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REVIEWS!
Trump will likely last a third term at least. But we must keep laughing at him. In this absurd political climate, solar joy offers a reevaluation of the current political paradigm as impermanent. I am championing joy as resistance.
If we're all just putting it on for one another, isn't it nice to think that there is a place where everyone knows it's being put on?
True to the Revue genre, the skits satirised the medical department’s faults. The hypocrisy of allocating exhaustive commutes to hospital residencies was poignant.
Sydney night air, interrupted by a frequency I can only describe as blood rushing through the body.
Law Revue 2025: A Review by Sophie Wishart
The production blurred time in fascinating ways. While grounded in Sophocles’ ancient text, it never felt bound by it.
Šime Knežević’s 2025 play Various Characters approaches with care and confusion the condition of Australian multiculturalism. A coming-of-age tale of multiple teenagers living in socially turbulent mid-2000s Sydney, the play never fully realises its focal point, nor answers the many questions it raises before the curtains close.
Maybe we’re just living in a different time. After the concert, I reviewed Alfred’s Boiler Room X AVA set, noticing that the majority of the audience at that event were also white dudes with the same low taper fade haircuts and sunglasses. They bobbed their heads ambivalently and attempted to film the majority of the set, unable to just be in the moment. As events like Boiler Room have become increasingly popular, I sometimes wonder — are people coming to these things to have a boogie and support artists? Or are they going to find the validation that they seek?
He admits to taking inspiration from Haruomi Hosono and Yellow Magic Orchestra. But there are also notes of Anri, Tatsuro Yamashita or Miki Matsubara. His song Giddy Up replicates the feeling of galloping on a horse (naturally) at a staggering 158 BPM.
The Museum of Contemporary Art’s autumn 2025 season celebrates the diversity of Australian Contemporary Art with two exciting new exhibitions: ‘The Intelligence of Painting’, which features the work of fourteen women artists for whom the paint medium is a vital part of their practice, and Warraba Weatherall’s ‘Shadow and Substance’, the first solo show by the Kamilaroi artist. ‘The Intelligence of Painting’ will run until 20 July 2025, while Weatherall’s work can be viewed until 21 September 2025. These two exhibitions are wildly different – just as the contemporary art scene itself is diverse and unpredictable.
SUDS’ Slot 1 performance of Edward Albee’s The Goat, or Who is Sylvia? was an hour-and-forty-minute absurdist romp that left the audience in both stitches and a state of moral panic. The play, brilliantly directed by Felix Tonkin and produced by Ruby Scott-Wishart, documents the aftermath of a father’s bewildering extramarital affair, and serves as a hilarious allegory of liberal society. It is this element that SUDS’ production claws at so well, unravelling the philosophical thread that weaves its way through the narrative.
Walking past the slightly uncanny midnight pickleball league in a mostly asleep Entertainment Quarter, I wondered if anyone else was aware of the musical significance of what was going to happen inside Liberty Hall. Joy Orbison, the London-born and based DJ and producer, was about to play his first show in Australia. I reached Liberty Hall, pretty set in my conviction that there wasn’t a good chance many pickleball players knew about Joy Orbison. I was pleasantly and incredibly surprised
At the bottom line, salute rejected the pretension that seems to dominate much commercial dance music (read: the uninspired spoken word poetry of Fred Again). Eschewing these pseudo-philosophies of house heavy hitters, at the heart of TRUE MAGIC is a magical world of nostalgia, joy, and most of all, good old fun. Not only a testament to the varied influences upon salute’s signature sound, but the many influences that shape our first encounters with dance music.
Laneway 2025 was a refreshing return to normality for Australian music festivals. It featured a balanced and loveable lineup of fan favourites and internet sensations but was let down by its administration and infrastructure. Its artists provided fantastic and memorable performances that resonated but its vibes were either hamstrung by technical difficulties or over-police and surveillance
Boiler Room was last weekend’s confused lover, trying its best to be intimate, but couldn’t do the work to make it so (even though you both really wanted it to).
Both eerie and peaceful, the final room is shrouded in a velvety green amongst which his final paintings whisper rumours of Magritte's transformation. At this point, one cannot help but think back to the self-portrait that greeted them, now at odds with the viscerality of The happy donor and Man and the forest.
As soon as you enter the space, you find that the dialectic of light and darkness is already at play. Then begins the piano, and notes that echo cavernously, consuming the space. In a haunting, projecting boom, Alice Smith begins vocalizing the words, “once again…”
A tortured artist. A naive assistant. The child always kills the father. Pop art will kill abstract expressionism. It’s the 50s.
The doomers are stilted in that strange tech bro way, unable to understand the implications of even their smallest actions. Their voices and accents clash in soulless conflict.