Month: April 2025

REVIEW: Sarah Roberts: Silkworm

Published on by Claire McArthurLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Sarah Roberts is determined to unapologetically be her (hot, talented and baffling) self

Sarah Roberts is hot and talented. Those are the two takeaways she sets out at the start of Silkworm, her now-touring 2024 Edinburgh Festival Fringe debut, but this comedian’s story is far more compelling.

Over the course of the hour, we’re taken through key elements of Sarah’s life, peppered with pop culture deep cuts, unapologetically directed at the chronically online (and I’m here for this, screaming crying throwing up) and unabashedly open with her deepest secrets. We seesaw between topics as varied as S Club Juniors, a baffling accolade from an interaction from Paul Mescal, facial surgery, volcanoes, girls schools, anxiety, Henry VIII, Candy Crush, “concerned” maturity, troubled teens from 00s dramas, boys on the 214 bus, self-awareness and family ancestry. There are some well-timed PowerPoint slides, used sparingly but to good effect to unpin some of the key cultural touchstones. This balances well with evident self-awareness and her razor-sharp observations about her own experiences. 

This is Sarah’s story, and she’ll share what she wants to share, regardless of what the audience response might be to certain stories, which makes it all the more funnier. Her frank and open approach is commendable, and shines with authenticity.  This is less ‘new best friend you’ve met in the club toilets’ and instead is something more real, like your actual BFF admitting her darkest secrets whilst out at brunch, adding a layer of charm and elevating it beyond just shared experiences.

There was more crowd interaction than I expected, and the rapport built nicely on repeated returns. Tonight’s audience weren’t always the warmest, and some lines received fewer laughs than I felt they warranted. To Sarah’s credit, she acknowledged this and persisted, they were won over as the show progressed.

The Monkey Barrel venue was on typical good form. There was a fair amount of plosive mic noises at the start of the show, but these improved as it went on, and the interactive PowerPoint elements went well. A slightly laggy video at the end of show dampened the impact a little, but still produced a great effect.

As we reached the climax of the show, there are a couple of revelations that acted as both a fitting conclusion, and an insight of what might come from her in future shows. This section had a lovely vibrancy to it, and if she chooses to mine this rich seam or not, her subsequent shows will be ones worth watching out for.  Regardless of the subject matter, it seems that Sarah Roberts is determined to unapologetically be her (hot, talented and baffling) self, in any room, and her career will be one to watch with interest.

REVIEW: The Argument

Published on by fbalchinLeave a comment

Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

A promising premise about reality and performance

What starts out with a very promising premise descends into confusing chaos.

The core conceit, according to writers Alfie Lanham-Brown and George Abbot, is that through the power of arguing, the performers are “guided entirely by ideas from the audience, we are going to answer some big questions via some serious discussion.” Sounds rather intriguing I thought.

It started off strongly to Britney Spears’ Womanizer blaring through the speakers as audience members are individually greeted into the black box basement space of the Barons Court Theatre. So far, so unnerving. I took a strategic seat towards the back of the room, and what followed was a one hour whirlwind led by the aforementioned Alfie and George, who were for some reason dressed in suits like they were fresh from a political cabinet meeting.

Formed of three acts, each one involved further audience interaction as the “arguments” progressed. My suspicions were raised when we were never actually told what an argument is, nor are the audience informed of any structure or rules beyond a half hearted attempt at a mutual contract about generally not being offensive. In fact it should really be called The Debate, but that would have started an argument.

The topic of “the future of theatre” was conveniently chosen first, with Alfie pitting himself against George alongside some minor audience heckling disguised as input. The “argument” was less an argument and more of a shouting match of unoriginality.

For the next act we were told to discuss the topic of AI with the person next to us for two minutes. This proved to be the only time I actually encountered anything resembling an argument and I offered some viewpoints to my friend who returned the favour. This was confusing, as I could have done this sat in the pub upstairs.

[Spoilers ahead]

Then in a neat touch, it appeared that there had been actors planted in the audience all along. It descended into chaos quite quickly though as actors revealed themselves in ever more contrived ways and began to argue amongst themselves over who had the next line or who was getting paid to be there. It turned out about half the audience was in fact an actor. At one point as more people began to stand up I began to question my own sanity- was I the only genuine audience member there? I then remembered how almost every person who had answered a question or offered a suggestion was actually an actor. This created a confusing anticlimax. The whole show therefore didn’t have much of any genuine audience participation, then.  Nor was it spontaneously unscripted and free flowing with challenging ideas. I felt duped. Early on in the show I recall thinking it felt like every person speaking in the room had main character energy and now I know why. Rather bizarrely, the show just sort of ends as all the actors dance onstage like they’re in a nightclub before the two leads have a fight and then the audience is awkwardly shuffled out in silence.

Ironically, the whole piece therefore feels completely inorganic. I’m still not sure if it’s meant to be meta and its references to theatre and AI speak to a more complex discussion to be had about reality and how live theatre can make you remain grounded in the present. If the purpose was to question the link between reality and performance, they achieved it because I certainly questioned what was real, just not in a positive way. The plot twist is clever but doesn’t really lead to anything. I just wish there had actually been an argument in a show called The Argument.

Jan Lisiecki, Daniel Müller-Schott, Tomo Keller and Acadamy of St. Martin in the Fields in Köln Philharmonie

REVIEW: ASMF with Anthony Roth Costanzo

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A night of immense spiritual and acoustic comfort

One week prior to Good Friday 2025, countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo joined forces with the Academy of St Martin in the Fields under the direction of Tomo Keller. The programme featured excerpts from Handel’s Messiah, Haydn’s lesser-performed symphonic piece, and the European premiere of LAIꓘA, a new work by contemporary composer Osvaldo Golijov.

The night opened with Haydn’s Symphony No. 26 in D minor, nicknamed Lamentatione. Composed early in his career, the work remains relatively lesser known and underperformed. However, it proved an apt choice for Easter, restrained elegance, mournful spirituality, and a hint of hope. Conducted by Keller as the first violinist, the chamber orchestra of ASMF interweaves serenity into the allegro, and the harpsichord implicitly embeds Baroque elegance and ornamentation, even when Haydn is seldom considered as a Baroque composer. The shift to F major in the adagio is gracefully seamless, and in the final minuet & trio, the orchestra offered a more passionate and vibrant interpretation, as if you may already imagine a spring in full bloom.

The super-star of the night, undisputedly, is Anthony Roth Costanzo. Brimming with a dramatic demeanour, this three-Grammy winner brought UK the premiere of LAIꓘA, a newly-composed work by Golijov written in collaboration with writer Leah Hager Cohen. This piece tells the story of the soviet space dog Laika who became the first living creature orbiting earth. Costanzo showcases incredible expressiveness and nuanced interpretation, truthful enough for you to believe they emerge from the soul and emotion of the stray dog himself, even as you’re fully aware that a countertenor shouldn’t, by any logic, be singing in a dog’s voice. He also proves his mastered skills to command Golijov’s highly-fluid, theatrical scores and Cohen’s intricate lyrics.

Costanzo’s great talent is again proved in Handel’s Messiah excerpts. Preceded by a brief reflection on the scandalous story of Mrs Cibber, Costanzo’s rendition of He Was Despised drew from a deep well of restrained emotion blending sorrow, ressentiment, moral fortitude, and dignity. Unlike some other male artists preferring to wear a campy “performative mask“ with exaggerated vocal affect to project a fatuous femininity, Costanzo carefully decodes the nuance emotional landscape of a character and then re-codes them through his own interpretive and expressive lens. There’s an undeniable authenticity in his voice even as you remain conscious that he’s a countertenor, not a soprano, and by all expectations, not meant to embody a soprano’s timbre.

The performance of the Academy’s orchestra, however, isn’t outshined at all. Their instrumental rendering of Couperin’s Premiere Leçons de Ténèbres brought waves of transcendental emotion that easily drowned you. Without the spiritual, guiding sopranos that sustain certain degrees of serenity and sombre, its religious context might be reduced, but the piece’s floating grief is still rather intact. Furthermore, the acoustic of St Martin in the Field also adds to a crisp and even sharp resonance to the strings, reflecting a sonic freshness which I enjoyed very much.

REVIEW: The Sorcerer

Published on by John RichardsonLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

A charming but risk averse production of one of the more flawed G&S operettas

The Sorcerer remains one of the middling Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, not necessarily in quality but in popularity. It sits neither on the fray, or as part of the more well known plays like the Mikado. There’s a lot of reasons for that but after seeing it for my first time – I understand why.

With a plot mostly revolving around one of G&S’ more frequently used tropes – love potions producing unexpected couples – it doesn’t reach the magical heights of Iolanthe or the hilariously devious contrivances of Pirates of Penzance. It instead feels a magnitude or two less clever, less funny and less memorable than other G&S plays, and as much as EDGAS try and provide their own little extra charms and jokes – these aren’t going to change that, despite the very mild laugh in seeing a couple dressed as Charlie Chaplin and Sherlock Holmes in the play.

The costumes are a highlight for me, just as they were in their previous production, showing creative charm on an amateur budget. The sorcerer for example dons an incredible black and silver pinstripe suit, giving this sleazy stylish outfit befitting of a cheeky, morally dubious salesman who isn’t particularly interested in the ethics of making an entire town drink love potions.

This isn’t to say lighting, choreography or other aspects of production is bad to say – but they’re less impressive even considering it’s an amateur production, and importantly less creative or risky. This seems a pattern for EDGAS and admittedly is more of a personal (and generational, judging by the age of the audience) taste that some people will care less about. EDGAS are risk averse compared to more contemporary (and usually younger) productions, for better or worse. I do prefer the latter but there is space for both, and the value in seeing a less transformative production is well appreciated by the regular crowds – but don’t go expecting anything but a by the book performance.

The Sorcerer was however no doubt a fun production and I’m happy for having seen a new G&S production as usual, no it’s not as funny or biting as the Mikado but the satire of Victorian attitudes to romance and polite society are still fun and sadly a little too relevant.

Theodore Rankine-Fourdraine’s singing was a highlight again, with a gorgeous tenor voice that really dominates the soundscape, although this doesn’t cover up his body language in scenes where his shoulders appear unable to move giving a far more wooden performance than his voice. In opposition to that Sebastion Davidson take’s his role as John Wellington Wells, the titular Sorcerer particularly well. He oozes a sleazy but charismatic vibe that lets him dance and dazzle in his solo, performing an array of tricks and illusions the whole time. I can’t help but root for him despite everything. Constance as played by Emma Lawson has my second favourite song, she seems to have picked up a lot from teaching children in her day job as she’s so believable acting as an infatuated teenager with unrequited love.

EDGAS provides a good standard for amateur production and despite this just being my second time seeing them I feel confident saying you’re not going to have a bad time seeing any of their future productions – but also you’re not going to be amazed by them and I don’t think they’ll make you fall in love with G&S the way I did when I was young (as much as a 24 year old can say that). The Sorcerer is one of the earlier and rougher G&S plays, and despite still being good there’s going to be a limit on how good it can be whether a professional or amateur production. Perhaps it’s too safe and tropey for me (even for as G&S fan who admittedly loves a good trope or very silly plot) but it’s a fun operetta just about worth the ticket price of 21 pounds – but nothing more.

REVIEW: Bomb Factory Theatre Annual Showcase of New-Writing

Published on by Jack MassLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Bomb Factory Theatre: six emerging writers showcase their work at the Bush Theatre.

Founded by India Peppe and Merle Wheldon, Bomb Factory Theatre threw their annual new-writing showcase at the Bush Theatre, showcasing the work of women and non-binary writers. Six pieces were presented this year.

Bruh written by Emma Cooney, directed by Fred Wienand, starring Emma Cooney.

Bruh tells the story of Chrissie, convinced she’s destined for stardom, using the tragedy of a family medical crisis to get the attention she deserves, and “get laid” in the process. The piece is overall pretty entertaining. The writing is funny, the direction gives quite a lot to see in a short amount of time and Emma Cooney’s performance is fun: she’s playful with the audience and manage the rhythm of the piece beautifully. I struggled to see where the play was going though, and I guess it left me with the question: why?

Quad Loop written and directed by Inge-Vera Lipsius, starring Amy Lubach, Carlotta De Gregori, Chifaa Khelfaoui and Remi Shorunke-Samuel.

Quad Loop is a play about the doping scandal around the young Russian figure skater Kamila Valieva during the Winter Olympic Games in 2022. If the story is on paper very interesting, I found this piece frankly quite hostile which makes it very difficult to connect to. The four actors were very static, the light was very dark, and the direction made the whole feel very cold and disengaging despite the four performers doing their best to lift it up.

Growing Pains written by Bernice Leigh, directed by Joy Nesbitt, starring Ashleigh-Mae Schoburgh-Crooks.

Growing Pains explores the intersection of childhood, mental illness and race. This piece really stands out in the showcase. The story is interesting, the writing is quite witty and funny, the direction is dynamic giving lots to see with very little, and Ashleigh-Mae Schoburgh-Crooks is delivering a fantastic performance, both funny and very moving. I definitely wanted to see more of this piece.

Please Leave Your Gun In Your Locker written by India Peppe, directed by Jessy Roberts, starring Laura Marcus and Lily Blunsom-Washbrook.

Please Leave Your Gun In Your Locker is a coming-of-age story about growing up, growing apart and the difficulty of being seen. The writing is pretty smart and in general very funny, and the two performers are managing rhythm brilliantly. I’d probably question the direction a little, as we get to see archetypes rather than characters making it difficult to fully empathise with both of them, but I guess this finds its resolution when the play is longer and we have more time to discover the characters.

Let The Whale Die written by Meg Schadler, directed by Ben Quashie, starring Arabella Smith-James, Dionne Neish and Josh Tedeku.

Let The Whale Die tells the story of a woman dealing with the aftermath of her inaction when a whale slammed its body against the wall of its aquarium, surrounded by her boss, her mother and her partner wanting an explanation. This piece was by far the most original concept-wise.  The writing, although a bit repetitive at times, was very interesting and the direction created smart and fun images. The three actors really worked well together and found the balance between good humor and the darkness underneath it.  

Banned written by Sophie Max, directed by Merle Wheldon, starring Iona Champain and Ayse Babahan.

Set in a world where abortion is forbidden by law, Banned is the story of Leonne helping her best friend Jess who happens to be pregnant and desperately wants to find a solution. Of course, this piece politically resonates massively these days. This play was very obviously – maybe too obviously – the most political of the pieces presented in the showcase. The direction could have been spatially more dynamic but the writing was very good, finding humour in dark matters. The performances of both Iona Champain and Ayse Babahan were outstanding and very connected to each other, though. Champain is great in the first part of the piece and jumps from drama to comedy with ease and warmth, and Babahan’s delivery of the very emotional ending monologue was simply phenomenal.

If in general the level of the pieces presented was good, I expected them to be bolder and push further their creative boundaries, and maybe commit more to the promise of a “platform for fresh, unexpected stories that challenge the status quo”. 

REVIEW: A Brief Case of Crazy

Published on by Antonia ConstantinLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A quirky, heartwarming ride, full of tonnes charm, a bit of crazy, and quiet depth

In a world often spinning too fast, A Brief Case of Crazy offers something refreshing: a stripped-back, lovingly absurd story that manages to be deeply human. Staged at Riverside Studios, this delightful piece of physical theatre is part theatre, part clown, part love story, and part philosophical train ride through the unexpected intersections of loneliness and connection.

From the moment the lights go up, the chemistry between the three performers of the Skedaddle Theatre -Rowan Armitt-Brewster, Lennie Longworth and Samuel Cunningham—is completely electric. They move through the piece in total synchronicity, as if every beat, glance, and movement has been rehearsed not just for precision, but for joy. Their onstage connection sets the tone for a show that feeds on playfulness, tenderness, and pure physical skill.

The setup is deceptively simple: train platforms, repetitive announcements, and a briefcase. And yet within that mundanity, a whole world unfolds. There are hundreds of stories that might take place in a train station, but the show chooses to focus on one: a sweetly awkward, beautiful tale between Thomas, an introverted, geeky man, and Daisy, an exuberant, delightful girl. It is  a relationship that grows before our eyes, one that made me think of The Fisher King, Robin Williams’ movie where real trauma births a kind of beautiful crazy.

Their story unfolds with almost wordless comedy (Thomas never speaks)  carefully choreographed movement, and the kind of buffoonery that recalls the likes of Mr Bean or Charlie Chaplin.  For me this was like witnessing an evolution of silent film humour into the 21st century, full of sharp timing, goofy charm, and unexpected depth.

And then there’s the briefcase: not just a prop, but almost a character in its own right. The title A Brief Case of Crazyplays cheekily with the idea that what will be on stage might be a case of madness, but what we find instead is a briefcase wanting to make this story happen. 

The absurdity is layered: from a menacingly funny fly to a puppeteered seagull, to a surprisingly touching puppetry scene that had the audience quietly reflective.  I was genuinely grateful for this emotional jolt. It added a layer of depth and vulnerability that gently offset the surrounding comedy. What unfolded felt like a story within a story within a story, a glimpse into Thomas’s past, the trauma of losing his parents, and perhaps the very roots of his quirks and hesitations. It was as we were leaving behind the outer world of train platforms and comic mishaps, and stepping into the soft, shadowy corridors of Thomas’s inner life. And in that moment, the show reminded us that even the lightest comedy can carry something profoundly human just beneath its surface.

The costume design was pitch perfect. Thomas in his perfectly awful vest, Daisy in her happy blend of granny chic, and Simon as the slick, overgroomed foil to their misfit charm (he even grooms himself twice on stage, with increasing panache). These small choices anchor the comedy in character, making even the silliest moments feel grounded.

There’s a wonderful rhythm to the show, built around the repetitions of train announcements, matching movements, and a kind of life choreography that mirrors the way routine is disrupted when love appears. The result is so cute, so simple, and so true—a story about people out of sync finding their own offbeat harmony.

If you’re looking for something to make you smile, laugh, and quietly feel something deep under the surface, don’t miss A Brief Case of Crazy. It’s a 75-minute burst of joy and physical storytelling, a beautiful reminder that sometimes, the best kind of crazy is the kind you fall into headfirst. Catch it before it leaves the station, on the 20th of April. You can find out more here.

Credit: BTTF

REVIEW:Back to Terra Firma

Published on by gracewallisLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

An ambitious but promising piece of environmental futurism at Battersea’s beloved Theatre503.

Pulling off a ninety-minute piece of environmental futurism is no easy task – especially when few people these days feel like thinking about climate change, let alone the future. This unassuming three-hander, playing for a limited run at Theatre503, does an astonishingly good job at cracking open that can of worms.

Written and directed by Tamsin Flower, Back to Terra Firma follows a Romeo & Juliet– like story, mapped onto a near-future England split in two: City and Farmland. Ollie (Linn Johansson), a medical saleswoman from the City, and James (Matthew Coulton), a Farmland official, have to navigate the boundaries of their two very separate worlds as they fall in love. As they do so, they sift through the nuances, perks, and risks of their two extremes of living – one very poor, yet in harmony with the Earth (Farmland); the other wealthy and well-armored against it (City). Through James’ and Ollie’s budding relationship and its nature as a story set in the future, Back to Terra Firma reckons subtly with present-day anxiety about how to live “correctly” in step with the natural world and the boundaries we constantly have to cross in order to do so. 

There were quite a few bits that got lost in the weedy details – nothing out of the ordinary for a piece set in an unfamiliar geopolitical future. There were, understandably, quite a few rules to clarify in this new world of Terra Firma. It wasn’t clear, for example, where the feral boy that James takes care of came from or how – prior to landing on Terra Firma –  he’d gotten mixed up with a child army of incels and eco-terrorists. Or why, given that background, anyone thought it worthwhile to “rehabilitate” the kid. It also, more generally, wasn’t clear just how dire the state of the Farmlanders was, which muddied the stakes to a degree.

The maze of detail, however, was effectively cancelled out by the combined talent of the show’s cast as well as its brilliantly simple approach to staging. 

Put simply, the evening was a testament to grounded actors and wheeled set pieces. The drastic theatrical changes demanded as the play’s action migrated between Farmland and City were no match for this cast’s carefully choreographed set transformations. For a story in which a rooted sense of place – either City or Farmland – was vital for the characters and audience, Back to Terra Firma couldn’t have lived up to its title more, creating in a fringe theatre what even the most well-funded productions on the biggest stages often fail to achieve: a believable home for its characters.
I’m particularly hopeful about this humble little piece of environmental futurist theatre. Back to Terra Firma has all the elements it needs – a phenomenal cast, tasteful direction, and a highly relevant smattering of prescient themes – to take its next step forward, into its own exciting future.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Zygmund de Somogyi  and Lydia Walquist

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Composer Zygmund de Somogyi and trio Temporal Harmonies, Inc. curate a concert of all-contemporary music at Wigmore Hall, reflecting on the melancholia and hope(lessness) of existing as a young person in 2025; in association with the Royal Philharmonic Society and Wigmore Hall Learning and Participation. A Youngish Perspective holds this exclusive conversation with composer Zygmund de Somogyi and the Lydia Walquist, the flautist of Temporal Harmonies, Inc.

Your work draws from pop music, lo-fi YouTube videos, and social media culture—what do you think makes these influences so musically compelling?

Zygmund de Somogyi, composer: For me, it’s simply because those are some of the cultural benchmarks I’ve been exposed to. I didn’t grow up playing in orchestras or being around “classical music” kids, and didn’t come into composition from a “traditional” musical pathway. I’m very much a “write what you know” kind of composer, and for me, that means drawing from a lot of music I listened to, and a lot of the online cultures I spent time around: I was an internet kid—I was terminally online as a teenager, and that’s where I found a lot of kinship and belonging when I was younger.

When it comes to these two pieces I’ve written with Temporal Harmonies, Inc. for our upcoming concert at Wigmore Hall… I’ve recently become fascinated by a particular affect that I’ve seen permeate a lot of our online identities. We tend to use the internet as a place to express ourselves in ways that aren’t “acceptable” in real life—as a proverbial void we can scream into in the hopes that someone, anyone, might feel the same way we do. There’s a particular YouTube video that inspired the final piece of the concert, IN THE EVENT THAT YOU STAY, that I feel does exactly this—that someone posted kind of out of nowhere, and suddenly hundreds of thousands of people are sharing in their experiences of joy, sadness, and connection. I think these kinds of liminal connections are such a beautiful thing.

Music for the Quarter-Life Crisis feels deeply tied to the struggles of our generation—do you see this programme as more of a reflection, a critique, or something else entirely?

Lydia Walquist, Temporal Harmonies, Inc.: We see it as a reflection of our anxiety about our personal experience in trying to navigate our futures—and a critique on the systems in place that, in our eyes, are destroying any hope of a future as a human being. It’s pretty normal to worry about how we’re going to launch our career after leaving the cradle of the conservatoire, but on top of this transitional anxiety, we have to worry about if we’ll ever have a form of stable housing away from the financial blackhole of private rentals, historical climate disasters happening what seems like a monthly basis, corrupt leaders in charge of crumbling countries gilded in a thin facade of overconsumption. 

Zygmund: I guess it’s a little confrontational of a title… But that’s kind of the point. I guess one can call it a rage against the absolute shitshow that is the world right now. It’s certainly naive—I understand a few certain folks in the classical music world are already perplexed by the title—but also the world is fucked, and so many young people are feeling hopeless and overwhelmed about it and I wish someone could just tell us it’s okay to feel this way. It’s pivotal we have somewhere we’re able to discuss these feelings, you know?

There’s a balance of melancholia and hope in your compositions—do you think one ultimately wins out, or is the beauty in the tension between them?

Zygmund: That’s kind of where we are now, isn’t it—am I the only one who feels it? I definitely feel like my mental state is constantly oscillating between being a total doomer and this kind of strange, almost-naive optimism. I’ve recently felt this kind of weird push-pull in my compositions—between noise, dissonance, intensity on one end, and harmony, sincerity, maybe even romanticism on the other. So I guess you’re right in saying that there’s a beauty in the tension between those things.

Despite talking about my feelings on the state of the world in 2025, IN THE EVENT THAT YOU STAY has ended up being quite a personal piece. The work is divided into four movements (five if you count the prelude, music for the quarter-life crisis (synth étude), that opens the concert), each inspired by a particular memory, or vignette, from the transitory period of my life from 2024 to 2025—from indie video game Fear and Hunger 2: Termina (‘Moonscorched’), to New Years parties (‘Together We’ll Ring In the New Year’), to that one reunion I had with old school friends, knowing we’d all changed (‘Madeleine, Mortlake’). As I mentioned earlier, I tend to write what I know—and if it feels like there’s a balance of melancholia and hope in the musical language I use, I guess it’s because that’s how I experience the world.

Your background includes punk rock and DIY music—how do those roots shape the way you approach contemporary classical composition?

Zygmund: It informs my approach to everything. My time in punk rock spaces has been surrounded by some of the most supportive people I’ve ever had the privilege of coming across—people who really do this music thing because they love it. (I have to shout out my friend and punk mentor Mark, who runs INiiT Records and plays in punk band Our Lives in Cinema!) I actually still have a band—I sing and play guitar in Sheffield-based punk quartet Trouble Sleeping—and we’re currently working on our second album.

One of the biggest ways this ethos has informed my composition has to do with the nature of collaboration. I want the musicians I work with to be my friends—or at least, to know them as people, as humans, not just automatons playing these dots on a page. I’m incredibly grateful for my collaborators, Temporal Harmonies, Inc. (Lydia, Miki, Xiaowen)—who have not just been incredible musicians whose insights have been second to none in putting this score together, but have ended up becoming wonderful friends throughout this whole process. If you’re in London on Easter Saturday, I’m so excited for you to join us at Wigmore Hall!

If a listener could take away just one feeling or thought from IN THE EVENT THAT YOU STAY, what would you want it to be?

Lydia: I want the listener to walk away with the same feeling of hope and curiosity that inspires people to ask what they can feasibly do within their community—how to contribute to a change I think we desperately need.

Zygmund: It’s hard to pin down one particular feeling that I’m trying to express through IN THE EVENT THAT YOU STAY. But I write music as a way of expressing things I can’t with words—feeling seen, deeply, and seeing if anyone else feels a similar way. My favourite bands as a teenager mean so much to me because it feels like they truly understood what I was going through when no one else did. If I’m able to do even a fraction of that with my music, then it’s worth it for me.

How do you see the role of classical music evolving in a world increasingly dominated by digital and algorithm-driven culture?

Zygmund: I think so much of my music—and so much of the music I resonate with, both inside and outside of classical music—has to do with this kind of searching for meaning and feeling in this fragmented, hyper-digital, postmodern culture that we all find ourselves in. We’re bombarded by information, so much of it absolutely horrific, literally twenty-four hours a day. While I don’t know whether my art overtly reflects or mirrors the way we experience the world through this fragmented culture, I don’t think we can avoid the fact that the way we all think about, or understand, music and culture is intertwined with that fragmentation.

That being said, I feel the way classical music is portrayed today still feels so separated from our generation’s lived experiences. I’m not necessarily sure the solution is for classical institutions to programme the same music over and over, but this time with TikTok trends—or to be putting on the same problematic operas, but this time in a Shoreditch nightclub because it’s “edgy” (I say this as an opera composer!)—but I definitely feel we have a responsibility as creators to at least try and make authentic new work in these spaces that embodies some sort of change, even if we encounter resistance, or fall on our faces a bit during the process.

A hundred years ago, the music being composed was directly relevant to the world at the time; and that continued resonance is why it’s still being performed today. If we’re to remain relevant, surely we should be doing the same. As a composer, I feel that one of the most important things we can do is draw from what’s around us today—what’s culturally relevant to us today—rather than purely relying on the historic forms of composition and music-making that are taught at universities and conservatoires. That means tapping into ourselves and our peers—how we’re feeling, how we’re responding to what’s happening in the world right now. This is something I think composers like Ben Nobuto, Delyth Field, and Robin Haigh do really beautifully—seamlessly weaving contemporary musical techniques with a particular feeling that sharply resonates with many of our generation. I’m definitely nowhere near their levels, musically speaking, but their approach resonates with me so much, and something I’m trying to incorporate into all of the art I create.

Tickets and info can be find here: https://www.wigmore-hall.org.uk/whats-on/202504191300

REVIEW: Abigail’s Party

Published on by Lucy CLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

A stylish, entertaining production with strong performances, though the plot twist lacks impact

I went into Abigail’s Party not really knowing what to expect, but it turned out to be a funny, slightly odd night that left me thinking about class, awkward social dynamics, and how much people can unravel in just one evening. The show’s set in the 1970s and follows a group of neighbours having a few drinks together – though it’s never just that simple.

The cast were all brilliant, especially Kym Marsh as Beverly. She completely owned the stage – loud, confident, constantly topping up people’s drinks whether they wanted one or not. She played the character with the right mix of charm and pushiness, which kept things feeling quite funny but also a bit uncomfortable at times. You can tell she’s used to being the centre of attention, and honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off her – she brought most of the humour too, especially with her dancing and little side comments.

Graeme Hawley as Lawrence gave a solid performance as her husband – a bit uptight and clearly not as in control as he’d like to be. I found his moments quite funny, but also slightly sad at times, especially when he started going on about the people moving into the area. Yasmin Taheri, who played Angela, was sweet and quite easy to warm to. You could tell she was trying to fit in, maybe a bit too eager to go along with everyone else, but that made her feel real. Her husband, Tony, played by Kyle Rowe, barely spoke – but when he did, the room went quiet. There’s a lot in the way he looks at Angela, or doesn’t – it made me feel a bit uneasy, which I think was the point.

Tupele Dorgu as Susan was also great. She brought a quieter energy to the group, kind of acting as the outsider looking in. You could see her getting more uncomfortable as the night went on, worried about her daughter Abigail, who’s throwing her own party down the road. Even though we never meet Abigail, her presence hangs over the whole night – which is quite clever, really.

The set was genuinely stunning. It was so detailed, and just screamed ’70s – from the patterns on the furniture to the record player and drinks trolley. The revolving stage was a really nice touch too, especially when it moved along with the music. I don’t normally notice things like that, but it really added something. You got to see different parts of the house, and it helped break up the action in a subtle way.

My only real issue with the play was the pacing. It all takes place over one evening, which makes sense for the setup, but it meant the first half felt a bit slow. Not much actually happens until near the end, and by that point I was starting to wonder what the show was trying to say. There are hints throughout at deeper issues – bits about racism, class, and even power dynamics between the couples – but they’re never really explored properly. When the big twist came at the end, it felt a bit random. I get that it’s meant to show how thin the veneer of polite society is, but it didn’t quite land for me emotionally. It didn’t really feel like a proper dramatic moment.

That said, I did enjoy it overall. It’s well acted, looks great, and there are definitely moments that made me laugh – especially anything Kym Marsh was doing. I’m just not sure I totally got what it was all for. It felt like the play was building to something that never really arrived, and I left not quite knowing what I was meant to take from it.

Still, if you’re into character-driven plays with a bit of dark humour and some brilliant ‘70s nostalgia, it’s worth seeing. Just don’t expect it to go anywhere big – it’s more of a slow burn than a proper bang.

Julian Bird masterfully conveys the experiences psychiatrists face, the hardships of the job that spill into their personal lives.

REVIEW: The Psychiatrist

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

An insightful two-hander about mental health and human connection 

My viewing of The Psychiatrist was different from what had been planned. Julian Bird, the writer of the play and a former psychiatrist, was set to play the title role but had to miss the performance I attended due to an injury. As a result, he was replaced by producer Alistair Brown, who got through the ninety-minute play with the script in hand. Alongside Brown was Stephanie Okoye, playing the dual role of mental patient Alex and therapist Zara. 

Oh my god. Genuinely, oh my god. I was admittedly nervous, especially for Brown, but The Psychiatrist was amazing! Brown did incredibly well, conveying the fervour of his character Andrew in every scene. He captured the duality in Andrew’s personality – his strong need to help the suffering young Alex and the mental blocks he struggles to overcome in his sessions with Zara. Interestingly, Brown reading from the script enhanced the quality of Andrew’s narration – it was as if he was asking us to gather round while he told us the stories that mattered to him. “The show must go on”, as they say, and, under these difficult circumstances, Alistair Brown did splendidly well. I salute him! 

Stephanie Okoye blew me away with her performance. She switched between Alex’s volatility and Zara’s gentle professionalism with such ease – for a moment you’d think, with how different the two characters’ voices and demeanours, that it was two different people performing! I was even more shocked to learn, after the performance, that The Psychiatrist is Okoye’s professional stage debut. Her skill will take her far, that’s absolutely certain. Watching Okoye EXIST is an absolute joy, her acting easily the standout of this play! 

Julian Bird masterfully conveys the experiences psychiatrists face, the hardships of the job that spill into their personal lives. Alex, who battles body dysmorphia disorder, a horrid family life, and bravely chooses to admit herself as an inpatient, is written very sensitively. Her problem, while hard to fathom, isn’t written lightly or dismissed as a side plot. Bird cares about his characters, cares about those struggling with their mental health. Stephanie Okoye and Alistair Brown are absolutely brilliant together, their characters true and worth rooting for. 

I’m wishing Julian a speedy recovery from his operation, and he can rest safe in the knowledge that his play is in the best of hands. Kudos to all involved!