Until they were championed by the great Joachim in the 19th century, Bach's six sonatas and partitas for unaccompanied solo violin were not widely recognised as the extraordinary masterpieces that they are.
Schumann and Mendelssohn missed the point by writing piano accompaniments for them (contrary to Bach's wishes), and others used them as mere teaching aids.
There was nothing didactic about Hilary Hahn's quietly masterful performance of the Sonata No. 3 in C on Wednesday night. In fact, the opposite; it was easier to forget than to remember the singular challenges that faced her.
The music sounded natural, as though there could be no better vehicle for Bach's polyphonic intricacies than the supposedly single-voiced violin. Hahn's playing was personal without being introverted: you were a guest rather than a fly on the wall.
Her phrasing and tempos were flexible and soft-edged, and her ability to sustain different voices while varying each one's relative prominence was masked by a calm, thoughtful manner.
Hahn, in a finely-judged partnership with pianist Natalie Zhu, changed style and delivery in sonatas by Mozart. Where her Bach featured a warm legato, in Mozart her tone was bright, her articulation crisp.
Although even these mature pieces are described as sonatas for piano with violin accompaniment, the two instruments play an equal part in creating the dramatic power of the first movement of K304 in E minor. To this the ensuing wistful menuetto made a poignant contrast.
For further significant contrast, the recital ended with the full-blown romanticism of Fauré's Sonata No 1 from 1875. Here, Hahn introduced yet another voice, extroverted and powerful, which captured and capitalised on all the work's own internal contrasts between serenity and restlessness, gentleness and drama. - Michael Dungan
Mozart - Sonata in F K376 Bach - Solo Sonata in C BWV1005 Mozart - Sonata in E minor K304 Fauré - Sonata in A Op 13
A Number, Project Upstairs, Dublin
The clash of intellect is still one of theatre's most exciting sounds, and provides the material from which Caryl Churchill fashions her plays.
Here, she takes human cloning as a theme, and creates a scenario in which, for one parent, it has moved from a scientific possibility to a reality that threatens to overwhelm him.
Salter, the father, had a wife who committed suicide, and a young son who he sent into care, having first arranged to have him cloned. The scientists or doctors who managed the business cheated, by creating no less than 21 duplicates. The author stages only the tip of this iceberg, and Salter is seen talking to - and confronted by - three of his offspring in sequence.
The script is elliptical, leaving numerous gaps that the audience is invited to fill. There is something odd about Salter, who is rooted in his past, that makes him embark on this experiment and now nags at him in self-flagellation.
We meet him with Bernard (B2), his first cloned son, reared by him, who has just recently met one of his strange siblings. He is confused and frightened by his situation, and is tempted to flee from it, to lose himself somewhere.
Salter has been lying about the son he effectively deserted, Bernard (B1), who turns up next. He is aggressive and menacing; we learn that he is a psychopath, and has murdered B2.
In the final scene we meet Michael Black, another son who has been leading a contented married life. The play has a completely open ending, teetering on the edge of a futuristic abyss.
The author deals in perplexing possibilities. The sons are as much the product of nurture as of nature, and so by logical extension are the 18 more still out there. Ideas at the cutting edge of science and philosophy are incarnated in the clones, leaving their resonance after the play has ended.
It is finely played by Barry Stanton and especially by Brian McCardie, who creates the sons with effective nuancing. Jackie Doyle directs for Prime Cut.
Runs until tomorrow, then at the Belfast Festival at Queen's - Gerry Colgan
Lord of the Flies, Helix Theatre, Dublin
This is the 50th anniversary year of William Golding's famous novel, brought to the stage by Pilot Theatre in an adaptation by Nigel Williams. The story is well known, about a group of eight British boys who crash-land on a jungle island, and soon develop primitive instincts and savage ways.
The real nasty is Jack, a public school type who, when he fails to secure command of the group, sets up his own little platoon to go a-hunting. Their first kill, a wild pig, sees them descend the evolutionary scale at a gallop. Smeared with pig's blood - a throwback to the foxhunting kill back home - they terrorise those who oppose them.
Of the latter, the most intelligent is also physically the weakest. Piggy is shortsighted, lacks authority and is fat. But he makes sense, which leads to his downfall. The young terrorists have already killed one boy, mistaking him for a beast - now they need no such excuse. Piggy goes down and out.
From the dramatic opening of the plane crash, there is no shortage of set-pieces. Jungle noises and obscure threats abound, and the savagery increases. The eponymous pig's head looms over them all, symbolising their status, and Jack is about to kill his rival Roger when a helicopter arrives with adult rescuers. The boys are jolted back into the real world.
This is a serious and faithful reconstruction of the novel's narrative and events. It does not quite bring with it the allegorical sense of the wicked world outside the island, tilting it towards youth rather than adult theatre. But those who have read the book will easily make that extension themselves, and those who have not will enjoy a good play with a difference. Marcus Romer directs his cast with fealty. - Gerry Colgan
Runs until tomorrow; then at Grand Opera House, Belfast, October 26th-30th
