Catching-up with Australian composer Lee Bradshaw
Hello everyone and welcome back to the blog. Today, I had the chance to sit down and chat with Melbourne-based composer Lee Bradshaw. Exactly today, one year ago (2024), the premiere of his first opera—which I had the honour of engraving—took place. It was not just “another opera”, rather the first grand-opera of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, titled Zarqa Al-Yamama, a 90-min, two-acts masterpiece entirely sung in Arabic language.
To celebrate this historic anniversary, I felt it appropriate to catch-up with Lee on his multiple open fronts (definitely a kindred soul in this!). You can read our previous conversation here.
MG: Hi Lee, thank you for joining us today. It feels like yesterday that we were running through Riyadh between a meeting and a rehearsal, between a sound check and … a car picking up the wrong passenger! Instead, it has already been one year. Before focusing on the music, though, I would like to ask you what nonmusical marks this experience in Saudi Arabia left in you.
LB: Wow, what a time. Even now, approaching the 12-month anniversary of the premiere, I still don’t think I fully understand what we did. Even listening back to the recordings and watching the footage, it all feels rather surreal—truly.
I’ve answered plenty of questions about the experience and the project ‘on the record,’ and I can happily recite all the appropriately diplomatic responses… but this really was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience. Maybe it’s the ‘magic of theatre’—but I’ve been around a fair bit of that over the years, and I’m not sure that it’s quite that simple.
It hasn’t been without complexity—during or since. Coming home, I found myself in what I can only describe as a lukewarm, even standoff-ish, environment—not across the board, but certainly in some quarters. Some parts of the industry responded with outright derision, accusing me of supporting a so-called “blood regime.” One agent (who shall remain unnamed) even suggested I ought to feel ashamed for contributing to Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030.
I don’t feel ashamed.
I feel privileged.
Privileged not only to have been given the opportunity to write an opera—a miracle in itself—but to practise my craft in a way that (perhaps) made an impact on the people involved. To bring art into a place where it had never really existed before—not in the way we were presenting it—and to offer it to people, is a rare opportunity. And as an artist, I felt duty-bound to pursue it.
I’m proud of the score. I love the performers and the musicians. I love the production team and the backstage crew. And I love Saudi Arabia. It’s a place with long memories held in its vast landscape and sky—and if you’re listening, you can hear them whisper to you.
I think it was genius to commission an opera—the pinnacle of Western art music—and use it to tell a story that resonates with stories from other cultures, and to do it in Arabic! I only hope the work finds its path through the politics and onto the great operatic stages. My part in it aside—it’s something that deserves to be given to the world.
The spirit that I believe drove the entire venture is something that has to be experienced to be understood. Because something greater than the efforts of any one individual was most certainly at play.
MG: I couldn’t agree more, Lee, it was a real privilege, and something I will never forget, to be welcomed into the team and be part of this miracle. For me, besides the incredible emotions still swirling in me, and the memories of those unforgettable events, I have been craving those dates-filled cookies they call “Maamoul” which seem just very difficult to find here1. While it doesn’t have to be a culinary one, what is your most-cherished memory from that time?
LB: The Edge of the World is something I’ll always think of when I think of Saudi Arabia. It was one of the first places I visited on that first trip—and then I went back a second time. There’s a great deal of ‘music’ there.
I was lucky enough to go not with a group, but with just one other traveller. The guides were trying to entertain us on the drive out with loud hip-hop music, but I needed quiet. I needed to listen. I was hoping to hear something I could carry back into my score.
Delivering a project like this—against what often felt like insurmountable odds—with one of my oldest friends, Ivan Vukčević, is something I’ll always cherish.
We went through the full spectrum of emotions, and we had our limits tested. But it was beautiful. And difficult. And absolutely worth it, as far as I’m concerned.
I made new friends—some of whom, I know, will be friends for life.
You can’t measure this kind of harvest.
MG: Now that we’ve warmed up, please share with us more about the musical side of Zarqa, perhaps focusing on the last days of rehearsal and on the performance runs which, sadly, I could not attend beyond the premiere?
LB: Zarqa was—simply put—a miracle. The synergy between all the moving parts was rare. Especially for a first opera production, where I’d been warned to expect a good amount of behind-the-scenes ‘drama’ to manage. It just didn’t happen. Everyone came into this with a shared sense of purpose—the spirit of the project galvanised us. It felt like we were all on a journey together, discovering as we went.
It started for me in earnest in Brno—not far from Bratislava, where my grandmother was born… it seems unlikely that an Opera for Saudi Arabia would commence its rehearsals here, but there you go. Just more ‘ties that bind’ I guess…
There was a particular morning that really stands out—maybe Day 2 of rehearsals. We’d lost a couple of singers to illness, and the whole schedule went out the window. I suggested we gather whoever was left standing and do a full read-through, so everyone could get an understanding of what all their effort was in aid of.
The strategy worked. As the last notes of the finale faded away, the entire room erupted into applause, tears, hugging and celebration… it was easily and by far the single most beautiful memory for me. I believe it was this moment which galvanised our musical cohort, and the spirit that was born at this moment was what enabled the musical core group to continue forging ahead when other circumstances inevitably made things rather difficult.
We were—after all—putting on an Opera in an unfinished venue; rehearsing with jackhammers in the hall, dust in the air… the foyer was literally a sandpit 36hrs out from the premiere!2 What was achieved logistically was as much a miracle as the Opera itself. I’m prepared for the cynics to take aim on this point—but I’ll dig in by saying any criticisms of how things get done in KSA, ought to be reserved until those detractors have gone there and seen it for themselves.
Period.
One of the most life-changing moments for me was hearing Sarah Connolly sing the music I had written for her. As mind-bogglingly good as Thalie Knights was (and is)—with a beautiful and lyrical, melancholic approach that aligned with my original intention—Sarah, made the music entirely her own.
She turned Zarqa into something I hadn’t fully foreseen: a tragic warrior. Fierce, frustrated, commanding. A lioness. She reshaped the character into something raw and powerful—and it was astonishing. It affirmed something I believe deeply as a composer: that the best music happens when the composer gets out of the way and lets the musicians collaborate with the notes on the page—to say something, in their own way.
The surprise, was hearing how two Artists created two rather different characters with the same musical material, without mitigating the narrative flow and drama of the piece, and without setting any of the other character interactions off-track.
Baiba Skride is the same. She takes the text, reads it, honours it—and then plays what she feels. I love that. It makes my work feel like a discovery when I hear it performed. As I’ve often said, the composer’s job is done when the double bar line comes down.
The cast was phenomenal. Serena Farnocchia as Hazila was like a rocket—so compelling in her portrayal of the mother that I now intend to write her an additional aria. The duet between her and Sarah in Scene 10 became one of the real highlights of the work.
Aleksandar Stefanoski—our ‘monster from Macedonia’—brought King Amliq to life in terrifying fashion. On stage, a force of nature; off-stage, a giant teddy bear. You can hear him coming from any room in the building—a huge voice.
And then Paride Cataldo, George von Bergen, Amelia Wawzron, Alessandra Meozzi, Alessandro Fantoni, Thomas Faulkner, Dina Iskander, Daniel Dropulja… all wonderful. Every one of them brought heart, craft, and spirit to the stage.
Another incredible moment was the first Sitzprobe when we heard all the forces come together for the first time… the Philharmonic Choir of Brno and the Dresden Sinfoniker and our entire cast, and if Zarqa was born in Brno—then it was in this moment that she took her first steps, and it wasn’t long before she was running.
The premiere was special, although I was somewhat distracted by helping the tech crew with the acoustic reinforcement and couldn’t really be present, per se. The King Fahad Centre is a venue with about 3500 seats—around 2000 too many for an acoustic operatic performance. And although the venue had been refurbished and sounded AMAZING, once the hall was close to full, reinforcement became necessary—especially given that audiences in that region aren’t yet familiar with concert etiquette. And despite that, the opera compelled them to listen—which they did. They found the right moments to applaud, and I was especially touched to see so many tears in the audience over the course of the ten performances. We really achieved something significant.
The insight of Pablo Gonzalez was extraordinary; the beauty and lyricism of Nayer Nagui’s interpretation—the same kind of difference I noticed between Thalie Knights and Dame Sarah Connolly; the wonderful commitment and happy spirit of the Dresden Sinfoniker; and the sheer joy and excitement of the Czech Philharmonic Choir Brno I will be forever grateful for.
This doesn’t get me into discussion about any of our other cast, or staging, or tech… all of whom were equally passionate and integral. I made a series of social media posts where I tried to pay tribute to each individual, but it became something I needed to give up—as there were simply too many people to mention. But I would hug each and every one of them in ten years’ time without a single moment of hesitation if I saw one of them walking down the street. I sincerely hope to work with them all again.
There’s a great documentary which was shot by a filmmaker travelling with the Dresden band—Chris Piotrowicz—which I think captures the feeling of being in Riyadh and working on Zarqa.
MG: What is in store for Zarqa now? Can we expect to see it represented elsewhere in some form? Perhaps some arrangements of the most cherished moments, such as Hazila’s Lullaby from Scene 2 or the F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C cello and choir moment from Scene 11 which I was told (!) you arranged for 12 cellos?
LB: Certainly there are plans for a concertised version of the score, as well as possibly a Suite (or Suites), and yes—several arrangements which would help create performable morsels to give audiences a taste of what we created. Are there enough food references here?
I am aware that some of the arias have been performed in the UK by both Dame Sarah Connolly and Amelia Wawrzon, as well as a version for 12 cellos of the Scene 11 lullaby (yes—you are right!). It was such a moving moment in the story—although I was somewhat nervous about having written music so openly (and vulnerably) ‘tonal’—it seemed to be one of the audience’s and musicians’ favourite moments in the work.
MG: Since there must be life beyond dates, let’s talk about what you have worked on in the last year, what’s on your desk cooking right now—yeah, sorry, always making food references—, and what premieres are coming.
LB: Since I got back to Australia in late June last year, my desk has been FULL.
The first thing to come out of my collaboration on Zarqa with Nayer Nagui and his wonderful wife, soprano Dina Iskander, was a commission for a new Requiem. It’s set to be performed this September in both Alexandria—at the iconic Bibliotheca Alexandrina—and in Cairo. There’s a fascinating story behind how that piece came to be, and who it’s for… but that’s a tale for another time. What I can say is that I needed a compelling reason to contribute to the already vast and awe-inspiring lineage of Requiems. I think I found a way to approach the text in a way that feels fresh and modern, without sacrificing any of the emotional depth or gravity of the tradition.
That was the first major project I tackled after returning home—alongside two new song cycles for mezzo-soprano Thalie Knights (who understudied Dame Sarah Connolly during Zarqa). Thalie is French-Anglo, so one cycle sets four Baudelaire poems in French. The second is in English, using a range of texts: Sunflower by American poet Matthew Zapruder, three poems by Spanish-based New Zealand writer Sean Miller, and one of my own, titled Sand.
Subsequently, I dove into a new string octet called Four Rooms, commissioned by the Flinders Quartet in association with the Australian Youth Orchestra. It’s dedicated to Manny Arcaro, a young violinist who tragically took his life. The work serves both as a memorial and a personal reflection—each movement explores an aspect of mental illness, drawn from my experiences as a younger man. It will be premiered in October in Melbourne, performed by the Flinders Quartet alongside eight musicians from the AYO—a moving way to honour Manny’s memory and, hopefully, to open up conversations among young artists navigating the existential challenges of a creative life.
In December, I completed a set of five Bagatelles for solo piano—some reworking of earlier material, others entirely new—and I’m just about finished a new piano sonata for Stefan Cassomenos, to be premiered in Germany in 2026.
Then in January, I began a new piece called Bramenplukker for mixed ensemble and actor, based on a short story by the Dutch writer Godfried Bomans. It’s a kind of music-drama hybrid—not incidental music for theatre, but something where the music and the spoken word carry equal weight. A lot of the collaborative spirit from Zarqa helped breathe life into this one.
As of now, I’ve just accepted a commission for a new Piano Quintet which will be a co-commission between the Australian Chamber Music Festival and the Brundibar Arts Festival in the UK—which is a really exciting commission responding to an unfinished violin and cello duo by Gideon Klein, and I’ve just started work on another opera—yes, another one! Though I’m sworn to secrecy for now, let’s just say… it might be a little while before I get to work in English again.
I’m also in discussions with the Dresden Sinfoniker about a new project that will connect musicians from three continents—Europe, Northeast Asia (Japan), and the US—in what, I believe, will be, much like Zarqa, an important cultural statement for both the performers and the communities they represent. It’s a musical work around a famous story (translated into English as) “Barefoot through Hiroshima”.
In addition to composing, I’m also co-Artistic Director of the Festival of Chamber Music here in Melbourne (Christ Church, South Yarra), and next month I’ll be co-directing the inaugural Black Lion Festival in London (St. Peter’s, Hammersmith).
I’m also finalising several new recordings, including:
- A disc featuring Ivan Vukčević (viola) and Giulio Mercanti (organ) performing my Sonata for Viola and Organ—an arrangement of my earlier Viola and Piano Sonata (2004–2007);
- Trio Delyria (a German-based Israeli trio) performing my first Piano Trio, a new set of Variations on a Jewish Theme (“Ma Ha’ish”), and some Haydn;
- The Fidelio Quartet with oboist Steph Dixon, performing my Oboe Quartet (The Language of Trees), Mozart’s F major Oboe Quartet, and a setting of four poems by A.A. Milne;
- Thalie Knights and Nico de Villiers recording both new song cycles (Baudelaire and Sunflower) along with three arias from Zarqa;
- And Stefan Cassomenos recording my first piano sonata alongside Beethoven’s Hammerklavier and my solo piece “Elegy, March 15”.
I’m delighted to continue my collaboration with producer Lukas Kowalski and the wonderful team at Emil Berliner Studios for the recordings with Vukčević/Mercanti, Trio Delyria, and Cassomenos. I’ll also be working with the brilliant UK-based producer Rachel Smith on Thalie’s recording.
Finally, I’ve released a new album called Horizon—which might surprise some listeners, as it leans into my background as a rock musician. You can find out more about that project here.
I’m also finishing up a disc of the Brahms viola sonatas, performed by Ivan Vukčević and Stefan Cassomenos, which I’ve produced. Ivan and I are now exploring the idea of creating concerto versions of both sonatas—hence my interest (not to mention my former life as an occasional violist!). I have a theory that a lot of late Brahms was potentially intended for larger forces… but that’s a conversation for another time!
MG: Here at ASE we will soon™ release the first edition of your music. How does it feel to be the first living composer of an emerging publishing label? What can you tell our readers about the colour we chose for your covers without telling them the colour?
LB: It’s very exciting! And it’s a great thing to work with people who not only do wonderful work, but who also believe in what you’re doing.
The older I get, the more convinced I am that the best collaborations come with genuine human connection. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you and Vanja joined our huge cohort in Riyadh—to see the fruits of your labour as much as everyone else’s!
So, to acknowledge all these facets, I think the colour we chose—a stone forged in a volcano—feels deeply symbolic. It’s said to have grounding properties, to offer strength and protection, and to be a conduit of communication. All qualities I like to think I strive for as a human being—and qualities I hope are reflected in my music.
MG: What other projects are keeping you busy at the moment? Is there anything else you would like to share with us?
LB: I suppose my upcoming visit to London to oversee The Black Lion Festival is a major highlight, along with wrapping up the various recording projects currently underway in Berlin, the UK, and here in Australia over the coming months. The new opera will soon demand a big chunk of my time, as will a new chamber music commission I’m quite excited about. I hope to be able to share more about both of those projects soon!
To be honest, I’m still figuring out how to juggle everything. There will also be performances linked to the Horizon release, which feels like a return to a part of my life I haven’t been connected with in over ten years. But I think I’m at a point now where I don’t feel the same pressure I once did—and I’m hoping I can simply enjoy this foray back into performing and into rock music.
I’m also looking forward to spending more time back in Europe—or at least in the Northern Hemisphere! My trip to Egypt in September will be my first time there, and since I was obsessed with Ancient Egypt as a child, it feels like a bit of a full-circle moment—especially with the premiere of the new Requiem. I’ve been told it might be the first Australian classical work to be performed (or perhaps premiered) in Egypt—if that’s true, it’s quite an honour!
MG: Please now remind us where our readers can find you, and especially where they can listen to your music.
LB: The best place to keep up will always be my website, we have just updated it earlier this year.
MG: Since a good conversation is like a good meal, it needs to be crowned by something sweet. Is there something you would like to say to the youngest Classical Music composers getting started now? I am seeing an increase in overcomplicating things, from trying to use microtonality to an absurd point to treating the score thinking that the musicians will be like the computers which realised the audio samples. What is your vision, and where do you see Classical Music heading?
LB: Hmmm, that’s an interesting dessert indeed!
Where classical music is heading and what I’d say to a young composer might be rather different subjects…
Where I think classical music is going, and where I think it should be going might be two different things as well! Where I think it’s going is in the direction of reheated frozen meals with pop music packaging… and whilst there may be a value in considering how well pop music is presented to its audience—its polish, immediacy, and accessibility—it potentially mitigates the point of fine music by adding too many superfluous elements which can dilute the focus. They are, after all, different animals.
Fine music is fundamentally an art form that came into being when people had fewer distractions, fewer things competing for their time and attention. It could stand on its own—without a beautiful photo, a video, or a marketing message. That purity is something we risk losing.
The classical industry has also become increasingly entangled in questions of identity and representation. While it’s crucial to correct historical imbalances and broaden access, it seems at times we’ve gone so far beyond “righting the ship” (as a colleague once put it) that the actual musical outcome has been deprioritised. That’s a real problem.
Some months ago, a philanthropist told me that my voice (as a middle-aged, white male) wasn’t “welcome in the room—nor is it desired.” Not necessarily as her personally held opinion, but as a reflection of what many arts organisations and artistic directors around the world are taking as a baseline for programming, commissioning, and performance opportunities. Let me be frank: I absolutely support equal opportunity. But we must acknowledge that audiences are growing weary of disappointing artistic outcomes—outcomes that, in some cases, are the result of prioritising identity over artistry.
What I would say to a young musician is do your work, and make your work about art—not about something else. It’s a dangerous environment when Artists are subject to the agenda of whatever incumbent political power is responsible for providing arts funding. What this means, is that Artists are forced to reckon with the notion of ‘artistic rationale’ to simply practise their craft. The incumbent political power then taking it’s cue to crow about how well they ‘support the arts’—but this is a cheap and lazy way of regulating how arts funding is disseminated when what is most clear to those willing to SEE, is that the arts aren’t supported AT ALL.
What I’d like to see is merit take a position closer to the centre of the decision-making process… this is difficult in this climate as people have less and less time to more and more diverse tasking to simply survive… I—for example—spend probably 70-80% of my working day pursuing opportunity, networking and administrative duties so I can practise more core craft. This is the reality.
Even doing press and media means you’re visible, a ‘going concern’ and therefore more likely to be thought of and in conversations that you’re not a part of. That’s a good litmus in my view—being the subject of other people’s conversations—just so long as you’re being spoken about for the ‘right reasons’—which doesn’t mean one can’t be controversial!
I think it’s like being a race car driver. Only a tiny fraction of the job is actually spent racing—the rest is prep, maintenance, and hustle. Maybe we creatives carry an unbalanced, or at least romanticised, vision of how it’s supposed to be. I’ve been fortunate to have been able to create the ability to make my own hours, but it comes with a level of stress that sometimes I’m not sure even I’m cognisant of.
So what would I say to a young composer? Stay connected to the role music plays in the broader community. Think deeply about how what you want to create might find a place in that shared experience. Put your music between people and where they want to go—both figuratively and literally.
And don’t compete with your peers. Compete with your idols. If you can bear the weight of that, every day.
MG: Thank you so much for taking the time to chat today, Lee. While we are 16,420.96 km apart, I am glad that your music is offering us a way to stay in touch beyond any barrier. I hope to be able to see you soon in 3D. As last time, let’s conclude with the single piece of yours our readers should listen to.
LB: Well, the music I’d most hope to share widely comes from Zarqa—and I do hope that one day soon it will be heard in the world again.
But for now, the selection of pieces on The Ties That Bind always offers a good place to begin—if you’re looking for a little taste of my cooking!
MG: Thank you, Lee, for sharing all these wonderful gems with us. Thank you, also, to everyone reading so far. Don’t forget to subscribe (for free) to this blog to get notified of upcoming articles. If you would like a deeper dive into my publishing endeavours, please consider joining my mailing list (again, for free!) where, once a week, I send an excerpt of a published edition, enriched by its story and other ‘tasty’ anecdotes!
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