Europe

After months of work behind the scenes and four days together in Dundee, Scotland, a 95-musician orchestra made up of Big Noise and YOLA musicians—plus 100 younger Big Noise members forming a choir—came together on stage at Edinburgh’s Usher Hall for the Festival’s Family Concert on August 16, 2026.

It was a beautiful moment. But even before they ever shared the stage, the young musicians from Scotland and Los Angeles had achieved something remarkable.

The European Union’s Creative Europe program is welcoming applications for two mobility grants.

This is the first time the Ensemble team has encountered a novel written about a Sistema-inspired program.

Here’s an idea you’ve never considered.

The University of Navarra (Madrid, Spain), with co-organizer Boston College, is gathering artists, scholars, psychotherapists, and practitioners from around the world for the 2027 Art & Character Conference (June 3–5, 2027).

“It gave me great peace of mind to know that there are such capable and inspiring people whom I can turn to when I face problems that I cannot solve on my own.”

This was how one of my peers reflected on our three days together in Milan last August. Her words got to the heart of a question I had been thinking about for some time: 

What keeps a network alive?

RESEO, a European network dedicated to education, participation, and transformation through opera, music, and dance, is celebrating their 30th anniversary this year with a conference titled Making Noise: The Future that We Want.

Almost a hundred years ago, as construction began on the majestic Palais des Beaux-Arts in Brussels, Belgium, Director Marcel Cuvelier walked through the construction site with a dream. “I always thought of giving concerts for young people,” he later wrote. “When I walked like an insect in that huge frame that would become a concert hall, meeting rooms, offices, halls…I thought about an audience that is demanding, worthy of respect, living: young. I could already hear the shouts and the applause.” 

The first chapter of a Lullaby Project song is usually written in a room where strangers have just met. Professional composers sit beside a mother who has never written music before. A child wanders around the room, curious but unsure. Participants may speak through an interpreter. Others may communicate more through gestures than words. At first, there are introductions, hesitant smiles, and long pauses. There is no score, no lyrics, no expectation of what the music should become. 

In my small Portuguese village of Pousos, between the giant waves of Nazaré and the Shrine of Fátima, we had a community band. I joined at age 8, playing flugelhorn. I’m forever grateful for this decision, which launched a life in music. But it wasn’t until years later, when I served as the director of several conservatories, that I began asking why it took so long to get started.