Irish Times writers review the OSC/Barry Douglas at the National Concert Hall and The Belfast Carmen at the Grand Opera House in Belfast, The Buddhist of Castleknock at Draiocht, NSO/William Eddins at the NCH and Bright Eyes at Whelan's in Dublin.

The pianist Barry Douglas is a cool customer. There was a full-page cartoon in Music Ireland magazine after he won the Tchaikovsky Competition in 1986: an open-mouthed, straight-faced Douglas, at the keyboard receiving the adulation of an enthusiastic crowd. "Barry Douglas Smiles" was the wry caption.

The conductor Barry Douglas, as revealed in three symphonies by Beethoven on Wednesday, is an altogether different character. The energy and passion of his gestures seemed without limit.

He swiped and stabbed, he trembled, he crouched, he arched his back in apparent ecstasy. He used his body to will every moment of excitement that could be wrung from the music.

At the end of the day, of course, the important thing is what's to be heard rather than what's to be seen. Douglas the pianist is fully capable of delivering the pictures that Douglas the conductor so vividly paints.

But on Wednesday the gap between the playing of the Orchestra of St Cecilia and the emotional presentation of the conductor was often extreme.

Much, if not most of the time this was something to be grateful for. If all the jerky emphasis and the speed of the surging gestural climaxes had been accurately reflected in the music-making, Beethoven would have been whipped to unusual extremes, not so much in the tight manner of a Toscanini of the present day, but, instead, with the eccentricity of a Glenn Gould on speed.

Musically, though not technically, the performances of Beethoven's First and Second Symphonies were pretty uneventful. The OSC, larger in number than is its norm, played above its accustomed level, and adapted comfortably to Douglas's generally brisk approach.

After the interval, the Fifth Symphony sparked into a different sort of life, driven with urgency (pressing forward even in the slow movement), and generously flecked with sharp and meaningful contrasts.

The pace caused the effective swallowing of notes in the third movement's trio, and the always difficult finale wasn't self-sustaining, as it needs to be.

In short, this was a mixed bag that makes it hard to know what Douglas may do next Wednesday, when the second programme of his Beethoven symphony cycle is even more demanding - the Fourth Symphony coupled with the Eroica.

The remaining concerts of Barry Douglas's Beethoven cycle are on November 13th, 20th, and 25th. Booking: 01-417 0000

The basic premise of Martin Lynch and Mark Dougherty's eagerly-anticipated community opera replicates the project's own reality - Bizet's opera about working class people, removed from the sultry heat of Havana, adapted to the streets of Belfast and staged in the city's prestige performance arena.

The cast characters of this opera-within-an-opera are up in arms at the director's vision - to retell the story of the Troubles from a 1969 perspective. They detest the notion of this tired old interpretation and demand that it focus instead on the lives of the ordinary, decent people of today's Belfast.

But, bafflingly, this is exactly what The Belfast Carmen itself turns into, a depressing portrayal of a one-story town and its warring, cursing inhabitants, a narration devoid of irony and falling into the very cliche it sets up for ridicule.

If this was the avowed intention, then, sadly, it has fallen on its sword. And there are so many disparate elements at work in telling that story that it is difficult to judge what, if anything, hangs together - a community chorus and cast, two professional opera singers, four professional actors and, soaring above it all, the sublime sounds of Bizet's opera, beautifully played by the Ulster Orchestra.

The distinguished Belfast director Sam McCready was flown in from his home base across the Atlantic to take charge of this potentially exciting landmark production, which is presented by Lynch's Green Shoot Productions, in conjunction with the Belfast Festival, the Community Theatre Association of Belfast and the Ulster Orchestra.

Known for being an exacting and innovative perfectionist, McCready has been unable to apply a unifying eye and steadying hand.

The four professional actors do what is asked of them - Sheelagh O'Kane as the harassed stage manager, James Ellis in loveable old trooper mode as the theatre caretaker, Conor Grimes as a mouthy motor-bike fanatic and Joseph Crilly as the set builder, a republican ex-prisoner who falls for the leading lady only to be provoked back into violence by her rejection of him.

Romanian director Elena Zlotescu works her artistic magic on a vast, though rather pedestrian set, lit by Conleth White, which literally turns the Grand Opera House stage inside out and upside down.

But it is only when Victoria Byron shrugs off the sexy pouting and flashing of thighs to concentrate on the real work in hand, her duets with Alan Oke's Don Jose, that there is brief respite in the realisation that Bizet's swooning opera hasn't gone away after all.

The Belfast Carmen is at the Grand Opera House until Saturday November 9th. Bookings on Belfast 90241919

Jim O'Hanlon's new play is set in a middle-class suburb of Dublin, where a seemingly average Catholic family is preparing to celebrate Christmas. We are immediately made aware that father Sean has cancer, as he agrees with his wife Edie to keep it from the children until after the festivities. The signal has been given that this aims to be more than comedy. After this, the children make their appearances. There are Edward, a young man with a pleasing independence of mind; Tara, a daughter with a broken marriage and a drinking problem; D.J., a stripling with a flow of routine obscenity; and John, who lives in London and is bringing his girl friend Rai home to meet the folks. Rai is black, and she and John are now Buddhists. An illiberal uncle and docile aunt are due to join the party later on. The author has provided himself with enough material for a half-dozen plays here, and has followed through on as many as will fit into the production's 150 or so minutes.

There is a flow of comedy as parents and children collide, quarrel and deliver witticisms. Tara's alcoholism is a source of tension. Despite an initial welcome for John and Raj, the matters of religion and racial differences raise their heavy heads. So we have broad comedy, a lacing of intended satire, some heavy drama and an overlay of tragedy, all in one package. It is inevitable that not all of these elements fit neatly together.

They roll forward to a climax that doesn't work dramatically, but does forfeit momentum. After that, a protracted, sentimental ending finishes the job. Not a complete success, then, but not a total failure either.

Runs to November 16th; to book phone 01-8852622

Songwriter George Gershwin's lasting reputation in the world of classical music began through an invitation to write a "jazz concerto" for a 1924 concert by the Paul Whiteman Band. That concert was billed as "An Experiment in Modern Music" and Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue was its pièce de résistance.

The work brought Gershwin fame and wealth. Alone, it accounted for $250,000 in royalties over the next 10 years, and Rhapsody in Blue is now a registered trademark, along with Gershwin and George Gershwin.

The rhapsody could be seen as a paradigm of the problems that have bedevilled crossover to this day. The New Grove characterises Gershwin as "the man who brought "jazz" into the concert hall". Yet the New Grove Dictionary of Jazz doesn't even give the composer a listing, in spite of the fact that many of his songs are now jazz standards.

For all his popularity, it doesn't always seem clear where Gershwin and his music actually belong. As David Schiff has pointed out, when Rhapsody in Blue was new, the jazz was provided by the band, the classical tone by the pianist. In the concert hall, especially when played with in the scoring for orchestra, it tends to be the other way around.

For the National Symphony Orchestra and its new principal guest conductor William Eddins, the issue seems clear. The music belongs in front of an audience that wants to hear it, and the jazz band scoring of the rhapsody - however strange that may sound in the hands of orchestral players - is the way to go.

Eddins chose an all-Gershwin programme for his début in his new role on Friday,and seemed to have no difficulty ensuring that everything was handled with panache. His rhythm was firm, and often moved with a sharp snap.

He didn't overcoat the tunes with sentimentality. He made the orchestrations sound well-upholstered, and was alert to the original touches of colour and gesture. And he played the solo piano part of Rhapsody in Blue with palpable enjoyment.

Presenting a whole evening of orchestral Gershwin puts a lot of strain on the achievement of a composer whose work was so short-breathed. But, then, if at any moment you didn't like the current tune or its treatment, you didn't have to wait long for a new tune or treatment to come along.

William Eddins conducts the NSO in Scriabin, Prokofiev and Shostakovich at the NCH next Friday.

Bright Eyes is Conor Oberst, a prodigious Nebraskan who, at 23, has already released three albums of bleak, claustrophobic folk-rock. Oberst's music is uncompromising and unpalatable. Refusing to indulge the uncommitted listener, it frequently repudiates conventional song-writing forms altogether.

There are few recognisable hooks, little in the way of melody; only a cracked, wavering vocal and a bleak, dissonant acoustic guitar. Oberst is an engaging and entrancing performer, yet he radiates a self-absorbed intensity that is difficult to submit to for very long. It is a weakness which Oberst is evidently determined to remedy.  At Whelans, he wore his angst as lightly as an old jacket that has grown patchy and threadbare but which he can't quite bring himself to throw away. Material which might have palled if delivered in Oberst's familiar rasping monotone emerged as ragged folk-pop triumphs.

Couched in swirls of woodwind, brass and synthesiser, Oberst's acoustic fretwork was a refreshingly deft and expressive fulcrum, infused with a coy tenderness that sent a shiver of empathy through the audience. If he really has rejected depressive self-indulgence in favour of a mature pop aesthete, his next project promises a revelatory rebirth.