Rubiks Collective | The Big Idea
26 September 2025, ACO on the Pier – The Studio, Sydney, NSW
by Matthew Shlomowitz & Vid Simoniti | World Premiere
Artists: flautist Tamara Kohler, percussionist Kaylie Melville, cellist/bassist Gemma Kneale, guest pianist Alex Raineri and mezzo soprano Lotte Betts-Dean
From the very first beat, literally, drama unfolded in this intimate space at ACO Pier 2/3, the Sydney Harbour Bridge looming close out the window as the curtain drew slowly shut, right on cue. We were immediately ushered into a world where one woman’s ‘big idea’ becomes the axis on which everything spins, dances and (you guessed it) ultimately collapses.
This “micro-opera for one voice” is the brainchild of composer Matthew Shlomowitz and philosopher-librettist Vid Simoniti. What appears on the surface to be an absurd, genre-bending, jazz-inflected one-woman show is, on closer inspection, an exploration of idea-formation, doubt and identity. And it’s very, very funny (if absurd is your thing).
Alex Raineri begins on synths, building almost imperceptibly into Kaylie Melville’s cymbals and a marimba shimmer. We watch as Lotte Betts-Dean, silent, front and centre, appears to be formulating a thought…
“I have a big idea.”
That’s the line. That’s the spark. From the moment Lotte Betts-Dean breathes that phrase into the air, velvety strong and jazzily airy, we are off. She takes giant breaths, theatrical breaths. Breath is important in this piece. It’s not just sung; it’s used, wielded and sculpted. In many ways, Betts-Dean’s breath holds the ensemble in time – conductorless, fearless.
We hear that line again. “I have a big idea.” She repeats it, incants it, performs it like a mantra. She describes in intimate detail how her whole body is reacting to this tantalising idea formation. Flute and triangle flutter in, and yes, even the golden glint of her fabulously painted fingernails becomes a percussive gesture. The marimba cascades up and down in response, building into a kind of ecstatic overture to invention.
But what is this big idea? We don’t yet know. And anyway, it doesn’t matter — the feeling of the idea is what we’re getting. That’s what this opening movement does: it shows us how it feels when something starts to take hold inside you. Oh, the anticipation!
The music shapeshifts constantly: samba, Scandi jazz, Romantic flourishes, Broadway pastiche. The ensemble are astonishing in their versatility and precision, swapping instruments, moods and genres with alarming fluency.
Spoiler alert ahead – skip the next section if you’d rather not know the “big idea” before you see the show.
And then — she says it.
After a phone interruption (a ‘scene change’) and a rousing musical lead-up — the idea is revealed.
“I’m going to be… a dental hygienist.”
It lands like a punchline, and Betts-Dean belts it out like she’s just announced she’s going to be a Disney princess. It’s catchy. It’s ridiculous. It’s brilliant.
Tamara Kohler pulls out a melodica (instant musical bonus points in my humble opinion), and the whole thing tips into a party anthem with a rumba beat. Betts-Dean, mic’d and unmic’d in turns, proceeds to describe the imaginary delights of her new vocation in gleeful detail, advising imaginary patients in imaginary dental chairs. It’s utterly hilarious. It’s also… unsettling?
But then doubt creeps in.
In another comic twist, she begins handing out toothbrushes to the audience — but it’s not long before she’s spiralling. The musicians step forward one by one, each recounting their own ‘big idea’ moment, while everyone chimes in, “they’re going to go for it!” Each story more ridiculous than the last. A chorus of cockamamie schemes. And then… that phone rings again.
We shift. The piece is mercilessly structured around these interruptions, a hallmark of absurdism. Hope and absurdity dissolve into awkwardness and defeat. A one-sided phone call unfolds with absolutely spot-on comic timing, and we realise what’s happened. She didn’t get it. The idea… this massive, all-consuming idea… has been… rejected.
And here, the humour gives way to heartbreak. One of the final lines in the libretto “You take the bones out of a human and you’re left with a gelatinous, amorphous mess.” That’s what she’s become. And it hits home because at some level we’ve all been there post-failure, post-reinvention, post-dream.
A patch of blue somewhere…
The piece ends with a beautiful line: “I could still be a patch of blue somewhere.” But musically, that patch dissolves. It doesn’t open into light, it fades into the night. And that’s what lingers with me. This is the gift of absurdist music theatre done well: it lets us laugh at our own delusions, but it doesn’t mock them. It acknowledges them. Cherishes them, even. And then gently lets them go.
Final thoughts
Lotte Betts-Dean was utterly compelling. Her performance – vocally virtuosic, physically precise and dramatically sly – carried the whole concept with elegance and wit. The ensemble delivered an astonishingly tight and versatile performance navigating genre (and instrument) shifts, tightly timed humour and sudden silences with poise.
Special praise to Tilman Robinson for the sound design, which was perfectly blended – every instrument, voice, breath and ping was delivered with clarity and intention.
And to Shlomowitz and Simoniti — bravo. This piece may appear light-hearted but it’s built on a very real, very recognisable emotional cycle: excitement, ambition, interruption, rejection… and that bittersweet sigh of maybe, somewhere.
A fitting end to Rubiks Collective’s 10th birthday celebration. May their next decade be just as audacious.
