In a world filled with hatred

and vocal duo for the soulful, upbeat protest song Silence. DAVID POLLOCK The Divide is set in a plague-ridden world in which heterosexual

relations are taboo his phrasing, the notes rippling through the orchestra’s sumptuous string textures, or conversing with the flute or bassoon in a seductive fashion. His passages with the soulful horns in the adagio were heart-stopping while he brought out footstamping folk-elements of the finale.

Listening to Elgar’s Symphony No 1 in A flat through the lens of Gardner and the BPO was a revelation. Instead of quintessentially English pastoral music, we were immersed in a gutsy European soundworld. There were echoes of Wagner in the dazzling brass, bass heft and flowing, harp-edged phrases of the andante along with Brahms’s strident changes of tempo in the allegros. After this sensational, enlightened journey, Elgar will never sound the same again. SUSAN NICKALLS Playhouse JJJJ María Pagés slings a large leather bag over her shoulder and starts rummaging around inside it, frustratedly. The flamenco dancer and choreographer behind this powerful celebration of womanhood can’t find what she is looking for – and she’s had enough.

What follows is Pagés’ only song in the show (she leaves the rest to the stunning flamenco vocalists in her company), where she lists all the things women have to carry around in order to live their lives. Initially witty, the song then moves into more serious territory, condemning the countless anti-ageing and beauty products that conspire to make women feel bad about their natural, and changing, appearance.

If all this sounds a world away from Mérimée’s novella and Bizet’s opera, it is. This is Carmen, but not as we know it. Some of Bizet’s music makes an appearance, played gloriously by an eight-strong musical team, but Pagés is here to give us a real depiction of women – not the male fantasy that resides in the original story.

Joined by six superb female dancers, she cradles Usher Hall JJJ Conductor Andrew Davis’ mission to breathe new life into Elgar’s largely forgotten cantata from 1896, Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf, is laudable, given the unevenness of this Victorian relic. Fine as this performance was, it couldn’t hide the work’s flaws, especially its longwinded and unwieldy libretto.

That said, the Edinburgh Festival Chorus, expertly drilled by chorus master Christopher Bell, rose to the challenge of carrying the bulk of the vocal recounting of this story of the 10th century Norwegian king’s war with the Norse gods. Together with the superb Philharmonia Orchestra they produced

0 María Pagés’ show challenges stereotypical attitudes to women a baby then dons an apron and sweeps the floor; while romantic engagement with men (depicted by chairs) feels egalitarian and sensuous, rather than dysfunctional. Standing alone in a spotlight, Pagés swoops a long black scarf over her head, capturing the old Spanish widows we see in pictures, but giving her a new vibrancy.

In case there’s any confusion (which from the mumblings around me, there clearly is), towards the end Pagés steps forward to

0 Soprano Erin Wall’s duet with Robert Dean Smith is a highlight an impressive wall of sound as the two sides clashed.

However, such rich orchestration left little room for the soloists. Tenor Robert Dean Smith had a tough time trying to make himself heard in the first half as he battled both the orchestra and his nemesis Ironbeard, bass Matthew Rose.

As it goes on, the cantata address the audience. This show is about all women, she tells us, her, me, our mothers, our grandmothers, our daughters; a moment of recognition and empowerment to challenge the stereotypes she grew up surrounded by in Seville.

It’s a strong central message, and the vehicle which delivers it is equally strong – pounding, adrenalin-inducing footwork and beautifully intricate arms all performed in perfect unison. KELLY APTER gets better as Elgar finds his own voice, stops imitating Wagner and creates a better balance between his forces. The reflective duet between Smith and soprano Erin Wall was superb and the chorus’ unaccompanied passage in the lead-up to the epilogue proved that less is definitely more. SUSAN NICKALLS Enrique Cabrera has been creating shows for children and young people for more than 20 years, and has learned more than a few lessons along the way.

One of them is how to keep minds from wandering, how to re-invent a performance constantly so that nothing lingers too long, and how to create one dazzling visual image after another.

All of which can be found in Vuelos, a homage to Leonardo da Vinci and his obsession with flight.

Cabrera is the man with the vision, but much of the applause for Vuelos must also be directed at composer Luis Miguel Cobo, whose cinematic score carries the audience along through moments of beauty, playfulness and curiosity.

Likewise designers Ricardo Vergne and Elisa Sanz who, much like da Vinci before them, give us one remarkable prop and costume (often the same thing) after another – all related to flight or da Vinci’s artistic output in one way or another.

Large black feathery wings are strapped on and flapped; a giant wooden puppet, like an artist’s jointed manikin, is walked across the stage.

A long table (reminiscent of The Last Supper), populated with wooden cups and cutlery, is used for comical dining by the five dancers.

Cleverly designed horse costumes see them clip clopping around the stage stylishly; and long mirrors cast witty reflective images out into the audience.

Every minute of this is done with grace and sophistication, yet perfectly pitched for all ages to enjoy.

With so many items to strap on, climb through and dance round, the dancers of the Madrid-based company Aracaladanza never falter.

Along with all of the above, Cabrera has filled the show with gentle contemporary dance choreography. It has been so subtly embedded into the action that it becomes like breathing, easy to watch and accessible to the core. KELLY APTER