Month: March 2026

REVIEW: House Seats with Henry Patterson

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A raw and intimate look at the making of a West End leading man”

At Crazy Coqs, House Seats with Henry Patterson offers an intimate and honest evening of conversation and performance, as Henry Patterson sits down with West End performer Ian McIntosh to explore the journey behind a remarkable career.

Currently starring as Jean Valjean in Les Misérables, McIntosh reflects on the experiences that have shaped him, both on and off the stage. What makes this format particularly compelling is its simplicity: a conversation interwoven with live performance, allowing the audience to understand and experience his talent firsthand. McIntosh spoke about being drawn to melody above all else, describing how the emotional pull of music has guided his connection to roles such as Valjean.

The evening is at its strongest when McIntosh shares his personal story. Coming from a working-class background, he spoke candidly about initially training to become an electrician at 16 before finding his way to drama school. His early experiences performing in school productions revealed a natural vocal talent, but his path was far from straightforward. In a moment of vulnerability, he discussed stepping away from musical theatre after being bullied, as well as the challenges he faced during training including being held back a year at drama school to develop his acting skills.

These reflections gave greater weight to the career milestones that followed. McIntosh recounted his breakthrough moment stepping into a leading role in Rock of Ages, having initially been an alternate, and the significance of receiving his first Olivier Award nomination. Throughout the evening, he performed songs from across his career, including selections from Cabaret, The Commitments and Les Misérables, each delivered with both technical strength and emotional sincerity.

Patterson proves to be an assured and thoughtful host, creating space for both humour and honesty. The result is a deeply personal evening that goes beyond performance, offering insight into the resilience, vulnerability and determination required to build a life in theatre.

See future events at Crazy Coqs here.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Onjali Q. Raúf

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We sat down with Onjali Q. Raúf, author of Boy at the Back of the Class. For ticketing and info, please find here.

The Boy at the Back of the Class has touched readers around the world since its publication. When you first wrote the book, did you imagine it would resonate so widely with young audiences?

Honestly, I didn’t have the foggiest! My imagination didn’t stretch that far. I still find myself in awe at how far this story has travelled – and all the unexpected places it has carried me to. I came into the publishing industry with one simple goal: to get a story published. If it could help a kid, somewhere, anywhere, understand they weren’t alone in what they were going / have been through, then that would have been a bonus. But the book being taken into school curriculums? Kids raising tens of thousands of pounds for refugee charities around the world? Getting thousands of letters over the years from children asking how they could help refugees – or coming up with ideas of their own to do just that? Not an inkling!

The story explores the refugee experience through the eyes of a group of children. Why was it important for you to tell this story from a child’s perspective rather than through the adults around them?

Because children’s sense of justice isn’t muddied and erased by the ‘grey space’ of racisms and racist geopolitics that infiltrates and diminishes the same in adults. They don’t dehumanise their fellow human beings as easily and as swiftly as so many adults seem keen to. Most children – unless indoctrinated from a very young age – don’t care about skin colour or where someone is from, what they look like, what their history is. They just want to be friends and play. They get the basics of humanity – that hurting someone – anyone – is bad. That dropping bombs on someone and punishing people for the crimes of others is not justice. That war and violence harms innocents – and that all of the aforementioned is inexcusable. They also see through the hypocrisy of adults with a sharpness too many underestimate. It’s why this story, which essentially revolves around a group of children making friends with someone who has had everything taken away from him – only works with children in the mainframe. World weary cynicism and racist hate and ignorance hasn’t captured them. Yet.

Your work as a human rights activist clearly informs the themes of the book. How have your experiences working with refugee communities shaped the way you approached writing Ahmet’s story?

This story would never have been written if I hadn’t gone out to the refugee camps of northern France following the breaking of Alan Kurdi’s story in 2015. There’s only so much any of us can learn from the sofa, telly or phone screen – especially when consuming news spun by our media channels. Getting out physically into the forests and muddy fields of those so-called ‘camps’, and witnessing, as I still do, the horrific, inhumane situations which the bravest, most courageous members of the human race are being forced to bear at the hands of ‘developed’ nations (the very nations bombing their countries and stealing resources), led to anger. Anger led to questions – questions such as, what on earth are refugee children, often forcefully separated from their families, supposed to do? How are they supposed to survive any of this? What kind of world are we creating where one groups of kids have everything, and the other has everything taken away from the again and again and again? Those questions – triggered by my team and I meeting a four-day old baby called Raehan in 2017, and to whom the book is dedicated – led to the story. It was the only way that story could ever have been born. There’s no way it would have been conjured up without my actively being in those ‘camps’.

Seeing a beloved novel transformed for the stage can be quite a special moment for an author. What was it like for you to see Nick Ahad’s adaptation bring the characters and their journey to life in the theatre?

Surreal. It still is, and I think forever will be. Especially when I get to see and hear the reactions of audiences – children’s and adults alike. Nick has done such a spectacular job of not just lifting the story up into reality, but giving Ahmet a roar that even I didn’t foresee him having. Whilst Monique, the cast, and all the creative teams have done such a beautiful job of bringing the characters I once had in my head into 3D life, that some days I still think I’m hallucinating. I’ll never forget watching the show for the first time with Nick – and barely being able to hear a word because I couldn’t believe any of it was really happening. Few moments in my life will top seeing the play for the first time. 

The book balances humour, adventure and emotional depth while addressing serious themes. Why do you think storytelling can sometimes open conversations with young people that news headlines cannot?

Because books, stories, characters, are safe spaces. We have so few of those growing up – spaces where we’re not being watched and tested and drilled and ordered around every minute, but where we are, as children, set free to roam new worlds, meet new people, explore our own reactions to events contained to the space of a page.  Reactions that include a freedom to ask questions. Questions that ordinary school lessons and other grown-up led activities might not give rise to. Without that freedom to roam and wonder and go on new adventures, we would all be lost, and living much smaller, constrained lives.

At its heart, the story celebrates empathy and the idea that even children can make a difference. What do you hope young audiences take away from the story when they encounter it on stage?

Hopes? I have three. I want kids to see this show and leave with real, actual knowledge of what is happening right now, in our midst. Real knowledge of the inhumane situations children their age, in families just like their families, are having to endure. Next, I want them to know that their questions – they ones they have swirling away inside them, are game-changing tools capable of leading them to great adventures, should they have the courage to ask them. And finally, that they DO have power, agency, a role in the world, no matter what the adults of that world might tell them. A power that often starts with changing the experiences of that world for the better, one friend at a time. That’s all.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Amina Aaliya Beg

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We sat down with Amina Aaliya Beg to chat about their new show My Mum Told Me Not To Marry An Atheist.

My Mum Told Me Not To Marry An Atheist is a play / DJ set exploring DADI and her granddaughter KAMAL’s relationship about love, marriage & being intergenerational trouble-makers.

Link to tickets on the 19th and 24th of March: https://cptheatre.co.uk/whatson/My-Mum-Told-Me-Not-To-Marry-An-Atheist-WIP

What sparked the idea for My Mum Told Me Not To Marry An Atheist?

I invited my husband’s family for dinner to my parents house. This was before we got married, my husband and I drafted a Google Doc of our relationship timeline combined with a script of potential topics of what/not to talk about to his parents. We were planning how to pitch my soon-to-be husband to my Dadi (grandmother) and mother, making sure he was the ideal suitor, so we could win them over with his A* in RE, self-taught in the home, architect-in-training….it almost felt like Nathan Fielder’s The Rehearsal planning potential conversations on what to talk about with your potential spouse’s family. It’s stressful (the potential possibilities of various timelines getting mixed up). James and I always joked about potential plot developments/inciting incidents that we found in that document. We always thought that performing this play in a meta-type way would be the best way to come out to our parents on how mixed marriages can give dawah (spread Islam) changing the social and political discourse framed around Muslim representation (and that we also wanted to be together). This show has taken 6 renditions starting in Contact Theatre in September 2023 in Manchester, exploring the commercialisation of religion in Saudi Arabia and my relationship with faith (deen) and consumption (dunya) and how we balance it in a world driven by capitalism whilst Saudi Arabia builds The Makkah Line. The initial show used projection, animation and architecture. This was performed by James and I followed by Safia Bibi (who played the role of Dadi – grandmother). I think the role of Dadi was underdeveloped in the first rendition of My Mum Told Me Not To Marry An Atheist, she mostly appears towards the end singing in the wedding scene. I wanted Dadi to be more central in this next rendition of My Mum Told Me Not To Marry An Atheist. I’m really curious about intergenerational relationships and how sometimes our grandparents can be more accepting than our own parents. 

I’m really interested in bringing other art forms into theatre making it nuanced by bringing in my love for DJing. DJing is an art form that curates people into ease, directing the atmosphere whilst introducing people to new ideas. Some people see DJing as a ‘low art form’, I wanted to bring it to theatre, because theatre like art galleries can feel inaccessible, maybe it’s the awkward tension of us versus them when we’re watching performers or it’s the dialogue, honestly I struggle to understand what’s happening on-stage (even though this is was my degree at uni). Sometimes you can feel that you’re not smart enough to understand ‘it’ which is a mindset I wish we could unlearn, especially for young people or people from Global Majority backgrounds. I think intersecting multiple art forms, like DJing or stand-up breaks these traditional formats of theatre, by playing a character, distorting dialogue and revealing truth which is what I wanted for this show. I wanted to make a show where aunties could bring their daughters, vice versa. This show is for the ladies because they’re genuinely the funniest people with sharp wit, flow and cadence. 

How did Dadi’s voice arrive for you?

Dadi’s voice is a combination of various people. Some real, some fictional. I have one auntie who is also a grandmother and radio presenter Humera Haqqani MBE. She is the founder of Let’s Talk Rochdale (grassroots women’s group helping them grow confident within themselves) and hosts a weekly radio show every Friday called Crescent Radio, exploring social topics within the Pakistani community in Rochdale. Dadi’s character is also taken from shows like Bhaji On The Beach (1993), The Mrs Merton Show (1993) and Goodness Gracious Me (1998). There are some elements of my own grandmother Mehar Jehan Beg with her sharp wittiness, 365 party girl sunglasses and her Paris fashion week hijab. 

What does DJing let you do theatrically that dialogue alone can’t?

I think DJing as an art form is so intricate and it gives you autonomy especially to Dadi who scratches the decks, rewinding, pitch shifting Kamal’s voice dissecting her lies to then finding her truth. This is something dialogue can’t do in real time. DJing gives power that dialogue can’t. As DJs we are curators, directors and facilitators making sure everyone feels at ease, and Dadi does this seamlessly. 

How do humour and tenderness sit alongside each other in this story?

The humour builds up to the tenderness, winning the audience’s support for Dadi. I think you have to laugh in order to cry, so you can earn that emotional intimacy between Dadi and Kamal as Dadi unravels her past.

How does audience interaction change the emotional temperature of the piece?

Audience interaction increases the emotional temperature of the piece by bringing energy and ease to the audience. It breaks the uncomfortable tension that can exist in theatre between the performers and the audience, removing the “us versus them” divide. By involving the audience directly, Dadi creates a shared experience where the audience feels included rather than separate from the performance. For example, when an audience member plays The Boy, the romantic interest, it adds humour and playfulness while allowing the audience to actively participate in the story.

What are you discovering by developing the show as a work in progress?

By developing the show as a work in progress, I’m discovering how to perform a one-woman show while incorporating DJing, audience interaction, and projection into theatre. Through sharing the piece at Camden People’s Theatre, I’m exploring how open and accepting audiences are when I interact with or tease them, and how willing they are to participate. I’m also learning how audiences respond to unconventional elements, such as a character being represented through the DJ decks and through audience interaction.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Alexander Campbell

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With secondary schools either not teaching dance or teaching it poorly, a new programme called Step Forward widens access to dance for school students who wouldn’t ordinarily be able to access it. This focus on access is extremely important for all young people, especially boys or male-identifying students who face additional stereotypes and barriers. 

Alexander Campbell, Artistic Director of the Royal Academy of Dance (which runs Step Forward in partnership with Jack Petchey Foundation) tells us more.

How do you think encouraging boys to participate in dance challenges traditional ideas of masculinity in schools?

It’s really important that boys are given the opportunities to engage in dance whilst at secondary school. Dance classes are a supportive, nurturing environment where young people can feel free to be who they are without judgement or expectation. 

In your experience, what mental health benefits have you observed in boys who engage regularly with dance?

We have observed significant benefits in confidence and self-esteem among boys who engage regularly with dance. Regular participation can reduce stress, support positive body awareness and foster a sense of belonging. Being part of a dance class or performance also builds peer connection and shared achievement. 88.9% of participants in boys’ schools say they felt an increase in confidence by the end of the Step Forward workshop.

How does Step Forward ensure that boys who are initially hesitant feel safe and confident to express themselves through movement?

Our Step Forward programme is designed to create a supportive and inclusive atmosphere from the outset. 

The session guides participants from a fun, interactive warm up to learning simple moves of the chosen style, into a short routine, and finally creating their own choreography. The result is a performance they can proudly share with peers and teachers, and is often the favourite part!

The Step Forward sessions are delivered by brilliant practitioners, including male teachers. These figures play a huge role in inspiring the boys – most of them were once in their shoes! 

What role do you see dance playing in reducing social anxiety among young people, particularly boys?

Dance can play a transformative role in reducing social anxiety. Movement-based learning encourages young people to communicate, collaborate with others, and form friendships for life. Over time, this builds social confidence.

How do you balance the creative freedom of students with structured learning in a taster workshop setting?

The Step Forward session follows a clear structure but is flexible. Practitioners adapt the balance of learning and creating based on how each group responds. Some groups benefit from more time breaking down choreography, others thrive in creating their own work. The aim is to be responsive and adaptable to each groups’ needs.

Looking ahead, how might programmes like Step Forward influence the wider perception of dance as an essential part of school education for all genders?

Despite the clear benefits of dance, the 2023 report by Ofsted, ‘Levelling the playfield: the physical education subject report’ highlights that even though it is a specified part of the National Curriculum at Key Stage 1 and 2, dance is often not taught in schools or is taught poorly. Dance, as a school subject, can teach young people skills for life, whichever career path they choose to take, including discipline, focus, problem-solving, collaboration and communication. 

There is clear evidence that young people who don’t learn dance miss out on the social, mental, and physical benefits that it provides, and this lack of access is problematic for all young people.  Boys and male-identifying young people in particular face additional barriers, including gendered stereotypes on who dance is for and what a dancer looks like. 

Opportunities like Step Forward, which provides an access route for boys who want to dance, will help shift and dismantle these stereotypes.  

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Farine Clarke

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We sat down for an exclusive interview with Farine Clarke, GP turned playwright and writer of Heartsink, which plays at Riverside Studios from 21 April – 10 May.

As someone who has lived on both sides of the consultation desk, what surprised you most about how illness reshapes a person’s sense of identity and agency?

This is the vital question. From the day you enter medical school you’re trained to be a professional with the title doctor. That’s the first word on your name tag and to a very great extent, it’s what defines you. No one minds saying, “I’m a doctor” which translates into, “I’m the one with the knowledge, the control, the ability to advise and, to a significant extent, the power”. No one starts a conversation with, “I’m a type two diabetic” with its accompanying translation.

Serious illness had both immediate and slower-burn effects.

Firstly, the title, ’Dr’ became pretty meaningless quite quickly. I was no longer on the inside but found myself observing a group I knew well, from the outside. It’s an out of body view, which surprised me. I also found it funny, which isn’t as glib as it sounds but I was listening for what people weren’t telling me. Rather like in a Snoopy cartoon, I found myself filling in the consultants’ speech bubbles.

“Let’s see how it goes” was said; “this isn’t looking so good” was inserted by me.

Secondly, it slowly dawned that the system itself defined me by my condition. So not only was Dr gone- and with that my professional identity- but it was replaced by a label, which was the condition.

Everyone knows it’s bad for patients to adopt illness behaviour and yet at every turn I found the system emphasised the condition and made me the illness, stripping my identity further and forcing me to identify as ill. That’s not detracting from the excellent work the healthcare profession continued to do, it’s just that when you’ve been on both sides you feel the change in position acutely. It’s a collision of perspectives. A juxtaposition of two worlds which are intrinsically linked in purpose but miles apart in experience.

How did your own experience as a patient influence the way you chose to portray vulnerability and power dynamics in Heartsink?

I write because I love writing and my other plays are not about being a patient. But my company is called ‘unequal productions’ so the plays always reference the constant inequality and power struggles around us. This is as acute in healthcare as it is in any other environment.

I like to surprise audiences and tell stories in a way which they enjoy while also stimulating lively conversation and debate. I know how it feels to be empowered by a white coat but also how vulnerable and terrifying it is to lie in bed sporting an NHS nightie and paper knickers. My job in Heartsink was to show both sides- always with humour, often gallows humour, because at times in life you can’t make it up. I’m always on the outside looking in, but being a patient heightened that distinction between patient vulnerability and power.

With the Assisted Dying Bill prompting intense public debate, what kinds of ethical questions did you most want audiences to wrestle with after seeing the play?

I’m so pleased that the first group that saw this play really enjoyed it. “Heartsink” is a depressing word- but the play is not. It’s a biting comedy which uses humour to raise ostensibly unfunny issues. These include assisted dying. The idea that we should all be allowed to exercise our right to choose how we die is, by enlarge, a no-brainer.

However that’s the easy bit but I don’t see those of us in the street openly debating the unforeseen consequences of the AD bill. That doesn’t mean I don’t agree with it, just that it is always the case in medicine that where there are ethical dilemmas, there will be two sides. Heartsink is a vehicle for society i.e. the audience to witness two sides and then have that conversation. Many doctors do fundamentally disagree with the Bill seeing it as the slippery slope for their patients.

Then there’s this point about how we label. Is it right to call someone by their condition ‘an asthmatic, a diabetic, a cancer patient?’ or should we rethink that phraseology? Once we label people we define them and all sorts of images come to mind about who they are. Society has pulled back in some areas, particularly around mental illness – we don’t call people a ‘manic-depressive’ anymore and physical appearance, we don’t keep people ‘fat’.

When it comes to physical illness there’s still a lot of labelling by everyone, not just healthcare professionals, with all the associated assumptions. Some people don’t mind being labelled by their condition and will share widely. But others do. I think the time has come to be a bit more sensitive.

In writing about the NHS with both affection and critique, how did you balance honesty about its pressures with compassion for the people working within it?

I was a doctor, am married to a doctor and have loads of medical, nursing and other healthcare friends all of whom I intend to keep once this play is out. The medics who were at Heartsink’s first outing, loved it exactly because they know it’s honest. They also know it highlights the very things which frustrate them too.

The main protagonist is a doctor and I remain eternally grateful to the people who treat me & publicly thanked the medical team who came to see my first play, from the stage (I can share the video!). However, the NHS is an enormous ‘system’ and sometimes parts of that system contrive to do exactly what healthcare professionals don’t want.

When a consultant’s struggling with their screen instead of making eye contact with their patient, or as one ophthalmologist said to me at an appointment, ’I could have done a cataract operation in the time it’s taken me to do this,” something’s very wrong.

What emotional challenges did you encounter in transforming deeply personal medical experiences into comedy, and how did humour help you process them?

If not outright humour, then irony has always governed my life. I learnt pretty early on that whenever I think everything’s wonderfully well, God will decide to have a laugh and pull the rug from under me. Writing for me is cathartic. I think in dialogue and thoughts buzz around in my head, so putting them on the page is actually a relief.

Interestingly one of the stories in Heartsink came out of the blue from a very painful experience I had as a junior doctor treating a child. I had kept that buried for a long time only letting it out when the character called for it decades later; it’s a fitting homage to the people involved. I’ll never forget that child, nor his family, their bravery and compassion. Life can really stink sometimes and medicine can be brutal so comedy is a vital tool to handle the accompanying, inexplicable pain.

On a very personal level I’ve always viewed my own health with a large dose of resignation. It isn’t over… until you die. In the interim you might as well do something useful.

Having moved from a medical to a creative profession, what do you think theatre can offer conversations about healthcare that clinical settings often cannot?

I often think that being a once-medic who is now a writer is like being a soldier who is no longer at war. When you’re in it you’re fighting to survive. I remember doing 120 hour weeks and running around the wards (we all did) fuelled by adrenalin just trying to make sure everyone was treated properly. It was exhausting and fantastic at the same time. I didn’t leave medicine because I hated it- I loved it- but because I really wanted to write.

Just like soldiers stay quiet about their war experience, I think medics don’t acknowledge or share the pain. It’s best kept buried and anyway, to stay professional requires a clinical approach to self-control. Medics are guarded by nature. They’re bound by confidentiality—which is what we all want them to be—and they’re cautious by nature—again, what we want. Clinical situations are often about managing the message to patients, because that’s the compassionate thing to do.

Theatre is where truth can be told openly and the audience can decide. Theatre imparts trust and control. Clinical situations – for good reason – don’t do that. When people try to shut down theatre they’re attempting to silence truth; akin to burning books or doctoring a picture. Even then theatre and anyone with clinical insight has a duty to be careful: gratuitous clinical truth or single agenda truth doesn’t help. The challenge is to arm people with more information whether they are delivering or receiving clinical care.

Heartsink is a funny play designed to entertain everyone but with unique insights into why clinical environments can overwhelm us all. Theatre is the best and most entertaining vehicle to deliver that message.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Ben Kulvichit

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We sat down with Ben Kulvichit from Emergency Chorus, performing Ways Of Knowing. For ticketing and info, please find here.

Ways of Knowing explores different ways humans try to predict the future, from scientific instruments to mysticism and divination. What first sparked your interest in this theme, and why did it feel relevant to explore now?

The world is an uncertain place. It feels such an obvious thing to say, but it’s true. Even just on a personal level, our own lives feel more precarious now than they ever have. We got interested in ways that people seek certainty or knowledge about the future because, fundamentally, we have so little. We were interested in how to be okay with uncertainty, and also in the possibilities that making friends with uncertainty could open up.

It also feels to us like certain acts of prediction are not neutral. Tech corporations, for instance, are always trying to stay ahead of the curve, but in predicting where the future is going — AI, etc — actually work to bring that future into being. Often the attempt to tell the future feels like dictation, a way of furthering the status quo and protecting existing systems of power, or a headlong race in a predestined direction without consideration for the long-term consequences of the machinery they set in motion. What would it take to rupture a trajectory that sells itself as inevitable? Is that the difference between prediction and prophecy? A prophecy as something that breaks something…

The show combines dance, found text, sound design and improvised choreography. How did these different elements come together in the creative process, and how do they interact on stage?

We are proud jacks of all trades. We’ve always enjoyed stealing from different disciplines, and doing things we don’t ‘know’ how to do. I guess there’s not one way of approaching something that feels right to us, but what does feel right is to incorporate loads of different perspectives, approaches, aesthetics — to try to create this collage that can hopefully add up to more than the sum of its parts and capture something of the way the world feels.

Dance and movement is a really key part of the language of this piece, though. There is choreography that is totally set and difficult to memorise (we wanted a part of the show that we had to be completely certain of in order to perform — and that we might fail at), and improvised dance that involves us moving without knowing what’s going to happen. Improvisation as a way of literally ushering in the future. We’re not trained dancers and we have a particular way of moving, but we challenge ourselves in this show to expand that vocabulary.

The piece is structured in two mirrored halves — All the Barometers in the World and The Spelunkers. Could you talk about the thinking behind this dual structure and how the two parts relate to each other?

All the Barometers in the World centres around a couple of Victorian weather forecasting devices, one of which involves a very particular secret ingredient. It’s about men of science, and the desire to rationalise, quantify and interpret an unknowable world. We’re looking up to the skies and interpreting the data.

The Spelunkers looks the other way and goes underground. We got interested in cave exploration, darkness, and hermits who have visions of the future. It’s asking questions like: ‘What can we discover in the dark, or in solitude, that we didn’t know that we already knew?’ And ‘can you ever truly know what’s in the hole without getting in the hole yourself?’

We made the first part first thinking it would stand alone as a short half-hour piece. We did that, but it didn’t feel enough somehow. Then we made the second part and the two came together to make a whole. One isn’t quite complete without the other.

The imagery in the show — from meteorological devices to caves and hermits — feels quite eclectic and evocative. How did you develop the visual and conceptual world of the performance?

As I mentioned, we really like to sample and collage in our work. We tend to start with a lot of research, getting obsessed with things — the broader the reach, the better — and then we find ways of bringing things we find together, or sitting them next to each other, or layering them on top of each other. It’s in those juxtapositions and tensions that the work gets interesting. What exactly does a Victorian inventor have to do with a hermit have to do with a cave in Somerset?

Visually, we knew wanted to work with smoke and darkness, two things that are very basic parts of the theatrical technical apparatus, and can both be ways of obscuring things, making things hazy or uncertain, putting you in an altered state. People have told us that the show is incredibly atmospheric for a piece that is made on basically no budget!

Emergency Chorus has previously created works like Landscape (1989) and CELEBRATION. In what ways does Ways of Knowing continue or depart from the ideas and styles you explored in those earlier pieces?

Thematically, it’s bang on trend. We joke that we just make the same show again and again — we’re always fixated on the idea of the future, on the tension between hope and despair, and on the incredibly difficult, incredibly important task of trying to imagine a future that’s different to the present.

Stylistically speaking, Landscape (1989) was a very meditative, spacious piece in which we barely spoke any text. By contrast, CELEBRATION was energetic, bright and charming. I think Ways of Knowing in some ways synthesises those two moods. One audience member said it was very warm and welcoming at the same time as being mysterious and opaque. I like that. It also ends with a scene that’s tonally super different from the rest of the show, and from anything else we’ve made. That’s probably my favourite part of the show (no spoilers!).

REVIEW: Solem Quartet & Alice Zawadzki: Different Trains 

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Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

An evening of powerful music.

There is a certain might in music, the way it fills the space, that elusive moment of resonance in a room of strangers. As part of the Memory Unwrapped series at King’s Place, Solem Quartet shows us music in all its might. They transport us to war-torn landscapes, visions of teenage whimsy, and the ecstatic worlds within Kate Bush’s song book.

Opening the night is Steve Reich’s seminal work of minimalism, “Different Trains”. The work, which mixes archival voice recordings with sounds of speeding trains as well as live (and pre-recorded) strings, is a meditation on Reich’s childhood spent taking trains between New York to Los Angeles. When considering his experience, Reich noted that had he been living in Europe at the same period, as a Jew, he would’ve been boarding very different trains. 

The work pulsates with life and is immensely unforgiving to any musician not up to the task of keeping up with the unrelenting engine or melodic quirks, which imitate the spoken recordings. The quartet are totally up to scratch in their rendition, almost athletic in their approach, taking each change of meter totally in their stride, joining each other’s new phrases like a relay team. As the second movement, with its wailing sirens of concentration camps and electronic shrieks, rears its ugly head the quartet never waver into melodrama. The amplified voices and strings feel stifling and unescapable — the work is really as theatrical as one can get within the minimalist canon. It’s a beast of a piece, one that Solem Quartet conquers with aplomb.

After a short interval we are granted some levity with contributions from composer/singer Alice Zawadzki. Her style is undoubtedly compositional, evident in just how well put-together the string arrangements are, but also earthy and folky. The barefoot Zawadzki stamps out rhythms and sings with a fresh honesty, particularly in ‘Ring of Fire’, an ode to teenage drinking — “I dont care, I don’t fucking care, for I’ll never be sober as she”. It’s a major tonal shift from Reich’s work, but manages to have the room rapt, listening intently to all of her musings and confessions.

Ending the night is Zawadzki singing us through highlights of Kate Bush’s discography, with arrangements from second violinist Will Newell. It’s a tough task, finding something new in songs held so dear in the popular culture. Newell often finds a certain gliteriness to Bush’s compositions, and steers clear from Bridgerton territory. However, particularly with songs that occupy such a firm space in the zeitgeist like “Running up that Hill”, you’re fighting a tough battle — that engrossing pulse is lost. Zawadzki however pulls out the tender and autobiographical in Bush’s lyrics. “Man with the Child in His Eyes” is laden with impatience and uncertainty, “Hounds of Love” is all silly abandon. While it’s a long leap from the holocaust, and gives a little bit of thematic whiplash, it is enough to leave us home with a bit of joy. What a rare thing that is in these times. 

REVIEW: An Evening With Megan Murray

Published on by Ross Bevan2 Comments

Rating: 4 out of 5.

Scottish talent triumphs as Megan Murray launches her emotional EP on home turf!

Returning to Inverclyde after her beginnings in the Inverclyde Music Festival many years ago, Megan Murray’s concert at The Beacon Theatre was a big night for her and her music. There to officially launch her summer EP and supported by a young Scottish opening act, An Evening With Megan Murray was great triumph!

While this was not Murray’s first performance in Greenock or even The Beacon itself, she state often how big this evening was for her. Previously having performed in the theatre’s studio, this was her first time taking her music to the mainstage and with a much larger audience. One of the most enjoyable things aside from the music was how conversational this performance was. It seems any time the words “An Evening With” appear on the bill for a performance, audiences are always in for a more intimate setting where we get to know the artist better, which was the perfect setting for the launch of Murray’s self-titled EP.

Featuring 4 songs, each one is a labour of love and the passion can be felt through the lyrics. Clydebuilt is a love letter to home, to the great River Clyde and the towns that surround it. You can really feel the sentiment in the lyrics, “river that raised us”, a display of her emotional attachment to this part of Scotland and how influential it was in her creative process. Inverclyde has always been a champion of creativity, Murray’s own origins starting in Greenock at the Inverclyde Music Festival, a staple of the town’s culture that soon approaches its 100th year in operation. Tear Stains focuses on a different type of love as she ponders how missing someone and all the emotions that come with that can give us strength. Have The Heartbreak delves into how that feeling of losing someone in a relationship is preferable than to have never been with them. It’s very much a “better to have loved and lost” vibe and definitely tugs on the heartstrings as Murray laments how she’d rather this than “forfeit how you used to look at me”. A reminder that sometimes, even painful experiences can be worth it to have had such good memories in return, to have had the chance to feel at all. I’d Rather Be Alone takes an almost polar-opposite stance however as Murray gets into how being alone can
be better than being with someone else when that person makes you feel like you’re losing parts of yourself. The lyric that best encapsulates this emotion is “trying to change my lyrics to fit your rhymes”, showing how a bad relationship is not worth sacrificing yourself and who you are as a person just to make them happy. As a song about reclaiming her agency and choosing herself, this may be the standout not only of the EP but of all the songs performed throughout the evening.

Murray was not alone onstage as she was supported by her sister Emma Watson and friend Graham Deatcher. This trio are collectively brilliant and superb musicians, together and individually. The rapport between them is evident through jovial nature onstage and helped to create a relaxed environment. Aside from the EP titles, the group performed various covers, unafraid to switch up the tone as they went from songs like This Is The Life by Amy McDonald (stated as a huge source of inspiration to Murray and Watson growing up in Scotland), to their own rendition of Jolene by Dolly Parton. The audience were also treated to some pipe medleys as Watson was a former champion of the instrument in her youth and definitely has maintained that level of talent into adulthood. Deatcher’s guitar skills were also impressive, especially during the particularly fast number throughout the night. It should also be noted that Murray was fortunate enough to have a young Scottish opening act. With great support from the crowd, 14 year-old Mikey Cardona did a superb job, covering hits such as Sunday Morning by Maroon 5, Mardy Bum by the Arctic Monkeys and even tackling Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now by The Smiths. Even when his guitar strings snapped mid-
performance, Cardona just retrieved a new instrument and carried on. If this boy carries on as he is now, he may well be headlining his own concert in the next few years.

Overall, this concert was an absolute delight! The level of Scottish talent in the room was incredibly satisfying and as a fellow resident of Inverclyde, it made my heart happy to see local musicians having such a successful night. Megan Murray’s music is excellent and feels inherently Scottish at heart. A great launch for an even better EP!

Megan Murray and her bandmates were exceptional, offering an entertaining and intimate evening of great music!

REVIEW: Naughty Swedish Girl Destroyed

Published on by clemencxLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Emma Sandborgh makes the raw, uncomfortable and taboo into unforgettable theatre.

The feminist solo performance Naughty Swedish Girl Destroyed, written and performed by Emma Sandborgh, is an engaging and intellectually stimulating piece of contemporary theatre. Combining autobiographical storytelling, songs, humour and research, the production explores the experience of growing up in a culture saturated with pornography and examines its influence on sexual identity and expectations.

The audience is drawn into the world of the play even before the formal narrative begins. As the performance takes place between two other shows, the audience witnesses the stage being prepared in real time. The space is illuminated in a dim, dark red light while recordings of women’s pornographic voices play softly in the background, creating a deliberately provocative atmosphere. During this moment, Sandborgh quietly arranges the set in full view of the audience, placing lingering, maid costumes and a variety of sex toys and dildos across the stage. These objects gradually accumulate and remain visible throughout the performance, later being revealed and used at different moments, sometimes symbolically, and sometimes for comic effect.

The narrative begins with the image of a teenage girl rushing home to view explicit material online. From this starting point, the play examines how early exposure to pornography can influence perceptions of sexuality, intimacy and gender roles. Sandborgh guides the audience through a series of reflections that explore both personal experience and broader cultural attitudes.

An early memorable moment occurs near the beginning of the performance when Sandborgh reads aloud a series of explicit video titles. Initially, many of these titles appear so outrageous and absurd that they provoke laughter from the audience. However, as the sequence progresses, the titles become increasingly aggressive and misogynistic. The humour gradually gives way to discomfort, as the audience is reminded that these examples are not fictional but drawn from real content. The sequence near culminates with the performer reading the title of the play itself, reinforcing the central theme of the production. This gradual shift demonstrates Sandborgh’s command of timing and audience response.

Throughout the performance, Sandborgh moves fluidly between different forms of storytelling. At times she presents factual information and statistics; at others she offers social commentary or reflections about relationships and sexual expectations. The piece also includes interview-style responses from various voices, creating the impression of an informal investigation into the role of pornography in contemporary life, where individual experiences are used to explore broader cultural questions.

A key theme of the play is the paradox that pornography occupies within modern society. Despite its widespread consumption and commercial success, open discussions about pornography and its effects remain largely taboo. At the same time, sexual imagery is highly normalised in advertising and media culture. Sandborgh raises the important question of how individuals can meaningfully communicate about desire, boundaries, and expectations if open conversation about sexuality remains limited.

As a performer, Sandborgh demonstrates impressive versatility. The production blends narration, acting, physical theatre, and comedy, while also incorporating musical elements. Dressed simply in black throughout the performance, Sandborgh maintains a clear visual focus on her movements and expressions rather than costume changes. This simplicity allows her physical performance and storytelling to remain central. Her ability to move fluidly between humour, commentary and physical performance gives the show a strong sense of momentum and variety.

Ultimately, Naughty Swedish Girl Destroyed is a powerful and thought-provoking piece of theatre. Through a careful balance of humour, research, and personal reflection, Sandborgh invites audiences to consider the cultural forces that shape contemporary understandings of sexuality. The solo format places the entire weight of the production on her presence and she carries it with remarkable energy, confidence, and engaging theatricality.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Tiggy Bayley

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Squidge follows Daisy as she navigates her new job in a South London state school. When she is assigned a young Irish traveller to help with his reading she finds hope in an unlikely friendship.  It’s a nuanced, funny, and emotionally powerful story about platonic, redemptive love. Written and performed by Tiggy Bayley, the one-woman show was shortlisted for the BBC Popcorn Writing Award at the Edinburgh Fringe and went on to a sold-out run at Soho Theatre in London in 2025, a national tour, and now returns to London at Riverside Studios from March 24th – March 29th.

Here Tiggy sits down to talk about the inspiration behind the show.

How did your time working with SEND pupils in South London shape the story behind Squidge?

The show is very much inspired by my work with kids. I worked in education for five years, and the show was inspired by how much I learned from children. I’ve drawn on my teaching experiences and on lots of different magical kids who gave me the strength to carry on through hard times. Paddy was a way to represent what many kids did for me. I do think that helping others is often the best way to help ourselves. Showing up to school gave me life in hard times.

The text was based on observation – the observation of difference. Particularly at school and work, you’re there for a single purpose, but you don’t often know what’s going on in people’s lives. It’s about the importance of nuance in that way, which I think has been erased so much from modern life.

What realities of supporting SEND children in busy classrooms most influenced the play?

That it’s really underfunded. In the play, Daisy only has one pupil but in reality that doesn’t often happen. In reality, a lot of SEND pupils don’t have consistent help or the same figure each day. Often if they do have a TA they are share them with another pupil. 

Were there particular moments from the classroom that stayed with you while writing Squidge?

Yes, absolutely. That’s where it all came from. I noted down bits of inspiration and things that made me laugh from school on Post-it notes. Like snippets of astonishingly boring conversation in the staffroom or moments of ridicule from the fire drill. I started to flesh those out and imagine characters, often drawing on real life experiences. Then I arranged them into a structure, a bit like they do in detective shows, thinking about what fit where. I know other writers who start with structure but I don’t do that. I’ve found there’s no right way to do it, it’s been about finding what works for me and building it into a daily routine.

What do you think people most misunderstand about SEND pupils in mainstream schools?

I think that there is nuance. We can learn so much from difference. And also I think theres a misconception about other kids’ reaction to SEND pupils. They don’t mind, they just get on with it. Misunderstanding comes from a lack of awareness of the nuance and complexity of these children’s lives. I think behaviours or challenges often reflect unmet needs rather than being a choice or just  “bad behaviour”.

How did working as a teaching assistant change the way you see the education system?

It really opened my eyes to the disparity of wealth in London. In the same day, I may go from working in a foster home to working with children who have aquariums in their kitchens. And it made me see how poverty can affect confidence and self-esteem. So, it made me see the education system as systematically unfair. 
But at the same time, I’ve seen that it’s full of hope, there are some incredible human beings that are teachers in London and that strive to make the world a better place every single day.

What conversations do you hope Squidge will start about supporting children with additional needs?

What I want people to take away from the show is that life is hard but we can make it better for each other.