There is always a particular type of magic when a work of art is created specifically for the space in which it exists. For what is arguably the most unusual show in the Sydney Festival program this year, Luna Park’s Coney Island is transformed from a bright, bustling playground to a dimly-lit, abandoned relic of the past.
Night Songs at Coney Island is an immersive choral work, exploring the concepts of grief and loss juxtaposed with childhood innocence and joy. This isn’t a theatrical event with a clear narrative arc and story – rather, it weaves together different experiences and themes through music.
The space itself (a heritage-listed 1930’s fun house inside the oldest section of the amusement park) is used to great effect, with performers weaving in and around the audience. This does mean that at times it is difficult to hear the soloists, whose voices have a huge space to fill, but this also adds to the feeling that we are witnessing a private moment, rather than watching an intricately rehearsed performance.
The music is beautiful and haunting...
However, the experience does not begin at Luna Park – it all starts with a ferry ride accompanied by a trio of trombonists, naturally. Our ride-along musicians manage to sturdy themselves and cope admirably with the challenge of performing on a moving vessel, which makes for an entertaining feat. Despite some inevitable practical variables to navigate (on the evening we attended, rough conditions meant that the ferry was 20 minutes late to pick us up from Walsh Bay), the ferry ride and its spectacular views of Sydney Harbour is a stunning addition (especially if you don’t ordinarily travel by ferry). However, as a way of setting the scene for the work, it falls somewhat short.
When the ferry docks at Luna Park, our trombonists accompany us to play a final set below the iconic, ominous grinning face that hovers above the park gates. As the daytime crowds filter out (some of them carrying comically oversized carnival prizes) our group makes our way to the fun house.
Inside the lowly-lit Coney Island hall, our group seems to more than double in size. Singers from Sydney Philharmonia Choirs converge amongst the amusements and murals featuring retro-style caricatures, musicians from the Sydney Philharmonia Chamber Orchestra take their place under the baton of music director and conductor Brett Weymark. And then, a sea of children from years gone by are called forth by the orchestra’s joyous rendition of Francis Poulenc’s ‘Sextet for piano and winds’, then play against the backdrop of Igor Stravinksy’s solemn and reflective ‘Mass’. The music is beautiful and haunting.
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The repeated appearance of a soldier (a grown man) gives the children’s fanciful games a more sinister feel – innocent and fun activities become foreshadowing, war games turned real.
At times it seems that the soldier yearns to join the children in their games, his presence representing not just their future but also their present, as the realities of war repeatedly intrude on their play and shape their games. Despite this, the children’s innocence remains to the end, their expressions full of hope even as they slowly fade back into the past to face an uncertain future. The children are also dressed in clothing from different eras of history, reminding us that the conflict of war is forever ongoing.
The children’s games are intercut with Gustav Mahler’s ‘Kindertotenlieder’ (‘Songs on the Death of Children’), performed by soloists Peter Coleman-Wright and Cheryl Barker, which is the emotional core of the work. In ‘Kindertotenlieder’, Mahler uses text from German poet Friedrich Rückert to express the complexity of a parent’s grief, which begins as a deep, raw pain which gives way to regret, resignation and even hope. By introducing Mahler’s song cycle, director Matthew Barclay reminds us that the loss of a child leaves behind ripples of grief that will never fully heal.
A particular highlight was Barker’s rendition of ‘Oft denk' ich, sie sind nur ausgegangen’, beautifully capturing the heartbreaking denial of a reality too painful to face. The tragic first verse translates to:
“I often think they have only gone out,
They will soon be coming home again,
It is a beautiful day, ah do not be afraid,
They have only gone for a long walk.”
This performance is essentially a meditation on grief, and is best experienced by just letting it wash over you. You may wish to refer to the leaflets handed out by the Sydney Festival staff for English translations of the songs (however, there won’t be anything in there to explain some of the more confusing moments of the performance, which are open to interpretation). Comfortable shoes are also advised, as this is a standing performance (there is some limited seating for those who need it), and we also recommend packing a water bottle (and maybe some snacks) to see you through the two-and-a-half hour experience. Other than that, the only other hazards to be wary of are errant paper planes, and the melancholy feelings that this inimitable performance may stir up for you.
Night Songs at Coney Island is a special event for Sydney Festival, playing from Jan 22-25. Tickets are now sold out. Find out more over here.
