The Devil's Mouth | Posted on Mar 13, 2026 by Intravenal Sound Operations
Another world
It’s been precisely three weeks since this show took place and as I am writing these words, I’m still doubtful whether they really need to be published at all. I suppose they will, mostly out of a desire to leave it on record that it really happened before me, and also as a thank you to the kindness of Amplificasom, who welcomed The Devil’s Mouth on this, the final date out of a surprise three that the great lady decided to bestow upon Portugal in the beginning of 2026, proof that even shit years can hold extraordinary things.
Other than that, I mean, it’s been my eighth time witnessing Diamanda Galás perform live (the first one was in this exact venue over twenty years ago - a nice round circle effect this time, to further add to the emotional impact), and I’m still as dumbfounded as I was the first time I left her show as to what can I possibly write about it that will not pale into absolute indifference, compared to the magnitude of what has just happened up on stage.
What do you say about a Diamanda Galás performance? Do you “review it”, with that fucking gall hacks like me enjoy, in terms of “was it good or bad”? Are you kidding? Or do you go into courtroom stenographer mode and merely retell the cold hard facts that happened? Killing all the magic that is nearly palpable in there? Or do you turn this into a hundred page thesis and bore deep into all the meanings and philosophies behind the songs, something other people have done better than you anyway, and lose the spontaneous, straight-to-the-gut kick that Diamanda also gives you each time?
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In the first of three concerts this month in Portugal, the only ones scheduled so far for 2026, the American Diamanda Galás was true to herself: a voice lacking a vocabulary sufficient to define it, an aura of violence, universal suffering expressed in just under an hour of piano songs. No, it's not for everyone.
If there is one thing Lisbon loves, it is a cult—and last Wednesday Culturgest became the temple of a congregation that had not gathered there to “listen to music,” but to be pierced by it. With the venue completely sold out, Diamanda Galás’s return to Portugal unfolded as a roughly hour-long liturgy that left everyone in a collective trance, somewhere between prayer and exorcism.