Through Time and Space with Samy Moussa

“I remember thinking: ‘This might really be the last piece of music that I write.’”  

Composer Samy Moussa is speaking about Antigone, one of two musical works featured in the world premiere of Sir Wayne McGregor’s Jocasta’s Line. Written for orchestra and female chorus, the piece was composed during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic—a time of profound uncertainty for the arts. As Moussa recalls, 

there was no proof that the world as we knew it would still exist after it was over.

This sense of fragility infused the work with urgency:  

“I wrote the piece thinking, ‘I will write what I must write, because it’s a beautiful and thrilling thing to be working on. I don’t know if this will ever be played or if I will ever get to hear it, but I will put everything I have into it. Every part of it is very important to me.’” 

Creative Carte Blanche 

What could have been Moussa’s final composition also marked a first: his debut collaboration with world-renowned choreographer and director Sir Wayne McGregor. Commissioned by The Dutch National Opera & Ballet and The Norwegian National Opera & Ballet, Antigone came with what Moussa describes as “basically a carte blanche”—complete creative freedom, paired with deep trust.  

“I felt free to write anything I wanted, because I knew it would be in the hands of someone intelligent, sensitive, creative—and deeply respectful of the music and the artists he works with.” 

Moussa’s process is singularly focused on the music. He doesn’t imagine the choreography or staging, nor does he tailor his work to collaborators. 

«My imagination could never conclude what McGregor will do with the music I write, because I’m not him. So I must do my own thing—just write the music and not be preoccupied with what comes after.” 

Still, he treasures the transformation that occurs when another artist interprets his work: 

“Other artists bringing their own vision to a composer’s work is a beautiful thing. It’s hard to describe what that does to the music, but it reveals something undeniable.” 

From Myth to Music 

Antigone draws on the tragic myth of Oedipus’ daughter, who defies King Creon’s decree and buries her brother Polyneices—only to be buried alive herself. 

“I wanted to tell the story differently,” Moussa explains. “And McGregor was quite willing—he has a very abstract mind.” 

There are no individual roles in the piece. The chorus speaks as a collective or as one idea, never as distinct characters. Yet Moussa retained a chronological structure: 

“It tells the story from beginning to end, and that’s how I composed it—from the first note to the last. The first note you hear is the first note I put on paper.” 

A Story Told Hundreds of Times 

While Sophocles’ Antigone from 441 BC is the most famous version, Moussa sought a broader perspective. He read hundreds of pages of ancient texts and built his libretto from the writings of Aeschylus, Apollodorus, Empedocles, Euripides, and Philostratus the Elder, in addition to Sophocles. 

“Sophocles is just one writer among many who told this story. He didn’t invent it—he’s just the one who perhaps told it best.” 

Many versions have been lost or survive only in fragments. Of Euripides’ version, for instance, there are only one or two sentences left, which Moussa incorporated into his libretto. 

“That’s the beauty of it—this story has been told hundreds of times, not by many composers, but by many writers. Each brings their own take. I did the same with my libretto and my music, in my own style.” 

Why does Antigone endure? For Moussa, it’s the story’s timeless tension: 

“It’s about the conflict between private beliefs and the reason of state, between the sacred law and the state law. That tension is at the heart of the piece, told in a deeply personal way that I find striking.” 

A Dead Language Comes Alive 

In Jocasta’s Line, Moussa’s Antigone is paired with Stravinsky’s Oedipus Rex (1927). Just as Stravinsky described Latin as “not dead but turned to stone,” Moussa breathes life into Ancient Greek through his libretto. 

“It’s a dead language, but it still exists in writing—and it comes alive in the time that it is on stage. It’s a richness of our world that shouldn’t be ignored. This was my way of contributing to that.” 

When asked about Antigone, Sir Wayne McGregor described the music as “lighter and more ephemeral” than its counterpart in this production. Some of this is attributed to the simple fact that Stravinsky wrote his piece for an all-male chorus; Moussa’s is written for a chorus consisting entirely of women. 

“I felt the female chorus was necessary for the color I wanted to give the work. Their higher-pitched voices offer a clarity that’s quite wonderful.” 

Moussa also wanted to expand the repertoire for female chorus, which he feels is often underutilized: 

“There’s a special sound often used to convey things of low importance—light, laughing, naive. Think of sirens: laughing nymphs on a rock. I thought, can this sound convey something of higher importance? Of course it can. It can tell a powerful story in a powerful way—and that’s what I wanted to do.” 

Otherworldly Music for Humans 

When the curtain rises on Jocasta’s Line, audiences may hear Antigone as McGregor describes it: “otherworldly, strange, kind of not of this time,” with an emotional impact akin to a punch in the gut—or they may experience something entirely different. 

Moussa doesn’t speculate on how his music will be received: 

“I believe in the integrity of the audience. I offer them music, and they can decide whether to listen, to like it, to take it seriously—or not.” 

“I just hope they’re moved by it. That’s the wish of any artist. But it’s not something I can control, and therefore, I don’t want to control it.” 

He’s reluctant to describe his own music in words, but his intention is clear: 

I’m not good at describing music with words—because I write it.

“I write the music I can write, and that I would want to hear. It’s music for the ears—not for the tending of intellectual superiority. It’s music for the senses. It’s music for hum