"Dog Days," New Opera, at Peak Performances in Montclair MONTCLAIR, N.J. - With the approaching centenary of Stravinsky's ballet "The Rite of Spring," whose 1913 premiere provoked an outraged riot, conversation about the purpose and efficacy of shock in art is in the air. I had been struggling to think of something to add to the discussion. But on Saturday evening, near the end of a new opera, "Dog Days," I saw the most genuinely unsettling incident I have yet witnessed on any stage. Dog Days Lauren Worsham (and a projected image of her) in this new opera by David T. Little and Royce Vavrek, at the Kasser Theater, Montclair State University. The action, relatively brief but endless in the moment, involves a girl performing a ritual of ablution. I will say no more; dawning recognition forms part of the scene's impact. That the act is one of piety and tenderness makes it all the more wrenching. Created by the composer David T. Little and the librettist Royce Vavrek, and presented in its premiere as part of the Peak Performances series at Montclair State University, "Dog Days" tells the story of a rural family struggling to survive and cohere in the wake of an apocalyptic catastrophe. You never learn the precise details but can easily imagine life in a flyover state after a nuclear war. The original short story, by Judy Budnitz, recounted events from the perspective of Lisa, a 13-year-old who befriends a curious vagrant, who is coping with catastrophe by becoming a dog: not just dressing the part but living it. Mr. Little and Mr. Vavrek maintain that focus, and in Lauren Worsham, a preternaturally girlish soprano, they have a self-possessed heroine who maintains dignity and charisma in spite of harrowing conditions. John Kelly, a performance artist, makes Prince, the dog, a soulful-eyed creature of relatable vulnerability. The vocal cast is uniformly fine, with particularly moving work from James Bobick as Howard, a father desperate to preserve his family, and Marnie Breckenridge as Lisa's mother, whose emotional and physical reserves diminish along with the rations dropped from an unseen military helicopter. Unseen but felt: the sound engineering, by Garth MacAleavey, is aggressive, and at times bombastic, in ways that complement the work. Amplified voices grow strident at peaks. The opera's ending comes awash in electric distortion. Earplugs are advised for the sensitive. Almost everything involved in the director Robert Woodruff's canny staging - Matt Frey's sickly lighting, Victoria Tzykun's threadbare costumes, a debris-strewn set, the sweaty sheen of bare skin - deliberately provokes discomfort. Unease even suffuses a scene in which Lisa delights in her budding femininity. As Ms. Worsham coos into a mirror, back turned to the audience, a camera projects and magnifies her face on a screen overhead. Fixating on her blotchy skin and glassy eyes, you realize that the cheekbones Lisa proudly calls attention to were a result of starvation, not maturity. It might all amount to mere provocation had Mr. Little and Mr. Vavrek not delivered a taut, nuanced work that clawed beneath the surface of every situation. Profanities pop like a string of firecrackers in Mr. Vavrek's libretto, yet its poetry is indelible and affecting. Mr. Little responded with music of emotional insight and charm, suggesting pop-music modes at times without ever resorting to pastiche. Harsh, angular lines and abrasive textures cede to wistful melodies and touches of hymnody; unorthodox instrumental techniques enhance mood without distracting. Mr. Little's new-music band, Newspeak, augmented with guests and conducted by Alan Pierson in plain view upstage, played with a stylishness born of familiarity and commitment. Think about it: When was the last time a new opera got under your skin the way an Edward Albee play does? Credit is due to Beth Morrison Projects, which fostered the opera to fruition, and to Jedediah Wheeler, the executive director of Peak Performances, for endowing it with ample resources: not least, a stage. Why do provocative operas like "Dog Days" rarely reach New York? "Dog Days" is repeated from Friday through Sunday at the Alexander Kasser Theater, Montclair State University; (973) 655-5112, peakperfs.org.