All tourists know the Acropolis and the Parthenon looming over the city of Athens. By day or night this hill of ancient importance, reminds the inhabitants of a time eons ago when man conquered this city and placed his stamp on the landscape. In the evenings with the Parthenon floodlit, a steady stream of theatre goers head to the Herod Atticus amphitheatre, part of the whole complex that makes up the Acropolis.

Last night I made a pilgrimage to this theatre, having been there once before and touched by the magic of the site. The air was warm, velvety and still and a scent of pine trees hung in the air. A concert was being held to raise money for a communal house for aged Greek actors, (To Spiti Ton Ithopoion) with the music by Mikis Theodorakis, probably considered the god of modern Greek music. The eighteen songs were gifted to the home in order to raise money for the actors’ home. There have been various activities, this being one of them.

The theatre is a soaring building, in the true classical style, a semi-circle of marble tiers rising to the darkening sky. Arches remain of the original building, solid, ageless and yet worn with the passage of time. As I climb towards the sky, having bought the cheaper seats, I have a momentary flash of vertigo, then take my seat and ponder yet again the history of this place and the immense privilege that I feel able to sit where the ancients have sat. Who else has been on this warm marble bench listening and watching the dramas and tragedies of ancient Greek plays? Did they watch Medea kill her children here in an act of terrifying and immoral revenge for infidelity?

But tonight, is not one of tragedy but of great music representing the creativity of the human spirit. Theodorakis has written songs that cover the gamut of modern Greek history, often written from his time in exile while the Junta ravaged Greece. He represents a national consciousness for modern Greeks, putting many famous Greek poems to music but also tapping into the myths and legends of Greek history. His music also represents the struggle against fascist repression around the world.

Despite not understanding the words of the songs, the passion, the love and the pathos of his music was obvious. The audience sang to many of his songs, clearly not just fans of his work but deeply entrenched in the emotions of his work.

The most famous of his songs, for me an outsider, was of course Zorba the Greek. As the orchestra began to play, a group of young men took the stage. Dressed in black, arms across each others’ shoulders, they danced, dipped and swayed in time, their movements building with the tempo of the music. They showed a tenderness and warmth that other cultures are reluctant to display so overtly. Their dance moved me to tears.

As the concert ended and midnight passed, I looked around at the theatre again, seeing the soaring metal sound and light towers, contrasting abruptly with the stones of the building. And I thought, what would the ancient Greeks make of this concert? Of these seemingly magical lights and speakers and people dressed in clothes they had never seen before? Would they feel they had landed on another planet or would they recognise the power of music to explain the human condition, transcending time.

Hopefully the latter.