We've Made It Happen: Our City Of Culture 2013

A message from the editor on the final night of a momentous year for Derry-Londonderry

My fellow City-Of-Culturistas...

This is the 92nd time I'm going to be posting to you from this website in 2013, and the last. The end of this Legenderry year, as we've liked to call it, is almost upon us. It has been a pleasure, a privilege, and a downright honour to be one of your "correspondents" in writing and photography in this city, this year. Many of you have spoken to me and said, "well done", but I could say as much to you, if not more. But before the year ends, I'd like to share some thoughts with all of you in relation to this lovely city we live in.

I can still recall when, as a slightly younger man who didn't quite know where his career was going, I first heard when Derry-Londonderry was up for this inaugural cultural honour. It was there when I realised, like no doubt many of you did at the time, that I could make a difference, and passions for both writing and photography that I once thought were on the verge of dying were reawakened.

We won the honour. We had our moment. And now, two and a half years later, the city's cultural landscape shines strong and tall in a Silver City Risen from darkness to light. A new vision and a new legacy, created by the fittingly titled Sons And Daughters of Derry-Londonderry, so many of whom swept us up in a tidal wave of musical glory near the start of this remarkable year.

That, of course, was only the beginning of a series of standout events that defined Derry-Londonderry, so good they named it twice, as a thriving arts and cultural landscape. But it was, and is, more than that, of course.

When watching Finding Nemo for what seemed like the umpteenth time recently, seven words in the screenplay truly resonated with me: "When I see you, I see home." Seven words that are worth a thousand in the context of Derry-Londonderry, for it might not have been, and still might not be, the best place in the world to everyone, but it is our place. We created it. We are in tune with absolutely everything about it: people, landscapes, landmarks and opportunities.

And to my pleasant surprise, that was exactly how Derry-Londonderry felt to just about every tourist and traveller I’ve met on my travels around the city throughout 2013. We are a City Of Culture, but we are also a City Of Community and Great Company.

During these last twelve months, I've made it my aim, in some way or another, to both develop as a cultural writer and bring you the best from the City Of Culture 2013. Last year, Si's Sights And Sounds was born, and continues to thrive today. But it never belonged to me. It belonged to you, the people who provided me with the material to write about. I spread the word, but you made the words. I was just the messenger, someone who was lucky enough to be in the right places at the right times. The real heroes of Derry-Londonderry 2013 are the people as a whole, the technicians, artists, actors, directors, writers, photographers, musicians, spectators and so on who made it happen, men and women who relayed a continuous cavalcade of sights and sounds to a global audience. Without the people, the cultural "delights" we praised would not have had the heart and soul that they undeniably did.

No doubt, you will ask me if I have regrets, and I do. The economy is one of them. As much as Derry-Londonderry has flourished on the surface, there is the clear and present fear that the city is, in reality, dancing on a volcano, and that the lack of job opportunities may force many of our great talents, be they newly found or established, to look elsewhere. Tonight is no night for dwelling on that, but another significant matter ought to be addressed: what will we do now our year in the spotlight is over?

With that in mind, I refer to what was done with the famous Crystal Palace after the Great Exhibition of 1851: remove the building blocks of a short-term success and relay it for the long term. Even with both Ebrington's Venue and the Turner Prize Exhibition on their way down and out, respectively, there remains the chance to cement the whole of Derry-Londonderry as a cultural city by the people, for the people. Because that is what it should be, if it isn't already. Our newly found momentum must be carried well into the future, for there remains the danger of living in the moment and not considering the long-term consequences. Even if a feeling of "could do better" exists in the Derry-Londonderry air, what also exists is a genuinely warm, winning and welcoming spirit that will surely endure.

It has also been asked that, as big as a certain Big Weekend was, was there really a need for it? And the answer, in my view, is a resounding Yes. Not everyone was fortunate enough to live the experience at the Prehen Playing Fields nearly a decade ago, and this truly was Big. Even the music, to me, was almost irrelevant; what we saw during those nights were unprecedented levels of confidence, light and unity spreading around the city. All may not really be hunky dory in this current climate, but for the audience on those days, all was. They wanted big moments, and we delivered. Sons and Daughters. The spectacular Political Mother. CHIC, so good he came twice. The Fabulous Fleadh. Music City, especially the Sky Orchestra. The inaugural Walled City Tattoo. The Return Of Colmcille. Lumiere. And many more. Events that told the tale of a city both in touch with what made it what it is, and the wider artistic world.

Even something as simple as a tweet or a Facebook status update could reach out and touch thousands, millions even. My own City Of Culture status updates were inspired by legendary American actor Stan Freberg, but who, or what, inspired you? You may have found such things as the cobblestones on London Street, and the views from the walls, as inspirational as anything you could read. That's a cultural strength for you; inspirations, assets, success, from the least likely of places. And there have been many of those.

It's been a year of contrasts, a year of history. And one night, as I looked across the River Foyle at the illuminated STITCH IN TIME sign, an endeavour of industrial light and magic that stands proud and tall over everything around it, I found it hard not to contrast the numerous aspects of the city. The big and the small, the past and the future, the understated and the grand.  It is not merely, as Ronald Reagan put it, a "shining city upon a hill", but a city at sixes and sevens, as skilfully illustrated on one memorable summer night at The Guildhall.

A Stitch In Time may symbolise several of the things in this city, be they factories, craft or camaraderie. But we must not allow this year to remain a mere stitch in time, a footnote to be cast away into the forgotten annals of history. Better, instead, to think of what At Sixes And Sevens, and indeed every single cultural endeavour in 2013 illustrated: we have made history, and we have history, still, to make.

There isn't one aspect of this city that I take for granted today, from the wide open space in Ebrington Square, to the numerous art galleries, to the walls, to venues both indoor and open air, to the spectacular foot and cycle bridge that has symbolised our city for more than two years. We've made it happen. We, the sons and daughters of Derry-Londonderry, have made the city what it is.

And here's to carrying our spirit and soulfulness through to 2014 and beyond.

Happy New Year to all of you.

CLASSICAL REVIEW: The Relief Of Derry Symphony

The City Of Culture 2013 closes with Shaun Davey's Legenderry composition, which cooks up a storm both on and off the stage

"The occasion to repeat a concert not only brings a box of music back to life, it sometimes brings fresh opportunity... (It) also reunites performers and friends."

So speaks Belfast-born composer Shaun Davey, prior to the second major performance of his Relief Of Derry Symphony in 2013, the official closing concert of the City Of Culture year. And, with his composition and a cavalcade of staggering talent including, but not limited to, Dublin-born singer (and Mrs. Shaun Davey) Rita Connolly, percussionist Noel Eccles, pipist Liam O'Flynn, saxophonist Gerard McChrystal, the Ulster Orchestra and the internationally renowned Codetta choir, he has done just that.

The composer, the music, the ensemble, the audience and Derry-Londonderry's Venue 2013 really have provided a perfect example of how well one composition can lend itself to various interpretations in a short space of time. Mel Orriss's arrangement of The Relief Of Derry Symphony, performed in St. Columb's Cathedral in August, was an understatedly intimate delight; this ambitious and grand arrangement feels, and is, truly epic.

It unites the history of The Walled City, Stroke City, Derry, Londonderry or whatever you want to call it with the multitude of achievements in this momentous year to create a rich, lively and historical chronicle of sight and sound, the ideal watermark and perfect benchmark for the city, community and cultural landscape.

For the uninitiated, The Relief Of Derry Symphony was commissioned by Derry City Council in 1988 to mark the then forthcoming 300th anniversary of the Siege Of Derry in 1689. It was first performed by the Ulster Orchestra at the Guildhall in 1990, during an era of conflict.

This performance, as Davey indicates, is a reunion of the original conductor, Gearoid Grant, and the original soloists, including Pipe Major Iain MacDonald, his daughter Fiona, Noel Eccles, Liam O'Flynn and Rita Connolly. The difference here is that in the third movement, a special part has been written to incorporate the Codetta and Cantamus choirs, conducted by Donal Doherty, with a solo part for Gerard McChrystal in the fourth movement.

Bathed in jaw-dropping blue light, with a harp easily visible in the distance, the set-up on the Venue stage is instantaneously overwhelming at first sight. As expensive as the temporary tent-like structure has been, all rational thought drops to one side at the expense of clear sentiment; as David Tennant's Tenth Doctor might put it, you don't want it (the building) to go. But go it must, and the orchestra and choirs will see it goes down with a bang; providing the storm outside doesn't bring it down first.

Eight individual movements precede the symphony itself. And from the moment Liam O'Flynn's fingers touch the Uilleann Pipes in "Newfoundland", you are spellbound by the pitch, rhythm and variance of the arrangement. The strings and percussion of the Ulster Orchestra add extra depth to the sound without overwhelming O'Flynn himself.

There is a touch of sadness in "May We Never Have To Say Goodbye", where we hear Rita Connolly for the first time. Her clear, immersive vocals, representative of a wise, seasoned storyteller, movingly inspire the choirs behind her. Though the song itself is laden with melancholy overtones, it is ultimately triumphant, a reminder of everything achieved in Derry-Londonderry in 2013 and its sure legacy.

That's one of the best things about the first series of individual movements. Each movement is unique in its instrumental approach and in the story it tells, which, in turn, relates to a great City Of Culture memory. For example, the percussion and tone of "Arrival Of The Flag" recall the energy of Political Mother and the funk of CHIC, while "The Joys Of Mary", performed by Connolly, MacChrystal, the choirs and the orchestra, is very Fleadhesque, a Christmassy folk arrangement where the volume of the strings is toned down slightly to allow Connolly and the choirs to thrive. The concentration and emotion in Connolly's tones is even better defined in "Carol Of The Birds", which recalls the popular Christmas carol "I Saw Three Ships".

With O'Flynn, and later MacChrystal, at the forefront, "Arrival Of The Flame" and "Music For Fireworks" bring back the most magical moments of the Return Of Colmcille, with their Celtic, mystical overtones and prominent pipes. Like Mark-Anthony Turnage's At Sixes And Sevens, the piece looks backwards and forwards, inspiring memories and encouraging listeners to build on them. Vocals from Hothouse Flowers singer Liam O Maonlai on "Fill The Parting Glass" and Connolly's prayer for protection on "The Deer's Cry" round out the initial movements, by which point both the storm onstage and outside the Venue are causing the structure to literally rock. Fortunately fears of an Apollo-esque incident are unfounded, and the tent will stand strong and true throughout the main piece.

Contrasted alongside the endless variation of the first half of the concert, the first movement of the Relief Of Derry Symphony initially feels a tad underwhelming, but it remains impressive. The "Fanfare For The Common Man" inspired opening leads the way for a signified tale of triumph, doom and foreboding, in which Catholics rally to the cause of King James II and Protestants to William of Orange. The sound and march of the Colmcille Pipe Band, which symbolises the arrival of the beseiging army, is well attuned to the Venue's acoustics and "alleyway". This reaches an absolutely overwhelming crescendo in the second movement, where, following spotlighted drumming from Noel Eccles, the pipers surround the Ulster Orchestra like leaders in the battle, daring the orchestra - the opposition, you might argue - to raise their game. And raise it they do, marking an alternately triumphant and mournful tale of bombardment, defiance and the Battle For Windmill Hill.

Gloom envelops the third movement, O'Flynn's powerful pipes adding strong resonance to its reflective and funereal mood, recalling the lost lives in the Siege Of Derry. He later steps aside, leaving Connolly to return to centre stage with "The White Horse", a performance that offers hope through both vocal and visual projection - the image of a white horse on the underside of the Venue's roof throughout the song is proof of this.

The fourth and final movement, led by a momentous McChrystal, reflects on the dissolution of violent chaos into relief, culminating in a commanding coda of hope and peace. What follows is beyond words - "The Starlit Sky", a truly spectacular encore celebrating the "natural world" and "the beauty of life" with the prominence of Connolly's vocals, McChrystal's saxophone, the pipes and the choirs.

It is the ideal reminder that even as this cultural year dies out, and this building prepares to come down, Derry-Londonderry's cultural glow always has and always will hold strong no matter what storm.

MUSIC REVIEW: Josh Ritter

The Idaho troubadour serves up a pre-Christmas tonic of comforting Americana for Derry-Londonderry's Millennium Forum

Nearly ten years after he adorned the then future City Of Culture with his blend of alternative country folk rock, highly regarded Idaho singer-songwriter Josh Ritter returns to Derry-Londonderry with a new album and a new acoustic tour, with a three-piece band to boot. His is the kind of laid back, sometimes calm, sometimes electric but always comforting Americana that is always good to hear and fun to hum along to even if you don't know all the words. Ritter is a very gifted musician indeed. But is he the right kind of musician for the Millennium Forum?

Supported by the very similar, if lower-key, Stephen Kellogg from Massachusetts, Ritter often sways from side to side while strumming his guitar during the low tempo numbers, gently coaxing the disappointingly middling Forum audience into action. What I see here are elements of a musical storyteller who has been on a not-always-enjoyable journey through life, but does not wallow in self-pity, indicating that he will always "be there" for his audience. You can see and hear it in his melodies, expressions and enunciation, that of a warm, friendly, homey and realistic performer.

Right from the start, in "Best Is For The Best", the depth in Ritter's sound, the echo in his voice, comes through. Whether Ritter and his acoustic guitar are assisted by piano, lute or double bass, or even a combination of the three, the musical result, regardless of mood or tempo, is the same - rich and comforting, with relatable, if not always upbeat, lyrics. Frankly, this "young timey folk", particularly the remarkable "Bonfire", the ambient "Lights" and the catchy "Appleblossom Rag" wouldn't sound out of place at the next Fleadh; and there's even the odd "whoop" or series of steady claps from the audience to clarify it. If only he'd had a more intimate venue than the Forum, perhaps the Playhouse or even the Glassworks, to go with it. The acoustics of the arena aren't always the kindest to Ritter's voice when all the instruments wash around him.

Still, this puts off neither Ritter nor his fans. His high spirit stretches throughout the entire set, with his references to the weather, the pantomime and the structure of the Forum ("it's like being in a spaceship... we're the chosen ones from outer space") in between the tunes going down a treat with virtually everyone. And his performance of the title track from his album Hello Starling is a delight. If the concert doesn't always feel innovative and is not as intimate as it could have been, it is likable, and a nice pre-Christmas tonic for lovers of Americana everywhere.

THEATRE REVIEW: Three Monologues

The City Of Culture year closes on a sound theatrical note with a flawed but satisfying character piece

Three Monologues, written by award-winning Irish author Jennifer Johnston in response to The Troubles, is an oddball of a play. It wants to be about all kinds of things, but doesn't always get its points across in the clearest manner. It wants to exhibit naturalistic acting, but the performances often find themselves at odds with an uncertain script. It frequently relies on clichéd fallacies and foibles to try and draw empathy and laughter from the audience. And yet, almost in spite of itself, it clambers over the numerous little potholes in its path and serves up a satisfyingly ambitious experience, a sound note to close the theatrical year on.

The play is subtitled "Ananias, Azarias and Misael", referencing the three Holy Youths better known as Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Cast into a fiery furnace by Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar after refusing to worship an idol, these three men survived, and the titular monologues attempt to tie in this Biblical story with the survival of three different characters who have all been metaphorically burned.

In "Twinkletoes", we meet drunken, self-pitying thirty-something Karen (Helen Behan), who initially opens up by lamenting money wasted on pointless hats and painful plastic shoes. With her terrorist husband locked behind bars for nearly a decade, and with her almost grown up daughter all but free from her clutches, Karen is made to dwell on the loss of things she once took for granted and on abandoning her dreams of becoming a dancer. The blinking, rarely twinkling eyes on parallel television monitors in the background emphasise this dying dream, this loss of youth.

Karen's information-heavy and not entirely straightforward soliloquy pounds itself in our faces rather anviliciously. This bitter tone will go on to envelop the whole play, and you can tell that Johnston's script, in the steady hands of director Caitríona McLaughlin, is still finding its feet here.

Still, hidden amongst the "usual" issues – distant fathers, troublesome children, remaining strong for appearance's sake, loss of innocence, and so on – lies some real meat for discussion. Does education provide freedom from normality, Karen wonders, or normality at the expense from what many might perceive as "freedom"? And what is "freedom" exactly? Something to truly believe in, or something, as the imprisonment of Karen's husband illustrates, will only land you in trouble?

There's also an admirable but slightly anaemic attempt at tackling isolation, which I would probably appreciate more if Andy Hinds' Sea Lavender hadn't covered it much more compellingly earlier this year. We understand Karen's pain, but we never truly feel it. Helen Behan's capable performance is weighed down by lacklustre writing.

Less lacklustre, but perhaps too ambitious, is "Christine", where the titular widow (standout performer Gina Moxley) mourns the death of her husband, Billy, at the hands of the IRA. Like Karen before her, she is left on her own, and has created a life for herself by watching people on television.

Once upon a time, she was convinced that she would "never be alone" so long as she had the TV with her, but over the years she has become wise enough to know that while you may be watching and even caring about people on TV, they will never be caring about you. Fake interaction to excess isn't healthy; face to face interaction heals. Both Gina Moxley's acting and Johnston's more assured writing hint that the best of Three Monologues is at last bubbling to the surface.

Unfortunately, the quality of the production remains intermittent, but it is not for want of trying from the actors. Moxley delves deeper into her character's troubled mind, revealing her paranoia among others, her lack of understanding about real people, and her inability to realise that good intentions and righteous morals are not enough, although they should be. Perhaps Christine's positive memories of Billy, who she will never see again, have clouded her judgment a little too much, but she has retained enough of a belief in both life and certain aspects of religion to make a new friend, to try and move away from her past.

As with "Twinkletoes", sparse visuals and unsubtle symbolism (such as gradually stripping away white tape on stage, laid out to resemble the foundations of a house) are used to focus on the most important things in the central character's life, like never having children or being forced to relocate as she has never had a job. The repetitive and rambling dialogue can be excused when you consider Christine's chaotic state of mind and heart, yet by the end of this monologue, one's eyes feel as dry as Christine's at Billy's funeral, where, despite the pain she feels, she cannot cry. Yet watching his passing on TV brings out the tears. With the hyper-realism of the media world comes hyper-emotionalism.

There's almost nothing hyper about "Mustn't Forget High Noon", the mostly light-hearted but no less regretful recollections of Billy (Pat Lynch). It is almost pitiable to hear him sing "On The Green Grassy Slopes Of The Boyne" with a desperately forced smile, unconvincingly hiding his fatigue with both his life and the world. His behaviour has been shaped by everything he shared with his recently murdered childhood friend, their love of westerns and their crush on Grace Kelly in High Noon.

He doesn't think he has much in common with his wife, but like Christine, the way he thinks and feels has been overly shaped by a screen. Memories, both hallowed and Hollywood, mask Billy's disappointment at both his marriage and at not living the life his late friend allegedly had, his stereotyped sectarianism virtually defined by the lack of ambiguity in the pictures he loved.

A lot like Karen and Christine, Billy doesn't understand, or refuses to understand, other people's behaviour, and his dream world has been shattered almost entirely. The only resolve these three can find amidst their quiet dismay are in a handful of holy names. For Ananias, Azarias and Misael, read Karen, Christine and Billy: three individuals who pass through a metaphorical or literal furnace and come out alive.

Three Monologues runs until Saturday December 14 in Derry-Londonderry's Playhouse Theatre. For more information, click here.

THEATRE REVIEW: Sea Lavender

The story of a love triangle set in the Siege Of Derry illustrates the damaging effects of isolation

A jailed cobbler, down on his luck. A spoiled aristocrat, with seemingly all he ever wanted. Two characters, at opposite ends of the class spectrum, but who desire one and the same, are portrayed by one and the same... and, in nearly every way, are one and the same, although they would almost certainly deny it.

They are the centrepiece of Sea Lavender, a one-man, two act play written and directed by Derry-Londonderry born Andy Hinds. The title of the production, set during the Siege Of Derry, is a vague metaphor, a mere thread in a compelling, convincing illustration of the dangers of isolation and individualism, and how they can warp one’s mind beyond belief.

Deep down, one may be the caring, giving person that they perceive themselves to be, but, as Christopher Nolan of all people once wrote, it's not who we are inside, but what we do that defines us. Excessive seclusion can drive one into a gamut of unforgivably painful emotions, among them, fear, anger, dismay, hate, scapegoating, over idealism and insanity. All of which conspire to transform and destroy the two characters in the play in front of our very eyes.

The first act introduces us to young Protestant cobbler Arthur, played by acclaimed actor Stephen Hagan. After trying and failing to gain entry into the besieged City Of Derry, he lies in prison, awaiting execution. He clings to the hope provided by both a fragmented patchwork of memories and documentation from aristocratic Captain Harry Thompson, also a Protestant, who has promised to work for his release.

The faint promise in these long winded, erudite letters is contrasted with Arthur's memories of "the sweet smell of (sea) lavender", his "Irish papist" wife and child, and, most importantly for him, his gay love affair with the unseen Peter. It is a lot to take in, but Hagan's conviction and Hinds' steady direction keeps the production on an even keel.

We realise that being trapped in a cell for a period of time has, as Red from The Shawshank Redemption would put it, partly "institutionalised" Arthur. The audience watches as he grapples with his inner soul and a consistently changing point of view, creating an Arthur that is not necessarily who he really is, but a self-involved image that inflates his pride and blinds him to his own faults.

With only a shadow to speak to, which, tellingly, draws attention to itself through brief bursts of light, Arthur's perception of both himself and everyone around him is irreparably distorted. Little wonder, now, that David Tennant was originally in line to play this role; his most famous alter-ego is cursed by loneliness, the price a Time Lord must pay for a do-gooding existence.

As the first act ploughs on, Arthur's continuously revised recollections of Peter shove him further and further into a pitiable hole. He is bitter that he has not been released, and that he probably won't be. He is hurt that when he hugged his wife, all he saw was Peter. He scapegoats intensely ("It wasn’t me that betrayed you, it was those booming voices in my head!") prior to a sudden and imbalanced shift into historical territory. It is the play’s lone weakness – Hagan's sorrowful enunciation about the Siege does not pack anywhere near the same punch as his more personal soliloquies. However, one never forgets the wear and tear on Hagan's extremely expressive face, especially when it is revealed that Arthur's aristocratic "saviour", Harry, also has feelings for Peter.

The second act, set in the confines of a rich man's house, is spent in the sole company of Harry, also played by Hagan. Contrary to Arthur, Harry appears smug, and has a big capitalist dream, the building of a linen empire. But he is no less bitter, albeit initially about more trivial issues such as "no apple sauce on (his) roast pork dinner". Like Arthur, isolationism has driven Harry to breaking point, alcoholism and anger stemming both from extreme love and hate.

In the guise of Harry, Hagan's elocution is stronger and truer than ever, projecting the emotions of an overgrown child who is not so spoiled after all, a man whose head is "a battlefield of warring dreams and battled legions". Weeping over his belief that Peter loved Arthur more than Harry, he feels that no amount of money can buy him an advantage in this love triangle, and resorts to blaming his twisted personality on an abusive childhood.

The historical connection, which has, until now, been rather tenuous, gains full relevance when Harry decides that he will become the father that his own father was not, by raising Arthur's child as his own. We know that our Protestant hero – if you can call him that – cannot raise a Catholic child, but he does not go down quietly in what is ultimately a heartbreaking finale.

Judging Sea Lavender solely by its metaphorical title and backdrop would be misjudgements in themselves, drawing us away from the tragic fate of Arthur and Harry respectively. Stephen Hagan and Andy Hinds have taken two characters and transformed them into fully realised human beings in minimalist surroundings. That is their, and Sea Lavender's, legacy. There is no applause from me when the lights dim for the last time; only the silence and awe that both Hagan and Hinds fully deserve.

THEATRE REVIEW: A Particle Of Dread

Field Day Theatre Company return to Derry-Londonderry with a patchwork thunderbolt of human fear and emotionalism

Easy though it might be to pigeonhole Sam Shepard's A Particle Of Dread as schlocky, Hitchcockian murder mystery coated with high art pretence, it would also be wrong. In many ways maddening, but in many other ways unparalleled as a theatrical achievement in this Year Of Culture, Field Day Theatre Company's return to the Derry-Londonderry stage is an almost meticulously acted, costumed, directed and written production. It eschews cheap thrills and easy answers in favour of cryptic, sometimes secretive, yet consistently curious characterisation. This beautifully woven and creepily horrifying modern day take on Oedipus will not be easily forgotten.

A Particle Of Dread began life as a collection of scenes tossed together in no particular order, and, judging by the still seemingly "unfinished" end product, feels not too dissimilar on stage, like a fractured, untypical framework. Not surprisingly, Shepard does not believe in "sense" and "formula", even if everyone seems to want it: "Chaos is a much better instigator, because we live in (it)."

Nor does Shepard believe in "adaptation"; his aim is more abstract, to bring out the heart in the Oedipus story, rather than the shockingly simplistic plot. In other words, he sets out to create a riff on "the feelings, not the form – the instincts and all the incredible things that are called up." With the notable aid of director Nancy Meckler, designer Frank Conway, costumer Lorna Marie Mugan and highly-regarded musician Neil Martin, Shepard and the talented Field Day cast have done just that; the end result is like a patchwork thunderbolt of human fear and emotionalism in the guise of an unsophisticated plot. Call it "collaborative chaotic collective".

When reviewing Stephen Rea's performance in Clare Dwyer Hogg's Farewell last year, I described Field Day co-founder Rea as "an astonishingly subtle and forceful actor, capable of dissolving into any role." We are fascinated by Rea regardless of the incomprehensibility or reprehensibility in his characters. And while he tosses some subtlety out the window in his portrayal of the modern day Oedipus, Otto – a man who kills his father and mother without fully realising what he is doing – the vigorousness of his acting delicately influences every single character around him.

For the most part, the characters are moody and withdrawn, their rather cryptic dialogue laced with bitterness. The only exceptions, as such, are the expospeak investigations of Iarla McGowan's Harrington and Caolán Byrne's Randolph, the former resembling a comical Rick Grimes. Thankfully, any fears that this will become The Un-Walking Dead are unfounded; the whodunnits and whydunnits of this murder massacre are almost rendered irrelevant by the style of the production and the quality of performance.

 

It really is impossible not to single out the stylisation. Frank Conway's white tiled, sterile set, with human entrails in one corner and the haunting musical interludes of Neil Martin in another, feels more real and three-dimensional than any theatrical set I have seen this year. And the actors only enhance the feelings. Although it is apparent when watching A Particle Of Dread that the true dread the characters feel is not for one another, but rather themselves.

Brid Brennan's Jocelyn skilfully alternates between faux motherly concern and blunt psychology ("The truth will set you free? The truth is for tearing us all apart!") without blinking an eye. Frank Laverty is solid as Larry, whose high class exterior conceals far more than it reveals, and Lloyd Hutchinson is skin-crawlingly creepy in his multiple roles, particularly the travelling seer who emphasises the most unusual words so untrustworthily.

Towering above all, however, is Judith Roddy as Annalee, the young mother who is especially keen to just get to the bottom of things following the incestuous rape of her own mother by her father. It is exceptionally intriguing how she tries to deal with every issue; she claims that "rage" was found in her father's blood, and "terror" in her mother's. But since when were blood test results "moody"? It's apparent Annalee has been told this to fulfil a human weakness; the longing for formulaic, easy answers even if there aren't any. Sam Shepard has clearly written his own views into the play here.

And what of the moment where Annalee thinks it is best to kill her baby son so that he never remembers the experience that has scarred her, but not necessarily him? Perhaps it is understandable why she would take such a stance, but then Hutchinson's blind traveller highlights her paranoia ("He could become anything. Maybe it's you who can't deal with it"), and the chaos inherent in people's lives is right there, in our faces.

I sense, despite Shepard's attempts to stray from "formula", or maybe because of them, threads of a popular Hollywood narrative emerge here; that of the "interconnected lost souls". As one character says, "What's in it for us, all this (monologuing)?" Speaking out thoughts, feelings, hopes and fears may heal oneself, but only superficially, only to a point. Actions speak louder than words; and rarely has that indelible moral been put to better use than in this particular Oedipus complex.

A Particle Of Dread runs at Derry-Londonderry's Playhouse Theatre until Saturday December 7. For more information, click here.

MUSIC REVIEW: The Duckworth Lewis Method

Neil Hannon & Thomas Walsh find themselves literally in the Limelight at the end of their ELO-inspired cricket punk tour – and they do not disappoint

"So now you know what happens in the studio when we're making these records."

Thus speaks Neil Hannon as the cricket collective that he and Thomas Walsh of Pugwash set up four years ago, The Duckworth Lewis Method, nears the end of their Sticky Wickets tour.

It's not so much the wickets that have been sticky, however, as the floor of Belfast's Limelight, and Hannon references this in one of many not-even-cricket-related asides that Hannon, Walsh and their band will toss in on the night.

A night that, to me, can be summed up best as jiggery, pokery, trickery, jokery tomfoolery, going by the lyrics and tone of one of their most well-known tunes (listen above). As entertainers, Hannon & Walsh can deliver shows that amount to a nonsensical mess, but how exciting and energising they are.

The Duckworth Lewis Method's album covers look like they're all about cricket, and their songs could be perceived as being solely about cricket, but the band as a whole go way beyond cricket. Their ELO-inspired, vaudevillian punk transcends the appeal of a game not everyone – especially not this writer – fully understands. As promising as the earnest and rollicking melodies of support act The Statics are, they are mild-mannered by comparison.

Contemporary fads like Movember and the best (or worst) of celebrity gossip are slyly merged with a collection of tunes that range from joyously ridiculous to simply sublime. One is lost in the roars of delight that regularly emerge from all corners of the Limelight, throughout the hilarity of "The Laughing Cavaliers", the funky beat of "Boom Boom Afridi" and a handful of truly unexpected 1980s covers, to name but a few.

But we also marvel at how seamlessly both Hannon & Walsh tie in a well-known sport with everyday life and lovely melodies. "The Nightwatchman" and "Out In The Middle" are strong cases in point; the latter could be about a cricket fielder, but also about a man trapped at a metaphorical crossroads.

If asked about the evening, I'm sure Hannon & Walsh would say "It's Just Not Cricket", but really, It's Not Just Cricket. And it's all the better for it.