
There may not have been a more fitting place in Atlanta to enter María Zardoya’s forest than the Fox Theatre. With its ornate walls, sweeping curtains and dreamlike atmosphere, the historic room already felt removed from the world outside before the first note was played. On July 28, Not for Radio transformed it into something even more surreal, using music, movement and falling feathers to tell a story of innocence, darkness, death and rebirth.
The evening began with a solo harpist whose name was not available at publication time. María has been using different musicians in each city, making every opening unique to that particular performance. Alone beneath a single spotlight, with only two blue lights glowing behind her, the harpist seemed less like a traditional opener and more like someone welcoming the audience into a dream.

At one point, she extended her arms toward someone in the front row before bringing them back to her heart in appreciation. Then, with one final bow, she was gone, leaving the stage ready for María’s forest to come alive.
In the Forest was not presented as a conventional concert with a clearly explained beginning, middle and end. Instead, its story unfolded through music, movement and imagery that called to mind Swan Lake. María has described the forest as a place where nature, love and transformation intersect, while the recurring swan represents both the illusion of perfection and the beauty found in embracing darkness.
María first appeared inside a moss-covered nest that seemed to rise directly from the forest floor, dressed in white and wearing a feathered top. As she moved through a world that initially felt delicate and inviting, there was always a sense that something darker was waiting deeper within the forest.
The Atlanta performance also carried the emotion of a hometown show. Zardoya grew up in Snellville, Georgia, and told the audience that the first theatrical production she ever saw was Peter Pan at the Fox Theatre when she was seven years old. She attended with her mother and brother, and her mother was back inside the theater on this night, watching her daughter command the same stage.
The opening run through “Puddles,” “Moment,” “Magnet,” “Slip,” “Water On Your Nose” and “My Turn” slowly established that world. Rather than stopping to explain its meaning, María allowed the production to reveal itself through her movement, the lighting and the changing scenery around her.

Feathers fell during the transitions, turning moments that could have been simple scene changes into some of the production’s most beautiful images. They did not feel like confetti dropped purely for spectacle. They looked like pieces of the White Swan’s world drifting away, with each falling feather drawing her closer to the transformation waiting later in the performance.
María was still dressed in white during “Comet,” but the innocence of the opening had already begun to fracture. She thrashed across the stage with a strange kind of grace, allowing the movement to appear wild and uncontrolled without ever truly losing control. It was one of the clearest examples of how the performance balanced beauty with something darker underneath.
After “Candles,” the story reached its defining transition during “Swan.” A dark, Black Swan-like figure lifted María and carried her toward the nest, her body draped motionless across his arms. He stood holding her as the final white feather slowly fell from above. The sheer draping surrounding the scene then cascaded to the ground as the lights dimmed, the curtain fell leaving the image suspended somewhere between death and sleep.
When the lights returned, María’s backing band carried the story forward with an instrumental passage while she remained hidden inside the nest. It felt less like a break in the concert and more like the space between death and rebirth.

When María emerged again for “Not the Only One,” she was dressed in black. The White Swan was gone, and the second half continued through “No One Noticed,” “Kitten,” “Ache” and “Back to You” with a darker visual identity.
The shift reached far beyond the color of her clothing. The White Swan and Black Swan were not presented simply as good and evil. They felt like two sides of the same person, with the forest serving as the place where one identity could disappear and another could emerge.
The changing lights, falling feathers and movement across the stage allowed that transformation to happen gradually. Each transition pulled the audience farther into the dream until it became difficult to tell where the concert ended and the theatrical production began.
The evening ended where it had started, with María once again inside the large moss-covered nest at the center of the stage. This time, however, neither she nor the audience felt quite the same. What began as a concert had become something closer to a living piece of theater, leaving many inside the Fox with a changed perspective on what a concert could be.

The seven-year-old girl who once entered the Fox Theatre with her mother and brother to see Peter Pan had returned years later with an entire theatrical world of her own. For one night, she invited Atlanta to disappear inside it with her.
Not For Radio Photo Gallery
Un-Named Harpist Photo Gallery
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Setlist
- PUDDLES
- MOMENT
- MAGNET
- SLIP
- WATER ON YOUR NOSE
- MY TURN
- COMET
- CANDLES
- SWAN
- NOT THE ONLY ONE
- NO ONE NOTICED
- (THE MARÍAS COVER)
- KITTEN
- ACHE
- BACK TO YOU
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Live photography by Chris Collett for No Flash Needed. © 2026 No Flash Needed. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission.
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