Simona Castricum’s performance of ‘Panic/Desire’ at RMIT’s The Capitol felt like something of a homecoming. With it’s beautiful and dramatic theatre interior and state of the art audio-visual capabilities, there couldn’t be a more apt location for the architecture academic and self-professed “fan of the venue” to perform her 2020 release in full.
Postponed due to covid restrictions from the original Melbourne Music Week Extended festival held a couple of months earlier, the rescheduled show had even more poignant timing with the recent loss of beloved Melbourne musician Daphne Camf. Castricum’s close friend and other half of music group SaD (Simona and Daphne) was paid tribute at the beginning of the show with a screening of SaD’s “The Poets of Antiquity” music video.
‘Panic/Desire’ was performed not quite in chronological order and made use of the venue’s impressive audio-visual elements. Written excerpts of Castricum’s PhD work combined with morphing graphic designs was projected onto the huge screen behind a simple stage set-up of Castricum and her electronic music equipment supported by bandmates m8riarchy on back-up vocals and Light Transmissions on guitar.
“The show posited the necessity for and the real possibility of change; to create inclusive and safe spaces for those traditionally pushed to the margins of the cis/white world.”
“I remember when you just used to press play,” the Melbourne-native quipped, reminiscing on her long history of performing electronic music dating back to the late 1990s. Here, she employed an electronic drum pad, wielding the sticks confidently and singing in a strong, assured manner despite the emotionally-charged timing and subject matter of the show.
Castricum’s lyrics were at once personal and political. They explored her own lived experiences of simply existing in an urban environment that is both traditionally ignorant and violently oppressive to trans and gender non-conforming (GNC) people. Songs with titles such as “GNC City” and “Borderline Spaces” explored the experiences of architecture for GNC people and the bitter realities of navigating their way through a world not designed for them. Not just the oft-discussed bathrooms, but places such as prisons, aged care facilities, and airports acting as sites of oppression and violence.
The show posited the necessity for and the real possibility of change; to create inclusive and safe spaces for those traditionally pushed to the margins of the cis/white world. “What if safety becomes permanent?” was the hopeful leitmotif.
A lot of humour was infused into the sometimes heavy and conceptual subject matter. “This next song is about TERFs,” Castricum declared over a stomping tune that would have JK Rowling quaking in her boots. With an unapologetic fierceness Castricum mused that she’s “sick of talking about trauma, would rather be playing techno.”
“’This next song is about TERFs,’ Castricum declared over a stomping tune that would have JK Rowling quaking in her boots.”
Album closer “Panopticon” explored the modern conditions of surveillance and of being intrinsically linked to our digital presence. Looking, being looked at, and “nightly scrolling through this fucking app” evoked our current voyeuristic obsessions with platforms such as Instagram and Tinder. “The conceptual portion of the show” was declared ended and the mood uplifted with ‘80s-tinged electro banger “The Good in You”.
All of the songs were danceable with their throbbing synths and electronic beats that would have happily entertained a writhing mass in a club just as much as the socially-distanced seated theatre audience at The Capitol. The sexy and slinky “Supertouch” was a great choice of a closing track featuring outstanding vocals from bandmate m8triarchy. It was a strutting celebration of queer desire that encapsulated the more celebratory and hopeful elements of Castricum’s oeuvre.
Sam Gill and Luke Neher, known as Ara Koufax, slunk quietly to their station at the far left of the stage. With the musicians tucked discreetly away, this set focused on the filmic and musical fusion that the pair had put together over the last six months. The “scaffolding” of the piece entitled ‘SCREAM’ was three sections of documentary film, seemingly unrelated, but cleverly woven together to create a visual and sonic fever dream exploring the grotesqueries of violence in the media.
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Beginning with a television piece on Laz Vegas amusement ride, “The Manhattan Express”, dubbed the most painful rollercoaster in the world, the mood was set with distorted ambient noise ratcheting up the sense of foreboding. Mumbling audio samples spliced through airport scenes conjured a dystopian modernity. There was a dreamy Lynchian quality to the experience complete with Golden Age actress Hedy Lamar intoning mysteriously “You are a long way from home” from the 1938 film ‘Algiers’.
Audiobook samples then led the audience through a desert roadtrip back to glitzy Las Vegas. Here, popular digital personality Dan Bilzerian’s feckless attempts to intervene in a shooting incident left the audience gobsmacked. It was in this final act that the satirical nature of ’SCREAM’ really became evident.
The double bill was ultimately a show of two halves. Castricum’s reflection on trauma and the oppressive and violent powers of architecture, was also a vital celebration of the possibility of “safety, belonging and permanence”. Ara Koufax produced an equally cerebral exploration of violence in the current climate through their queasy musical score, driving the audience to contemplate their own realities.