(Maddy Costa’s article appeared in the Guardian, 5/15.)


Barbican, London

There is a moonlit madness to Laurie Anderson's latest music-theatre piece. It might be taking place within the mind of an insomniac, who helplessly contemplates ancestry and the afterlife, Kierkegaard and Melville, politics and passwords, before finally drifting off into a restless sleep disturbed by weird dreams. In one recent dream, Anderson recounts, she arranged for her pet dog to be stitched inside her stomach, so that she could give birth to it. How vividly she remembers it squirming.


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