Warning – spoilers! I don’t generally do gig reviews but I’ve just witnessed one of the most incredible, life-affirming performances I think I’m ever likely to. The Royal Festival Hall are hosting a series of performances of Steve Reich’s work on the cusp of his 90th birthday this week. ‘Music For 18 Musicians’ has been on my bucket list to see for years and I’ve always just missed it or been away. When the Paraorchestra‘s performance was announced I jumped on it and I don’t think I could have experienced a better version.

Situated in the Clore Ballroom, a sunken, black-draped space inside the upper level looking out over the Thames on London’s Southbank, the players are not on stage but scattered around the room with a circular centre delineated by huge pillars. The audience are invited to roam about during the performance and we find ourselves, quite by chance, standing right next to the two marimba (or was it xylophone?) players who start the whole piece off. Immediately I feel a lump in my throat as the first notes project out into the room, the lights are low and there is a slight smoke haze in the air. All the instruments are acoustic, only the four vocalists have amplification, and moving around the room means you can use the space as your own mixing desk, drifting in and out of range of any instrument you please, shifting the balance of the sound. Despite it being a continuous piece there are obvious stages where the focus shifts and a new pattern forms whereby the audience begins to drift as it senses a new section ending, reorientating themselves to a new space for the next part.

The centre of the room becomes the sweet spot, a place where everything can be heard equally and a large gaggle of people cluster together there whilst others weave in and out or around the perimeter. Suddenly there’s a woman in orange throwing angular shapes which seem at odds with the music, she’s joined by more dotted all over the room and my first thought is, ‘oh god, contemporary dance.’ They weave their way around the audience, picking spots to perform, distracting from the players but breaking up the relentless shuffle of the crowd. It’s fine but feels a bit forced, the players deep in concentration as is the audience, some with eyes closed, some pacing, turning, filming or bobbing their heads. There are a few young children with parents, the dancers entice them to join in inside the central space, a couple of kids read books on the floor, unengaged with the spectacle unfolding around them.

Without wanting to spoil the proceedings further for those who haven’t seen it (yet), something happens in the middle of the piece, an obvious transition and suddenly the centre of the room erupts in collective dance, professional and punter alike. It hits you like a truck and the room becomes one, the centre emanating pure joy and the music shifts up a gear as inhibitions are loosened. We’re inside the music now, inhabiting a living, breathing, growing performance in a way that simply can’t be experienced watching a group on a stage. This is true surround sound but instead of a static listening point, we move to the instruments we want to hear foremost. It’s exhilarating being in control like this and the players move too; two players to one piano, one section sees three on one xylophone in unison, an incredible display of dexterity.

Now half the audience are sitting around the centre, swaths of wide beam lighting sweeping the audience and slowly people are drawn back up into circles in the middle, hands up in revelation, adoration, release to the pulse of the performance. It’s a joyous, life-affirming feeling, a collective connection bringing some to tears. At its end the applause is rapturous, lasting several minutes and we don’t want to leave this womb-like space and return to the outside world. I implore anyone to experience this piece in this way if they get the chance, it was simply mind-blowing and I don’t know how it can be topped. Gig of the year.