Death and the Discotheque

“Grief is a strong and overwhelming emotion for people; it is a natural reaction to loss.” Definition.

Jessi Lewis, reckless performance artist and writer, has created a hauntingly stunning piece of work in an aptly timed Covid pandemic. Death And the Discotheque is a vivid reflection of life in Lewis’s twenties. Now in their thirties, it felt it an opportune time to air tthat morbid drug fuelled world, marked by many dearly departed friends and loved ones.

Upon entering the small upstairs theatrette at the Butterfly Club, Lewis is lying horizontal across a white coffin. The dancers (Sofia Reinking; Ben White; Indya Brott; Angus Eastwood; Erin O’Rourke) directly face the audience, with robotic dance, move to a trance-sound composition (Robert Downie). This visual juxtaposition is symbolic, mesmerising, and confrontational.

Lewis is conflicted with their past angst, yet addresses it head on with slow gyrating moves across the coffin. “I remember” they proclaims in a distinctive slurring ‘drunken’ gravelly voice - their raw, narcissistic yet mournful manner is evident skulling a tequila - “I remember eight stitches and just another poofter bashing”; “I remember coughing blood and lonely nights with tabs of acid on my tongue”. There is a grieving sadness in their delivery, yet cathartic rejoicing of a past life lived to the fullest.

The dance floor is their refuge - a place where grief, intimacy, and trauma meld into one. They yearn to breathe life into their new world despite the losses. Live percussion (Ben Dickson) in the third act welcomes a voodoo trance like dance - moving in slow motion with the ensemble through the audience, offers a hypnotic spine-chilling crescendo, suggesting triumph despite consequential death.

Lewis is an innovative multi-talented artist, offering exciting new experiences for audiences.

Flora Georgiou