Category: Student Organization

REVIEW: Echoes: A Music Journey to the East

Chloe Huang Leave a comment

In the fall of 2019, Qingyun Chinese Ensemble was founded, emerging as the University of Michigan’s first and only Chinese music ensemble and carrying a mission to bring traditional Chinese music to Michigan audiences. Their recent performance at the McIntosh Theater, Echoes: A Music Journey to the East, operates as an extension of their ambitions, focusing on bridging the gap between ancient melodies and contemporary interpretations. With extensive experience in their respective instruments, the members not only displayed technical skills but also a deep pride in representing their culture and heritage. 

Echoes: A Music Journey to the East was divided into three chapters–Journey to the West, Diversity in Harmony, and Life as a Bundle of Spirits– each showcasing a diverse selection of short pieces. Soloists and full ensembles constantly fluttered on and off the stage with their instruments as two announcers enthusiastically introduced each piece’s context and featured instruments. The announcers noted specifics of certain instruments, for example, how the sound of a solo instrument accentuated the intended emotion of the piece, as well as some of the song’s history. Whether or not audience members arrived with prior knowledge of Chinese traditional music, Qingyun ensured they left with a newfound understanding of the genre. 

My knowledge of Chinese traditional music is limited, and perhaps as a result, I found the evening marked by diverting surprises. I was taken at how the performers utilized the entirety of their instruments– for example, tapping on the base of the erhu (Chinese fiddle) or running a stick beater along the ridged encirclement of a dagu (Chinese bass drum)– and at the variety of songs being played. The repertoire ranged from Chinese folk music to more contemporary pieces, to adaptations of music from the video game Black Myth: Wukong, alongside a Japanese song and Mozart’s iconic Turkish March. The distinct sounds each instrument produced were strikingly beautiful, and when the full ensemble came together in the final chapter, their rich harmony was accentuated by individual tones adding layers of texture. I especially loved when the sounds of the dizi (Chinese transverse flute) poked through with its deep, melodic tones. Additionally, many of the traditional songs performed were deeply rooted in nature, a sensation that resonated in the music itself—the dizi evoked birdsong, the muyu (woodblock) mimicked the rhythm of galloping horses, and the guzheng (Chinese plucked zither) gently flowed like water streaming down a mountainside. 

Performance of Erhu Concerto “War Horses Galloping” (1976)

The compact McIntosh theater seated no more than 100 viewers, fostering an easy exchange between the performer on stage and the audience. The ability to see each musician’s fingers move deftly across their instrument, catch subtle expressions, and witness the silent nods exchanged before beginning a piece added a sense of intimacy to the experience. The final surprise song was one of exuberant energy as the behind-the-scenes crew was brought onto the stage and the audience was invited to heartily clap along to the rhythm. After the performance, there was also a ‘Meet the Instrument’ segment where the audience was invited to come up on stage and play the exhibited instruments.

The Qingyun Chinese Music Ensemble continues to provide a space for students to refine their craft while introducing new audiences to the often-overlooked beauty of Chinese traditional music. Their performance was both welcoming and educational, offering an experience that was not only immersive but also deeply personal, reflecting the performers’ passion for their art. 

More information on the ensemble as well as the pieces and instruments performed in Echoes: A Music Journey to the East can be found here: https://qr-codes.io/pkFUwE



REVIEW: A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard : An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa

the eye online Leave a comment

Featured Image: Marc Nelson (left) is an Illinois-based artist whose work documents the war crimes, and human rights violations occurring in Syria, Yemen, Myanmar, and the United States, and is featured in the exhibition. He is pictured with his friend and martyr of revolution Mazen Al-Hamada, whose verbal and visual testimony are also featured. Mazen was forcibly disappeared and later murdered in the “slaughterhouse” prison of Saydnaya in Damascus, only days before the toppling of the Assad regime.

CW: Depictions of Torture (Illustrated) and Discussions of Carceral Violence, Torture, and Death

The notion of human nature implies certain universalities amongst all people, suggesting an intangible connection between everyone who has ever lived, everyone alive now, and everyone who has yet to live. The tangible products of creative expression that we call art could be described as the physical manifestations of human nature. Thus, an artist’s humanity and identity become immortalized by their act of creation.

But what about those who cannot create art freely? Whose voices are silenced by carceral institutions designed to dehumanize and disenfranchise? Human nature does not simply vanish, and neither do those who are incarcerated.

A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard: An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) is only the second exhibition I have encountered dedicated solely to incarcerated and prison-impacted artists and communities, a troubling reality I believe reflects the overwhelmingly negative Western and global attitudes towards incarcerated people.

Curators Susan Aboeid and Sumaya Tabbah of The Hafathah Collective, with organizational collaboration from U-M Students Organize for Syria (SOS), in partnership with U-M Library, and with support from the U-M Arts Initiative, have created one of the most poignant traveling exhibitions I have ever had the privilege of viewing. The geographic coverage of the MENA region is extensive, with prison art from Algeria, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen, effectively revealing the devastatingly similar carceral realities of these countries. The exhibition, however, resists exceptionalism by asserting that prisons in the MENA region are not bad because the area is bad, but because the prisons and those who run them are detestable. Untitled by Unknown, Undated, Yemen is a visual testimony smuggled out of prison by an unknown artist, depicting methods of systematic mass torture implemented in UAE-run prisons in Yemen. This piece grapples with the exhibition’s tension of understanding prison art as testimony versus aesthetic, the former allowing the works to transcend carceral geographies and speak to the visitors, who in turn, speak to each other. Thus, the gallery becomes a space for those who have survived these prisons but can’t go back, a chance to reconcile their experiences and emotions.Another work, Broken Oaths by Razaan Killawi, 2021, Syria, depicts former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad atop excerpts from his inaugural address, “…a speech laced with assurances of unity, reform, and national pride — words that starkly contrast the realities of oppression, fear, and violence experienced by Syrians” reads the object label. Much like Assad weaponized language to legitimize injustice and oppression, the prison experience is carefully designed to legitimize the disintegration of communities under the false notion of “protection”. What is truly protected within these prisons is the truth — the truth about the unbearable reality so many people experience, which they can only later describe as “being suspended between life and death”.

Whether we are separated by oceans and borders, language and culture, walls and bars, or armed guards and authoritarian regimes, we remain forever connected to our family and friends on the inside. This heart-wrenching exhibition, which will remain open until March 30th at the Hatcher Library at U-M, reminds those of us on the outside that those inside are still with us. I implore everyone who is able to take the opportunity to be with these artists through their immortal testimony, and hear their voices which will not be silenced.

REVIEW: The Stampede

Madi Hammond Leave a comment

When I picture an art gallery, my mind conjures a quiet, sterile space lined with ancient sculptures or framed paintings, each accompanied by a neatly printed placard. Even trendier collections, like those at the Museum of Modern Art, tend to follow a certain formula: curated, polished, and sometimes intimidating.

But The Stampede installation at the Stamps Gallery is something different — fresh, young, and alive. This exhibition is the first gallery showcase for The Stampede, a student organization founded in 2023 with a mission to create spaces for students to present new and unconventional artwork. With a rallying cry to “RUN WITH US!” it presents some of their work while showcasing the energy of this student-driven art movement.

Gallery-style art collection at The Stampede exhibit.

The exhibit serves as a retrospective of everything The Stampede has accomplished in its short existence. In just a year, the group has hosted pop-ups, parties, art markets, concerts, and gallery exhibitions, establishing itself as a vibrant hub for artists, writers, and musicians. This exhibition isn’t just a collection of their work — it’s a living testament to their rapid growth and creative impact.

The first thing you encounter upon rounding the corner into the one-room exhibit is a simulated merchandise table. While it was used for actual sales during the opening night, afterward, the items weren’t available for purchase. Instead, they mimic the kind of setup you’d find at a Stampede event, reinforcing the immersive, DIY ethos of the organization. It’s a clever way to blur the line between exhibition and experience, making visitors feel like they’ve stepped into a real Stampede gathering.

Artwork at The Stampede exhibit.

One wall is dedicated to a constantly running short film, projected in a loop, capturing the raw energy of Stampede parties, behind-the-scenes glimpses of artwork in progress, and the collective excitement that fuels the group. Another wall displays the spray-painted banners seen in the video, along with an archive of promotional posters from past Stampede events. The third wall is packed floor to ceiling in a salon-style arrangement, a practical necessity at their pop-up galleries where wall space is often scarce. This layout mirrors the spontaneous and organic nature of their events, where art spills over every available surface.

The variety of mediums on display is striking: zines, collages, paintings, sketches, and even papier-mâché sculptures. Each piece stands on its own, yet together they form a cohesive narrative of experimentation and self-expression. The installation feels less like a traditional gallery and more like an active, ongoing conversation between artists and their audience.

Perhaps the most playful (and fitting) element of the exhibit is the shrine to the “Blood of the Bull,” The Stampede’s signature sangria. A simple spray-paint can and red Solo cups serve as a cheeky nod to the community-building aspect of their events. It’s an artifact not just of their gatherings, but of the youthful, unfiltered spirit that defines The Stampede.

“Blood of the Bull,” an ode to sangria at The Stampede.

More than just an organization or an exhibit, The Stampede is a community. Every part of this installation pulses with the energy of the college experience: messy, exciting, and full of possibility. Rather than adhering to the conventions of traditional galleries, The Stampede invites us to break free, run wild, and make space for something new.

REVIEW: 33 Variations

musicalsoup Leave a comment

December 6 | 11:00 pm | Newman Studio

 

Humans are naturally doused in curiosity. We’ve discovered the depths of Earth’s oceans while making our way to parts of outer space we probably were not intended for. The desire for complete discovery exists on both the largest and smallest of scales. A riling little mystery from the composer Ludwig von Beethoven’s expansive musical life has enchanted playwright Moisés Kaufman, writing a play of the same name: 33 Variations, in which he sends leading lady Dr. Katherine Brandt on her own expedition to uncover the reason for his insist creation of the tune.

In 1819, music publisher Anton Diabelli commissioned Beethoven to write a short variation of his waltz for a larger publication. Beethoven found it pedestrian and blew it off, but at some point, something intrigued him about the tune. This detail left out of history led him to ambitiously compose thirty-three variations on the waltz over the last few years of his life.

What changed? Why did Beethoven spend the height of his compositional years on a piece considered elementary?

Ella Saliba as Dr. Katherine Brandt.

Modern-day musicologist Dr. Katherine Brandt (Ella Saliba) travels to Bonn, Germany, to study Beethoven’s manuscripts from the 1820s. Clara (Aliyah Douglas), her restless daughter, disapproves of the journey due to her mother’s declining health from ALS and eventually joins her in Europe. The two often exchange fiery discourse, “You don’t love anything that you can’t understand,” Clara jabs. Their rocky relationship is exacerbated by Clara’s lack of career commitment and her cumbersome relationship with her mother’s nurse from the U.S., Mike Clark (Landon Wouters, whose character is hilariously inappropriate & full of laughs).

The play shifts between 19th-century Vienna and the present, while Beethoven (Nick Aiello) struggles to pay rent and faces his own ailments. His secretary, Anton Schindler (a charming James Parascandola), converses back and forth with Mr. Anton Diabelli (Marcus Byers) over four years while Beethoven writes his variations.

Through a plot with cadences that come off more bleak than cheerful, there is an abundance of humor woven into Kaufman’s hefty script. Aiello, Byers, and Parascandola are responsible for that—the three’s hilarious riffs were plentiful and cheeky. Perhaps nudging to the fact many of Beethoven’s variations do undoubtedly poke fun at Diabelli.

A young Ella Saliba earnestly waltzes through the life of the much more mature Dr. Katherine Brant. As Ms. Saliba explored Katherine’s ever-consuming and impassioned journey onstage, what the audience found was a deeply impressive, humble, and moving performance—resulting in a very misty curtain call.

James Parascandola and Marcus Byers.

One of the most exceptional parts of the play is the live pianist performing the “33 Variations” in real time. I would be remiss not to point out pianist Eric Head’s sensitive performance. This notoriously challenging work was greeted with poise from Head, providing an irreplaceable vibrance to the atmosphere.

Kaufman’s play may occasionally feel oversaturated with detail, but I was transfixed by his sentimental characters. The parallels between these two human lives across more than a century are deeply clever. Life’s ever-ticking clock is often responsible for igniting humanity’s obsessive quest for meaning in our short engagements on Earth, a theme poignantly embodied by Mr. Aiello and Ms. Saliba. I do hope Dr. Brandt found the answers she wanted, for she at least discovered the beauty nestled within the ordinary.

 

 

 

Images thanks to Basement Arts. 

REVIEW: As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow – The Play

vprayag Leave a comment

On December 6th, at 5 PM, the Ford Collaboratory in the Mardigian Library became a portal to war-torn Syria through the powerful stage adaptation of Zoulfa Katouh’s As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow. The story, which follows Salama Kassab’s heartbreaking journey through the Syrian civil war, was beautifully translated into a theatrical experience

The play centered on Salama (played by Leila Haddad in a standout performance), a former pharmacy student turned volunteer medic. Leila captureed Salama’s internal struggle with raw, unflinching authenticity. Her portrayal of guilt, hope, and despair—especially in moments of silence—felt like a masterclass in restraint. Haddad’s ability to convey emotion, especially in the quieter, more introspective moments, was mesmerizing.

Image Courtesy: Leila Ghaznavi

However, where the play truly shone was in its staging. Director Amira Shafiq, President of the Theater club, created an intimate, immersive experience that makes the audience feel as though they’re walking alongside Salama in the ruins of Homs. The use of minimalist sets striked a balance between realism and surrealism. The lighting design deserved special mention, with its stark contrasts between the warm glow of past memories and the cold, unforgiving present.

One of the play’s most intriguing choices was the personification of Khawf, Salama’s manifestation of fear. Actor Omar Darwish gave Khawf a chilling yet oddly sympathetic presence. His interactions with Salama—at times antagonistic, at times comforting—perfectly captured the inner turmoil of living through unimaginable horrors. These scenes, while impactful, occasionally slowed the pacing slightly, but they were essential in depicting her mental and emotional state.

The dialogue, much of it drawn directly from the book, was both poetic and raw, though some lines feel better suited to the page than the stage. While some of Salama’s reflections felt a bit expository when spoken aloud, they still carried the emotional weight of her journey.

“Perhaps this could have been remedied with more physical storytelling or additional silences to let the weight of the words sink in,” added Alexis Mohammed, a student at the University of Michigan Dearborn.

The supporting cast also delivered heartfelt performances. Yasmin Agha brought warmth and strength to the role of Layla, Salama’s pregnant best friend, though her limited stage time left her arc feeling somewhat underexplored. Karim Al-Rashed, as Salama’s brother Sami, offered moments of levity and hope, with his final scene leaving the audience in stunned silence.

One of the play’s most powerful moments was the climactic hospital scene. The chaos of wounded civilians flooding in, enhanced by overlapping shouts, frantic movement, and a pulsing soundscape, left both Salama and the audience breathless. It was a visceral reminder of the relentless toll of war.

That said, the play did struggle to capture some of the novel’s nuance, especially in depicting Salama’s quieter moments of healing and growth. The ending, while emotionally charged, felt slightly rushed, leaving the audience including myself, yearning for a deeper exploration of Salama’s transformation.

As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow is a story that demands to be told, and this stage adaptation did justice to its poignant message. With stellar performances, innovative staging, and a deeply personal tone, the December 6th performance was more than a play—it was a call to bear witness, to empathize, and to remember.

REVIEW: Plano

musicalsoup Leave a comment

November 16 | 7:00 pm | Newman Studio

 

 

It seems director Natalie Tell found the question of time most interesting in her multilayered senior thesis, Plano. What really is now? What is later?  Earlier? Suddenly? And where do our lives fit into a structured system of a concept that refuses to be contained? These questions were presented in her attuned director’s note in the program, but I found that more prominent themes of identity and male-induced panic rose to the surface onstage.

Plano lets us loose in a semi-mythical Texas in the home (or rather, on the porch) of three sisters, Anne (Maya McEntrye), Genevieve (Hannah Long), and Isabel (Audrey Andrews). They are haunted by strange physical things (like slugs, ribbons, ghosts) that all seem to tie back to the patriarchal influences of their unexplored past. Each sister has a different quandary with the primary man in her life: Anne quickly marries John (Joaquin Consuelos) after finding out she is pregnant, but he seems to be with her for the green card; Anne, is married to her less-than-superb husband, Steve (the hilariously erratic Rohan Maletira); and young Isabel finds herself in a relationship with God, but grapples with the presence of looming spirits.

The play establishes a fantastic “handshake” with the audience right out of the gate. The lights come up, and the sisters are having a fiery sharp conversation, darting through time when a character decides, “It’s later.” We discover John (whose real name is Juan) is gay and gallivants off to Plano (a seemingly mystical, metaphorical place) leaving Anne alone with her thoughts. Isabel is afflicted by two Faceless Ghosts who dwell uncomfortably near when she’s alone. When Genevieve and Steve ultimately divorce due to his infidelity, he splits in two (and eventually three) haunting Genevieve’s home and mind.

“A third Steve is making music in the garage. He won’t leave. And the other two Steves are really proud of him.” says Genevieve.

 

The eclectic universe Ms. Tell crafted was completely alive: props emerged seamlessly, Faceless Ghosts wandered around pre-show, and a bowl of hummus came out of the wall! The curse manifested itself in ways other than through the character’s words, it surrounded them. Ms. Tell’s creative design choices made the script’s (by the poignant Will Arbery) insistent metaphors in the script all the more playful.

 

The Faceless Ghosts pre-show.

Arbery’s book contains rich ramblings, which develop deep and relatable characters, blending humor with the uncanny. The play between reality and surrealism is intricate but such charming performances kept me fully engaged in attempting to unravel the timeline. The three sisters are distinct characters to me, each carrying a strange sense of familiarity. The clarity could stem from Arbery’s vocal inspiration from his seven sisters whom he grew up with in Dallas, Texas (a short distance from Plano, Texas).

 

Ms. McEntrye, Long, and Andrews are filled with endurance and are constantly thrilling. They relentlessly search for their identities while navigating life and facing the challenges of hegemonic authority from previously trusted men. Ms. Long’s performance was a personal favorite of mine, showcasing her quick wit and unveiled compassion. While their male counterparts can be mundanely loathsome in the world of Plano, the performances by Mr. Consuelos and Mr. Maletira were quirky and deliberate.

Though Ms. Tell’s director’s note emphasized her exploration of time in Plano, I found the most moving aspects of it were its relationship with the women fighting it. It’s difficult to truly grasp the metaphysical concept of time in this piece, as it (seemingly) is not linear, but it was effortless to feel for the strong women’s journey of discovery. To Ms. Tell’s point, time is something we’re always aware of, and these characters certainly are too.

“We’re a tiny part of a tiny thing that never ends…” Anne says.

 

 

 

Plano runs November 15-16 in the Newman Studio. Images thanks to @umichdesignandproduction on Instagram.