Issue 96 / February 2019

REVIEWS
Queen Zee (Michael Driffill)
Queen Zee (Michael Driffill)
Queen Zee
+ Piss Kitti
+ Zand
+ Munkey Junkey
24 Kitchen Street – 13/12
QUEEN ZEE don’t need any introduction, but they certainly
deserve one. An even better introduction than this is being
delivered by drag darling Jackie Jervo. Jackie is the host for the
evening, introducing all the acts in fabulous style while dressed
as the greatest gift under the tree this Christmas. This evening
is also a showcase for the acts on Zee’s own label, Sasstone
Records, as well as the debut album out next February.
First act on is MUNKEY JUNKEY. Their music is fun and
energetic with their stage presence, dancing and lyricism. But
Munkey Junkey also maintains a certain chilled energy while
doing all of this, in a similar vain to amazing hip hop acts like Mick
Jenkins and Kaytranada. It certainly gets the crowd going and
ready for the next act, ZAND.
She walks on stage to All She Things She Said by tATu wearing
a balaclava scrawled with transphobic and sexist slurs. She then
rips it off, saying a big fuck you to all the bigots out there by
embracing those words but also tearing them down. Zand’s voice
is incredible, full of passion and soul and not comparable to anyone
else out there at the minute. The electronic pop with extra gusto
that backs her voice reminds me of NALA. This uprising of queer
solo acts across the UK creating refreshing new electronica, fused
with pop, is not only amazing to watch, but inspiring. It’s great to
watch them gain the recognition they deserve within the scene,
albeit still small in comparison to the macho indie bands selling out
stadiums – but who cares about stadiums when you’re creating art?
The next act on have already cemented their place as a band
ready to break down the masculinity of the North West punk scene,
PISS KITTI. Their songs are short, brash and bold, in a similar
vein to the finest tracks by X-Ray Spex and Bikini Kill. Lead singer
Esme Davine demands your attention (also to pay her, judging
by the make-up on their face) while the rest of the band create a
wall of noise behind her. Ex-member Clara Cicely also makes an
appearance on stage for a few tracks, including Hash. It’s a relatable
track as we definitely know someone who’s became a bore after
smoking too much. “You don’t smoke hash, hash smokes you, yeh”
is stuck in my head.
All these acts have perfectly built up for the headliners,
QUEEN ZEE. With the words ‘Sass’ shining into the audience’s
eyes, they immediately demand the attention of everyone in the
room. You know you’re about to witness something very special.
Every single member has such charisma, to the point you don’t
know where to focus – and that’s definitely not a bad thing. The
new album sounds spectacular live; an amalgamation of angst,
anger and fun in one ferocious package. It doesn’t matter if you
don’t know all the words because the entire crowd is screaming
and dancing away, myself included. Queen Zee’s music has a
message as well. Zee dedicates Sass Or Die to all of the people
who feel marginalised by their sexuality, their gender – anyone
who has felt like they haven’t fit in. The message within a Queen
Zee song and live show is straightforward: we’re all people, let’s
create a safe space where we can have a great time and respect
each other. I’d go as far to say that Queen Zee are the champions
of the queer punk movement, rallying the troops of queer kids to
stand up for what they believe in, to feel like you’re not alone in an
internal struggle with sexuality and/or gender. Queen Zee are not
taking over as the best band in Liverpool, but they’re ready to take
over the world. Just you watch.
Georgia Turnbull / @GeorgiaRTbull
Wake Up Together: Ren Hang And
Where Love Is Illegal
Homotopia + Witness Change @ Open Eye
Gallery – until 17/02
An unclothed woman stands on the roof of a high-rise
building, the Beijing skyline light and dusty. She arches defiantly
in a backward curve to meet the face of a nude man, tilting
forward to kiss her, creating a bumpy ‘m’ shape with their bodies.
Can people see? They don’t care. Behind his point and shoot
camera, REN HANG carefully directs his friends, arranging their
limbs and hair to capture a transient image of youth, affection
and life.
3,000 miles away in Russia, ROBIN HAMMOND photographs
two women holding each other in an embrace; their fingers
knit tightly together between their chests, one rests her cheek
against the other who looks directly into the lens. They get a
biro and paper and write down their story for Hammond to take,
describing how they were followed home and brutally attacked
for holding hands on a subway.
In more than 70 countries around the world, there are
discriminatory laws against lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender
and intersex relationships. As part of Homotopia Festival 2018,
Open Eye Gallery’s winter double bill Wake Up Together: Ren
Hang And Where Love Is Illegal brings together two fluent
bodies of photography which champion identity and the right to
love who we want.
Uncensored and enlivening, Ren Hang’s keenly experimental
point and shoot photography has shone a light onto a generation
of China not often seen through layers of politics and western
clichés. Having been denied the right to exhibit his work
repeatedly in China for his deemed ‘flagrant’ and ‘pornographic’
themes, an electricity runs through each of Ren’s photographs
chosen for his UK premiere.
One of my favourite images is I Compact U, which features
in Frank Ocean’s self-directed publication Boys Don’t Cry. Three
young men hang out of the same car window, unclothed and
arranged in a remarkable constellation of elbows and wrists,
holding cigarettes to each other’s mouths. Throughout all of Ren’s
images a sense of touch and physicality is exaggerated through
carefully aligned shapes and objects; heads tucked under armpits,
Wake Up Together And Where Love Is Illegal (Scott Charlesworth)
bodies stacked, limbs coiled into orifices.
Often shooting his friends, Ren had an illuminated and
unphased way of seeing. Before tragically taking his own life in
2017, aged 29, Ren’s enduring struggle with depression was
apparent, the elegiac show title Wake Up Together taken from
his last poem posted online. His work, however, celebrates his
abiding vitality, a seemingly random use of objects – lily pads,
peacocks, lizards, cherries – provide planes of texture and
palpability, his aesthetic world clearly referencing bodies as
vehicles for play and unapologetic identity.
When Robin Hammond began his project Where Love Is
Illegal he gave complete control to his sitters, allowing them
to choose exactly how they presented themselves before the
camera. The portraits here are peaceful and homely, even a bit
bizarre at times; Amine from Tunisia sits across his bed, his white
stilettos not quite touching the floor; Jessie, a transgender woman
from Lebanon, is poised like a cat in her front room, shrouded
in a red veil. Shooting members of the LGBTQI community in
countries where bigoted views are backed by law, Hammond’s
tangible and importantly singular Polaroids (should they wish
to withdraw their story) are paired with poignant handwritten
stories.
Moving between each gallery space, the two bodies of
work confront each other in a way that enhances the agency
of Ren’s subjects, while spotlighting the lack of freedom for the
people courageously sharing their own stories of censorship
and isolation. Aspects of each narrative captured by Hammond
are unimaginable, but the collection of portraits in its entirety
provides a strong sense of community; each person’s story is
relatable regardless of identity, creative activism at its most
powerful.
Gina Schwarz / @gsschwarz
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