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 reflect 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 as a physical voice, as 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