Greater Belfast

Nostalgia means a painful longing to return home. Matt Regan hasn’t lived in Belfast for five years, but it still lives in him. This piece, compered and composed by Regan and accompanied by the stunning Cairn String Quartet, exudes pain and yearning in abundance. It contains conflict about the place Regan grew up, a place full of its own troubles. A place where, as Regan tells us, more people have committed suicide in 18 years of peace than died in 30 years of war. 

Not quite spoken word, not quite storytelling, Regan’s text is closer to standup sprinkled with song lyrics. Like if all the times your voice came out accidentally a bit melodic, and all the times your speech accidentally rhymed, were accompanied by a string quartet. In staccato moments his voice meets the same pitch as the strings. It’s effortless music. 

And god those strings. They shimmer and flutter and fall as they play Regan’s evocative compositions. Regan’s speech comes out in stuttering stories, seemingly off the cuff, but the music matches every pause and silence with perfect timing. 

This is the shrapnel of memory. Regan’s recollection of Belfast is not linear, doesn’t form a narrative, but lingers in a smell, the sound of a favourite song by a favourite band, the half-remembered bits of local history that you feel you should know better. It’s theatre with a shortcut to the soul, that captures the essence of Belfast purely and distilled.