The Six Noongar Seasons Review — His Majesty's Theatre

Tonight I wore my mum’s beautiful korowai.

As a proud Māori wahine, it felt like the right thing to wear to a performance celebrating Noongar language, Country, music and storytelling. A small way of honouring my own culture and whānau while being welcomed into someone else’s.

And maybe that set the tone for the whole night, because The Six Noongar Seasons didn’t feel like something I wanted to sit back and analyse. I just wanted to listen. And feel.

It was bloody brilliant.

The Six Noongar Seasons brings together six original poems by Gina Williams-Ghouse OAM and six concertos by Noongar composer Aaron Wyatt, performed by the phenomenal musicians of Australian Baroque, with Helen Kruger absolutely stunning on violin.

And from here I’m going to call Gina Williams-Ghouse OAM simply Gina. It almost feels disrespectful because she is absolutely deserving of her full name and title every single time. But she is also so incredibly down to earth that I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.

Each season began with words. Gina would speak a few lines in Noongar first, followed by the English translation. Then came the music. I loved that order. We were given the words first. The story. The feeling. And then Aaron Wyatt’s music seemed to take those words and carry them somewhere else.

There is something incredibly special about the way Gina speaks. Sitting there tonight, I found myself thinking of Maya Angelou. Not because they are the same — they absolutely have their own voices, stories and cultures — but there is something in that resonance. That clarity. That ability to speak with enormous presence and authority while somehow still making you feel like the words are being spoken directly to you. Gina is commanding without ever needing to demand your attention. You just listen.

And then the music begins.

Aaron Wyatt’s compositions felt both new and old at the same time. I don’t really know how else to explain it. There were moments where the musicians seemed to move like waves, and others where they reminded me of trees swaying together. With around 20 people on stage, I found myself watching their faces almost as much as I watched their instruments. The way they looked at one another. The little moments of connection. The movement. The smiles. It felt real. They weren’t just playing alongside one another. It felt like they were experiencing it together.

And they made it look ridiculously easy.

At one point I genuinely found myself thinking, You know what, I reckon I could play the violin.

No, Paula. You absolutely could not. 😂

But I swear, when musicians can make something that difficult look THAT effortless, you know you’re watching people who are phenomenal at what they do. And Helen Kruger was absolutely stunning.

His Majesty’s Theatre couldn’t have been a more beautiful setting for it.

But somewhere along the way, this became more than music for me.

I live with anxiety and panic attacks, which probably sounds ridiculous coming from someone who can walk onto a stage and sing in front of hundreds of people. But that’s anxiety. And since losing my Dad, I’ve been struggling more than I probably let people see. Mentally. Emotionally. Grief is bloody exhausting.

And tonight… I felt calm.

Really calm.

For a little while my head wasn’t racing. I wasn’t thinking about what I needed to do tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about Dad. I wasn’t trying to hold myself together. I was listening.

At different points, the music genuinely made me feel as though I was moving through the seasons myself. I could almost feel the heat, the rain, the wind, the stillness and the changing of Country.

And I needed that more than I realised.

Normally at interval, my phone comes straight out. That’s when I write my review notes while everything from the first half is still fresh. Tonight I couldn’t.

Actually, that’s not true. I could have. I just didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to turn what I was feeling into dot points. I wanted to stay in it. So I put the reviewer away and just soaked it all in.

After the concert there was a Q&A, and two answers stayed with me.

An audience member asked Gina whether she writes her poetry in English first and then translates it into Noongar. She explained that it’s the other way around. She writes in Noongar first. The English translation follows.

I loved knowing that. Those words we’d been hearing all evening began in Noongar.

Another audience member asked Aaron Wyatt, who grew up in Perth and is now based in Naarm/Melbourne, whether he had a particular Country in mind when he composed the music.

His answer was beautifully simple.

“It’s all Perth.”

Of course it was.

Suddenly everything I’d been feeling while listening to the music made sense. This wasn’t some faraway landscape I was supposed to imagine. It was here.

And then came my favourite moment of the night.

Clay and I have been huge admirers of Gina Williams-Ghouse and Guy Ghouse for years. Seeing Gina take that stage without Guy beside her brought mixed emotions for me. There was sadness. But there was also an enormous sense of pride watching her stand on that stage, sharing language and story with such strength and grace.

Afterwards, we had the opportunity to say hello.

She recognised us.

And that little moment meant the world to me.

Tonight wasn’t about a huge spectacle. It was about getting dressed up, putting on my mum’s korowai, going to a beautiful theatre with my husband and allowing myself to be completely present for a couple of hours.

Poetry. Noongar language. Music. Movement. Country. Connection. And calm.

I walked into His Majesty’s Theatre carrying a lot.

I walked out carrying a little less.

Maybe that’s why I struggled to write notes tonight. Some performances you review. Some you just need to feel.

And tonight, I felt every bit of it.

The Six Noongar Seasons is just bloody brilliant.

Thank you to Pretzel Communications for once again inviting His & Hers Media to experience such a special evening.

Hers ❤️

Some evenings entertain you. Some make you think. And then there are evenings that quietly reach somewhere deeper. Tonight was one of those evenings.

The Six Noongar Seasons is a new work by Noongar composer Aaron Wyatt, inspired by Vivaldi’s iconic Four Seasons, but reimagined through the six seasons of Noongar Country: Birak, Bunuru, Djeran, Makuru, Djilba and Kambarang. Rather than simply translating Vivaldi into a Noongar context, Wyatt has taken the inspiration behind that famous work and given it a new life, one grounded in the land, the seasons and the cultural knowledge of Noongar Country. And I loved that.

As a contemporary artist and lover of music, I’ll admit that this isn’t necessarily the musical language I find myself listening to or performing most often. My world tends to be soul, R&B, funk, theatre and contemporary performance. It can be loud, energetic and sometimes beautifully chaotic. So I didn’t expect to feel quite as humbled by tonight’s musicianship as I did. And I use the word humbled very deliberately.

The musicianship was extraordinary. The higher strings seemed to float above the room, while the deeper voices of the viola, cello and bass gave the music its weight and grounding. The harpsichord added another layer entirely delicate, intricate and unmistakably connected to the musical traditions that inspired the work. Yet none of it felt like music trapped in the past. Instead, I found myself hearing something ancient being brought into the present.

And then the poetry entered. The beauty of Gina Williams’ poetry complimented the music so beautifully that, at times, I found myself closing my eyes. And when I did, I wasn’t sitting inside His Majesty’s Theatre anymore. I could hear birds chirping. I could almost hear insects scurrying across the earth. I could feel floodwaters rising. I could feel the blistering cold winds of winter. I could feel the warmth of summer breezes. I could see springtime growth beginning to emerge. The music didn’t simply describe Country. It allowed me to experience it.

That was one of the most moving aspects of the evening for me. Aaron Wyatt’s starting point may have been Vivaldi, but the destination is entirely different. Vivaldi gave us four European seasons. Wyatt gives us six Noongar seasons six distinct relationships with Country and the changes taking place within it. And by doing so, he has taken a work that has existed for centuries and given its central idea a contemporary Australian life. It isn’t Vivaldi reproduced. It isn’t Vivaldi translated. It is an entirely new work inspired by the idea of using music to tell the story of the seasons. And I think that distinction is important.

Then there was Gina. Paula and I have known Gina Williams for some years now, and whenever we see each other, we greet one another like whānau — family. So watching her stand on that stage tonight, delivering beautiful poetry in her own language, was particularly special for me. But what struck me most was her presence.

Gina reminded me of our own aunties and kuia — our respected older women and elders — standing on the marae, speaking our reo — language, with that incredible strength and groundedness that doesn’t need to be announced. You simply feel it. She looked completely grounded in who she is, where she comes from and the language she was speaking. There was no performance of identity. She simply stood in it.

As a Māori man, that was something I recognised immediately. Different whenua — different land. Different language. Different whakapapa — ancestry and genealogy. And yet the feeling was familiar. That connection to Country. That pride in language. That quiet strength that comes from knowing who you are. I found that incredibly moving.

The visual setting added another beautiful layer. Trees and bush scenery stretched across the stage, their shadows falling against the iconic red velvet curtains of His Majesty’s Theatre. The old theatre became a meeting place between the natural world and the world of performance. Country against velvet. Ancient traditions meeting contemporary art. The past sitting comfortably beside the present.

And perhaps this is where the evening connected with me most deeply. Growing up as a Christian and spending much of my childhood in church, I’m familiar with the feeling of reverence. Not necessarily because of the style of music. Because of the atmosphere. That sense that you are sitting in a room where something demands your utmost attention. Where you don’t need to be entertained every second. Where you can simply sit, listen and allow something to wash over you.

Tonight reminded me of that.

As a contemporary artist, I know the creativity and chaos that can come with performance. I love that world. But tonight I was reminded that music can move you in a completely different way. I sat there listening to these instruments, hearing these beautiful words, and I found myself humbled and eventually brought to tears. Not because the music sounded like anything I normally perform. Quite the opposite. It reminded me that music doesn’t have to belong to your usual world to find its way into you. Sometimes you simply have to give it the space to speak.

And tonight, I did.

The Six Noongar Seasons allowed me to close my eyes and hear birds. To feel the heat. To sense the rain. To imagine the winds. To feel the seasons changing. To hear language spoken with pride. And to witness a contemporary composer take inspiration from one of classical music’s most celebrated works and give that idea a distinctly Noongar life.

I walked into His Majesty’s Theatre expecting to appreciate the musicianship. I walked out feeling humbled by it.

This was an evening of culture and beauty. In every sense of the word.

❤️ — Clay Darius

His & Hers Reviews