Add in the extraordinary physicality of the three singers, whose folk-inflected vocal lines underscore their resemblance to those groups of weird sisters encountered in innumerable fairytales, and the show becomes a deeply unsettling theatrical experience, nakedly operatic in the way the music pours out of the performers to overwhelm the audience. Yet in terms of the miasma of alienation suffusing the score – whose other constituents are an obliquely objective string quintet of players from the Rekyavík Sinfónía, and electronics that shake the venue as well as churning up the innards of those inside it – its power to fascinate and disturb is palpable. A short interpretation of The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks, including the Sacrifice Poles, the dunes, The Bunker and a mix and match of phone calls between the brothers. How much of it would make sense to someone unfamiliar with the book is uncertain.
Though the material recognisably derives from Banks's text, the action is viewed through the eyes of Frank – whom the novelist once described as a "normality-challenged teenage eccentric with severe violence issues" – and as a result, it feels less like an independently viable narrative than a satellite work, or even a homage.
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