic DVD release of Armida - reviewed here from a 14 DVD box set Rossini Serio (e Semiserio) - is not great when viewed on a High Definition display. Some DVD players may be able to handle the conversion better, but to me there was too much discolouration and blocky compression artefacts. The opera is spread across two DVDs, Act 1 & 2 on disc 1, Act 3 on disc 2. The uncompressed LPCM 2.0 and the Dolby Digital 5.1 audio tracks are excellent with detail and good separation in the mixing of the orchestra. Curiously two male dancers wearing very little take a curtain call who I have no recollection of appearing anywhere in the production. Perhaps my attention is lacking (it's not the most thrilling of operas) as I can't imagine that this scene was cut from the DVD release.

External links: Opera Ballet Vlaanderen

Glass - Satyagraha (Paris, 2026)

Philip Glass - Satyagraha

Opéra National de Paris, 2026

Ingo Metzmacher, Bobbi Jene Smith, Or Schraiber, Anthony Roth Costanzo, Ilanah Lobel-Torres, Olivia Boen, Davóne Tines, Amin Ahangaran, Adriana Bignagni Lesca, Deepa Johnny, Nicky Spence, Nicolas Cavallier, Alexander Bozinoff, Lorrin Brubaker, Jeremy Coachman Jonathan Fredrickson, Marion Gautier de Charnacé, Awa Joannais, Héloïse Jocqueviel, Payton Johnson, Rachel McNamee, Mermoz Melchior, Adrien Ouaki, Ido Toledano

Palais Garnier, Paris - 14th April 2026

Satyagraha is a multi-layered work, which is perhaps to state the obvious since that's true of any opera, but I think even more so in the case of Glass’s second opera. There is a noticeable shift away from the more experimental Einstein in the Beach, but Satyagraha still remains unconventional in its format and presentation, using conventional but reduced groups of acoustic instruments (strings and woodwind, no brass or percussion) that almost imitate the rapidly played Philip Glass Ensemble keyboard arpeggios alongside scenes with actual electronic keyboard flourishes. Each one of the work's layers, musical and conceptual, are however necessary and completely true to the nature and intent of the message of the "truth force" (satyagraha) of non-violent resistance that it intends to put across in this medium; and indeed does so impressively, inspiring some spectacular stage productions over the years. The latest production at the Paris Opéra is no exception.

When I say layered, Satyagraha is layered in its whole conception, since it has complex conflicting ideas it wants to work through. Opera is the ideal medium for that of course, at the same time being flexible enough to allow Glass tremendous scope to innovate and remain true to his own voice. On one level the opera considers the dilemma of the warrior Arjuna in the ancient Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita as he is conflicted over his duty to join the battle or follow his own inner voice that rejects violence. On another level, Glass explores the influence of the work as the foundation of Mohandas Gandhi's movement of non-violent resistance through selected scenes from his life and applies it to how that message is taken forward through Rabindranath Tagore, Leo Tolstoy and Martin Luther King Jr. The music and singing provide another accumulative level to the emotional, philosophical and ideal truth force of non-violent resistance as a path to peace and justice, seeking to embody it less in narrative than in a trance-like meditation of the mantra-like delivery of the Sanskrit libretto.

Satyagraha already has these multiple layers built-in, but the stage production provides the opportunity for a creative director to add a few more and, based on past history of productions, such is the nature of the work and its subject that this opera can easily sustain them with overloading or detracting from its essential purpose. The spectacle of Phelim McDermott's production for the English National Opera (which I saw three times in its 2006/07, 2009/10 and 2021/22 seasons) which also transferred to the Metropolitan Opera in New York, adhered relatively closely to the journey of Gandhi in his path to resistance, or at least recognised it as the central focus of the work. In that production Constance De Jong's libretto taken from the Bhagavad Gita and sung in Sanskrit, was not subtitled or translated as it was believed (with some merit) that the work and its message could speak for itself.

The new 2026 Paris production directed and choreographed by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber would beg to differ and accordingly they take a different course through the work presumably towards the same end. That's somewhat in the spirit of the whole Krishna-Arjuna dialogue in the Bhagavad Gita that underpins the work, in which the eternal struggle between the individual self and the higher Godself is resolved through the imperative of putting aside doubt and just taking action. The directors then choose to ditch the outline structure as it relates to Gandhi and instead explore the Arjuna narrative, in the process even removing the names of the principal singing characters, reducing them to voice types. In this refinement of the work - that nevertheless takes nothing away from it - it becomes more of a spiritual journey and that is enhanced through the focus on movement and dance rather than dramatic action.

The premise of this version is then made relatively simple, taking its lead from the opening scene's dialogue from the Bhagavad Gita between Arjuna and Krishna on the eve of the war between the Kuruvas and the Pandavas royal families. The outcome of Arjuna’s actions become the motivating force through the remainder of the opera in this production to rise above the individual desires and seek a higher purpose and truth. Set in what looks like a kind of assembly hall or rehearsal room with raised platforms and doors to the sides - with Gandhi, Tagore, Tolstoy and King looking on from above - in the first scene of Act I: The Kuru Field of Justice, a soldier in modern military uniform is manipulated into the killing of his fellow man by dark forces, both internal and external. A stage at the back of the hall which remains dark, light occasionally cutting through the mist, suggests that this is a space for an internal, emotional or personal journey. But it's not enough for this to be just a individual struggle to come to terms with one's own personal demons; the man has to reconcile his own belief in truth and justice with the reality of the outside world and bring others along with him to believe in the power of non-violent resistance.

If there is one key phrase repeated throughout the libretto that might have inspired the directors and choreographers Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber, it would seem to be the need to become "athletes of the spirit", as this is what is expressed in a production that aspires through movement and dance to match those heights of finding the truth force of Satyagraha achieved in the music and the singing. Glass's flowing rhythmic pulsating score for the opera is ideally suited for this approach, Glass having composed dance sections already for Lucinda Childs' choreography in sections of Einstein on the Beach and going on to create dance pieces for Twyla Tharp's In The Upper Room in 1986. Despite abandoning any traditional opera narrative, the ballet works just as effectively in the hands of Smith and Schraiber, each scene finding fresh ways to express aspects of the man in his internal struggle to reach a higher level, to be a better representative of what man can be in the battle with the corruption of the outside world. Figures then emerge out of the crowds and chorus to join and give strength to the movement.

The new Paris production of Satyagraha succeeds marvellously through its adherence to the spirit and spiritual element of the opera. In the central point of the opera, in Scene 2: Indian Opinion of Act II - Tagore (although the scene is no longer tied to the Gandhi narrative), the dancers step into a joined spiral of simple rhythmic dance steps in one of the most beautiful pieces in the production. It might look simple, but that's the beauty of it; it makes you feel like you want to get up and join them. That's also a quality within the work itself and within the deceptively simple repetitions of Philip Glass's music. In reality it's much more complex than it looks and sounds, in how it takes its time and builds, accumulating weight and meaning in its very structure and indeed movement, much more than just relying on words and narrative.

This is really Philip Glass’s Parsifal; a work that touches deep on what it means to be human and suffer in an imperfect world, but strive to achieve peace and inspire change that will save the world. Living in a time when injustice, inequality, violence and genocidal killing have reached new levels of obscenity, it's not hard to see how that sentiment is now more important than ever. What it also shows us - and which this production's focus and sense of movement highlights even more - is the history of the great names who have resisted through the years, showing that the battle needs still needs to be fought though the path of non-violent resistance. In that respect this is one modern opera that will endure because it has something that will always be relevant to the times, and it will always be important to remind ourselves of its message. Its form and conception are also key to its promise of longevity, the persuasive music showing how to rebuild and gain force though constant progression, reiteration and gradual change.

The unconventional orchestration and use of instruments - the orchestra essentially having to become an extended Philip Glass Ensemble without the same experience of performing this kind of fast flowing music of repetition and sudden changes - must present considerable challenges. The performance of the Paris orchestra under Ingo Metzmacher however was impressive and indeed persuasive, the delivery firm and seductive as it just washed across the Palais Garnier carrying everyone along with it. The singing likewise was extraordinarily good, as it can't but be in this opera, this time with countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo coming from Akhnaten in the Glass 'Portrait Trilogy' to the principal (Gandhi) role here. Usually a high tenor part, Costanzo retained the sweetness of the timbre while still incredibly managing to cut through the ensembles and even (vitally) rise above the huge chorus scenes. All the voices and how they come across is important in Satyagraha and it couldn't have been better arranged and directed, all credit to chorus master Ching-Lien Wu. The dance choreography is stunning, but no more or less important than any other element, other than perhaps bringing a robustness that adds another dimension that further enhances the meaning of the work.

I remarked in my review of the Live in HD cinema broadcast of this opera at the Metropolitan Opera in 2011 that it seemed like Glass and this opera were finally receiving belated recognition, but with all nine performances of this new production of Satyagraha at the Paris Opéra selling out months ago (I was only able to pick up a return on the actual day of the performance), it's clear that both this uncompromising work and its composer have achieved a popular status that few could have imagined when it premiered in Rotterdam in 1980. I fully expect that that this production, like the hugely successful Phelim McDermott production, will be revived at some stage and see future new productions, but if you can't wait, a performance of this current run will be broadcast live on the pay-per-view Paris Opera Play (POP) streaming service on the 24th April.

External links: Opéra National de Paris, Paris Opera Play (POP)
Production photographs: Yonathan Kellerman, OnP

Braxton - Ghost Trance Music (Belfast, 2026)

Anthony Braxton - Ghost Trance Music

Sonorities Festival Belfast, 2026

Multiphonic Miniatures – Sarah Watts
Tesserae (a graphic score in G minor) – Ioana Petcu-Colan
Ghost Trance Music – Anthony Braxton

Queen's University, Sonic Arts Research Centre, Belfast - 18th April 2026

"You Might Not Like It" is the disarming but refreshingly honest motto for Belfast's biennial Sonorities Festival of new and experimental music performances, panels and workshops, but for those of us 'in the know' or perhaps more accurately those of us who have some idea to expect the unexpected it's an opportunity to open your mind to the possibilities of what new and future music can be. You still might not always 'like' it but you will definitely hear music unlike anything you've heard before, often played on objects you've never thought of as musical instruments and, if open to the experience, you are likely to be impressed at the imaginative programming, the musicianship and the unique creativity of the works. I was only able to make it to one event this year, but all those elements were definitely on display in the programme of pieces for Ghost Trance Music.

The programme opened with a short solo piece by Sarah Watts, a familiar figure here as a member of the city's new music specialists the Hard Rain SoloistEnsemble. The piece was advertised as 'Multiphonic Miniatures' but in a change of programme or perhaps as an alternative title Sarah Watts played her composition 'It's All I've Known', a piece written as a site specific work that was to be played on contrabass clarinet in the closed down disused cooling tower of the Nottinghamshire Ratcliffe-on-Soar power station. Much more than being an experiment in acoustics, the piece is a response of a community to the closure of the station, a familiar landmark in the town, a place where many have worked for years, part of the whole fabric of the community.

Watts' resonant music evoked that deep connection between the place and the people, the sound engineer at the QUB Sonic Arts and Research Centre creating a surround-sound echoing reverb that somehow managed to replicate the sense of being in the building, while a projection of a series of photographs rising up the interior of the cooling tower were projected on a large screen behind the stage. The intent to place you within the music is ideally what every composer wants and this was as close to being there as possible, but the music itself was also just as effective in connecting to a place lost in time and memories, fitting in perfectly with the nature of programme's ghost trance music theme.

Ioana Petcu-Colan, first violinist and leader of the Ulster Orchestra and wonderful advocate for new music, found another new and original way to expand the scope of music and extend its outreach with a score that is unique in its compositional form with her composition 'Tesserae (a graphic score in G minor)'. I recall Brian Irvine (also on the stage later this afternoon) introducing the Brilliant Corners Jazz Festival audience to the wonders of the graphic score by getting members of the audience to scribble on a flip-chart and present it to his 12 piece orchestra to play. In 'Tesserae' Ioana Petcu-Colan took the graphic score to the level of multimedia artwork in five sections which she created and which was displayed just outside the hall. Incorporating pieces of broken cello strings and previously-played violin bow hair, the piece becomes the score, the blue representing G Minor, the rest open for three musicians from the Hard Rain SoloistEnsemble - David McCann (cello), Aisling Agnew (flute), Sarah Watts (contrabass clarinet) - to interpret and play.

The idea of an artwork for a music score might sound a little random, experimental and abstract but musically, as played by the ensemble, it was expressive and accessible and came across beautifully as interpreted by the musicians. Normally working with a conventional score, although often with markings for extended techniques, this was a new kind of a challenge, requiring not improvisation exactly, but very much about interpreting and responding in the moment. I spoke to Ioana afterwards and she was delighted that the performed piece sounded almost exactly as she imagined, but the beauty of the score is that it is not fixed as conventional notes on a page and would be capable of sounding quite different with other musicians and instruments in another location entirely. As such there is no predetermined meaning that the score is meant to represent, it being rather an attempt to get across a musical idea on the part of the composer, incorporating objects that have actual musical and performance history, translating that through the installation and the musicians to speak to the listener. I found it wonderfully entrancing, which is presumably the intent of a programme based around Ghost Trance Music.

The challenges of musical interpretation take on another level of complexity entirely when presented with a graphic score by Anthony Braxton. Notionally a jazz composer and musician, Braxton's music is much more varied and defies any easy categorisation. Indeed, as Alexander Hawkins noted when he introduced the piece, Braxton never settles for doing the same style of music or work with a band of the same musicians for very long. His 'Ghost Trance Music' compositions, which comprise of around 150 pieces written between 1995 and 2006, must present a formidable challenge for any group of musicians to approach, combining traditional and graphic scores with space left within that for improvisation, interpretation and even inclusion of other pieces of his compositions.

That challenge is made just that little bit easier I imagine when you have eight musicians (and composers) of the highest level on the stage of the SARC, including several who have played regularly alongside Braxton. The Hard Rain SolistEnsemble with Ioana Petcu-Colan on violin were joined with Brian Irvine on electronics, Matthew Wright on turntable and live sampling, Alexander Hawkins on piano and Stephen Davis on drums. The 45-minute performance of 'Ghost Trance Music - Composition #245' is indeed intended to bring the listener into a trance-like state through its evolving and changing parts. It can sound chaotic when all eight musicians are playing together - or not so much chaotic as difficult to find a musical centre - but little modular sound groups of several musicians develop and expand on pulses and rhythms suggested by the graphic score and draw the listener in compellingly.

It's just as easy however to find yourself lost as get yourself lost in the composition, not always knowing where all the sounds were coming from in that "joyful commotion" as Sonorities prefer to describe the programming. Is that sound you're hearing electronics, turntable sampling, prepared piano, Alexander Hawkins's electronic box of tricks or that wind-up musical box that Aisling Agnew is holding to the microphone? to say nothing of the percussive sounds played on all the instruments - but the key is not to trying too hard to find a way in but instead let the music take you there. And essentially this is what this programme and the Sonorities Festival Belfast is all about, recommending that you to put aside preconceived ideas of what you think music should be and let the composer's music carve its own course via the musicians. You just need to open up and let it in.

Towards the end of the performance Alexander Hawkins scuttled across the stage with a sheet of music to give cues to Davis and Irvine to presumably include an unplanned concluding section. You expect experienced improvisational musicians like Hawkins, Davis, Wright and Irvine to be able to adapt to such a change but it was also taken up seemingly effortlessly by the experienced Hard Rain Ensemble musicians who, as practitioners of new and experimental contemporary music, never looked at all out of their comfort zone. It was around that point that I found that I was finally yielding to the ghost trance state just as the piece ended, or perhaps it's only when the music ends that you realise you've been there all along and probably even from the beginning of the whole programme.

External links: Sonorities Festival Belfast, Hard Rain SoloistEnsemble

Wilson - Lost Voices (Farpoint CD, 2026)

Ian Wilson - Lost Voices

Voces amissae ('Lost Voices')
for voice, cello, three violas and two percussionists
Lotte Betts-Dean, mezzo-soprano
Ensemble Musikfabrik
Ian Wilson, conductor

Farpoint Recordings CD, 2026

Ian Wilson's Voces amissae ('Lost Voices', 2023) approaches a vast subject with minimal musical and lyrical means. A 50-minute work for mezzo-soprano, cello, three violas and two percussionists, it looks at the subject of how voices can be silenced - whether through political or domestic oppression, though a medical condition or simply in how the growing use of technology and mobile phones distances us from being able to communicate and fully express ourselves. More than just telling us about this, the work invites the listener to feel this experience for themselves - to a necessarily lesser degree - as a way of reflecting on just how important an issue it is for us all.

Personal experience lies behind the inspiration for this subject and the approach that was undertaken to present it. The Irish composer Ian Wilson was working on a project to be sung by the Dutch soprano Nora Fischer, only to discover that Fischer was at that time suffering from vocal difficulties. Rather than abandon the project, the composer and singer chose to explore the challenges this loss of voice presented and widened the subject to consider other 'lost voices' that had been silenced, the personal impact of this, and how one might overcome the problem. Using excerpts from a number of interviews undertaken by Fischer and Wilson within a framework of extracts from "Under the glass of the volcano" by the Serbian poet Draginja Adamović, Lost Voices is performed here by the Australian mezzo-soprano Lotte Betts-Dean and Ensemble Musikfabrik, conducted by the composer and recorded live at Ensemble Musikfabrik Studio in Köln in 2024

The subject dictating form to an extent, the work approaches several fundamental aspects of music that most perhaps take for granted. One is the question of what exactly music is, how it is formed from sounds and noises, how it breaks silence and how the instruments interact with each other to create a voice for expression of ideas and emotions. The other is the impression that music makes on us, how we are drawn to those sounds and how we process them. Perhaps above all there is a consideration of how important sound, music and the voice is as a necessary means of communication. The challenge of course is how to present those themes and ideas in a way that allows you to appreciate the sounds, their importance and meaning.

In that respect, the use of minimal instrumentation here is complementary to Wilson's Orpheus Down (2021), which has no words, the music itself taking on the role of another 'lost voice' struggling to deal with death and bereavement, undertaking a journey so important that it necessitates overcoming the darkness of the Underworld to find what has been lost and bring it back. The musical and vocal elements of Lost Voices take us on a similar journey, the music often evolving out of silence, starting out as noises, clicks and humming drones, taking form and shape and finding a path through the struggle into a form of rhythm and melody. Evidently it's the voices that take precedence here in the consideration of what it means if we lose that voice or it is taken away from us, how to find that voice again and how necessary it is as something that helps us understand and express "what it is to be alive and feel a sense of joy".

The often unconventional instrumentation seeks to find the most effective way to express and share the physical and emotional complexity of a variety of human experiences surrounding this; painful experiences that can't simply be put into words, but each demonstrating resilience and a willingness to find a way through them. It's as close to sharing and feeling those experiences that you would want to come. The strings - only cello and violas, instruments with a range closest to the human voice - fight against percussive sounds that for brief periods and short interludes rumble, rustle and drone, with flickers of voices and singing on distant radio programmes cutting through. Silence and space are also used to allow the pieces to breathe, to let silence exert its own power.

In such an environment every note and sound has purpose; nothing is superfluous. The music and words can speak of violence one minute - harsh rustling sounds lying behind the words of the the woman forced into an arranged marriage and forbidden to sing with threats of beatings - and silence the next, silence as another form of choice of expression; "My silence is marvellously untouchable to you", she observes. In the journey from 'Interlude 5' to 'Six months in hospital' we hear the singer who has lost her voice to an operation gasping for breath and words amidst scratching sounds that evolve into ringing bell (bells and vibraphones seem to embody optimism), the rising strings holding firmness of purpose, building strength and resilience before the reality of the present loosens the grip, spiralling and descending back into a deadening beat.

Evidently, the piece is not seeking to seduce you with sweet sounds that are pleasing to the ear, but Lost Voices nonetheless has an operatic quality in terms of its dramatic and musical phrasing, taking the listener on a journey through its development of a theme. Its unconventional presentation however draws attention to the importance of how music allows us to be a part of the progression of the subject; something that we aren't often aware of or just take for granted. Here it feels like we are given a unique and intimate behind-the-scenes look at the creation and evolution of a musical piece. Which is not to say that the piece is unfinished or unpolished, but rather that the form replicates the subject, leaving room for the listener to find their own space within it and bring that essential additional element of personal investment.

The actual recordings of the interviews gathered for the project could perhaps have been blended in to make this more of a multimedia piece, and those voices might have been interesting to hear, but the process of turning them into song is perhaps more vital to the aim of the project, reflecting the process of transforming sounds and noises into music, words into sentences and into singing. In any case, the different voices and what they convey each have a distinct character in subject and in how Ian Wilson composes music for them. As far as the composer is concerned, the musical voice is also respected here. There is nothing showy, nothing clever, the voice, the speaking, the singing used sparingly to relate only what is necessary, while each note of the music combines to give deeper expression that says something meaningful.

Considering the rapidly changing world we are living in, it is not difficult to place your own lost voice within this without it necessarily having been shut down; it can be all too easy for important voices to become drowned out in the bombardment of shouty social media and misinformation. And with AI progressing, the human voice and the human skills involved in conceptualising ideas and giving them meaningful expression are also in danger of becoming lost. One other thing you begin to appreciate when you listen to the stories and the arrangements here is the importance of the voice; the gift of having a voice can be taken for granted, whether that is as a physical voice, as a singing voice or as a tool for communication. Lost - or taken away - there is a realisation here of how precious a gift it is, one not to be taken lightly. 

It might sound like Lost Voices is an intense and challenging experience that demands a lot from the listener, but essentially it just asks you to listen, and the intricate sound design of the recording of the music here actually does a lot of the work for you, drawing your attention to the meaning and significance of what the words are telling you. That offers an immensely more rewarding experience that involves bringing the listener on a journey, guiding us through an immersive and enveloping experience that confronts ideas that we may not have considered before and takes us out the other side; or at least shows us that there are other ways out. If we can't raise our voices above the noise, we can at least use that gift more wisely.

Voces amissae ('Lost Voices') 50' 00”

Music composed by Ian Wilson
Texts: four poems by Draginja Adamović (Serbia, 1925-2000) and transcriptions of excerpts from a number of interviews undertaken by Nora Fischer and Ian Wilson
Performed by mezzo-soprano Lotte Betts-Dean and Ensemble Musikfabrik, conducted by the composer

Recorded live at Ensemble Musikfabrik Studio, im Mediapark, Köln, 16th December 2024
Recorded, edited and mixed by David Stalling
Noise reduction by Lazar Arsović
Created with funds from the Arts Council of Ireland

First edition of 300 published by Farpoint Recordings, 2026
Produced by Ian Wilson and David Stalling
Mastered by David Stalling at Stille & Klang, Co. Westmeath, Ireland

Photography and design by Doreen Kennedy

CD Project co-ordinated by David Stalling and Anthony Kelly.

External links: Lost Voices