The Planet was a very popular Gozitan discotheque in Victoria in the 1990s. The venue will be repurposed imminently. Joseph Agius talks to photographer JOSEPH SMITH and curator THERESE DEBONO about his current exhibition and the transience of memories.

JA: Your previous artistic collaboration, Spaces in Suspension, of November 2021, similarly explored ruins of a popular place, the Grand Hotel Verdala, in Rabat in which people used to congregate in years long past. Can we regard The Last Dance as a continuation of that theme, another popular space in suspension?

JS: In a way, yes. I was told the place was going to be demolished soon and that I’d better act fast. So, they gave me permission to shoot on just one day. I asked Therese if she would like to curate; she played a major role as she is also an archaeologist, she thrives on digging the past. She found these artefacts that really complement the photographic works. In a way, it is a continuation of the previous exhibition; however, this time, photographically I’m alone. Yes, it is another space in suspension, a shorter suspension time as it’s earmarked to perform a totally different role soon.

TD: This one has less history and had a totally different use; the first one was a hotel, this one was a disco. A totally different crowd, a totally different following.

Diptych

JA: As in the previous exhibition, the emptiness evoked in these works point towards an aftermath, a sudden evacuation that left the place without a function. The crowds that used to frequent the once-popular discotheque are just memories, ghosts from the 1980s and 1990s. Does this exhibition essentially celebrate remains, ruins from a life that is no more?

TD: And 2000s as well, as it was first called Astra Disco, then The Planet Disco and then Ku Club, with pauses in between. It definitely celebrates remains and ruins as it has brought back memories. I think I have only twice visited that club; besides being an archaeologist, I was always a partygoer as well. The trip from Malta to Gozo was very iconic in our time as 20-something-year-olds, maybe even younger, probably lying to our parents as to where we were going to be for the weekend; my parents’ generation was against discos as, for them, they meant drugs. For us it was just having fun with our friends.

There was not only the partygoing aspect but also the before, the preparation for it. And, while you’re there, you listen to music, you make friends on the dancefloor; today’s generation doesn’t do this. When I speak to my students about how much we used to dance and party, they look at me as if I’m an alien. There were clubs in Malta but nothing beat escaping Malta to go to Gozo.

An exhibit at 'The Last Dance'.

JS: That is why I asked Therese to curate. She is of a younger generation than mine. I’ve never been to Planet Disco. For the opening, she invited some of the DJs who used to perform there.

TD: In fact, one of them, DJ J Joy, attended the opening of the exhibition and was mesmerised because it brought back so many memories. It was not only local DJs who performed there. One has to understand the club culture, which is a scene that has a lot of history. We can go back as far as the blues, when club culture slowly started the change. Its roots are in Detroit. 1996 was a ‘summer of love’ in Europe and it was the year The Planet opened.

What was happening in Europe at that time maybe didn’t use to reach us as quickly as it does nowadays. 1996 was the year when Trainspotting came out, it was the year when Underworld delivered the iconic song, Born Slippy – that was major because it attracted a lot of crowds. There certainly was that thrill around going to a party in Gozo where, at the time, there was no social media following and no one knew where you were.

I miss those days. I am a young person of the 1990s, I was living this and it was safe. Or maybe I was really naïve. Nowadays, there isn’t that scene anymore. For The Last Dance, we tapped into Generation X.

JS: Even Boy George performed there. The guy who used to manage the place also attended the opening. There was a nostalgic element to it too. On the visual front, I like to play with the idea of absence/presence, somebody has departed but there is still his or her lingering presence. It’s like talking to the silence and it replies.

Another exhibited photograph

TD: Joe’s images remind me of when I used to be at the club at 4 or 5 in the morning, when the crowd has left and one realises that almost everyone has gone. There’s that suspense when the club looks very different when it’s time to leave.

There’s an image that shows the whole expanse of the place. When we were there in person for this image to be shot, the special point of view made me feel what Faithless said in their song God is a DJ. When you’re up there, you feel like a god as you have the control of all the crowd. You are the one that’s making them dance and be happy. You have an important role; you can’t let them down. And the people are looking up at you, adoring you. That is why the play with absence and presence now taps into that memory.

JA: The Verdala Hotel was knocked down, to make space for new endeavours. What are the plans for this space? Are the disco days well and truly over? Or will it remain a space in suspension indefinitely, through a lack of function, proposed or otherwise?

JS: The place has now been sold and its function will have something to do with the elderly. The dancing days are over.

JA: In Rumi’s words: “Where there is ruin, there is hope for treasure.” What treasure did you manage to eke out during this photographic project?

JS: We found many artefacts that were exhibited with the photos themselves, such as glow bands, entrance tickets and bar chits.

TD: This is one of those visual narratives that also has intangible qualities. We dug out bar orders like JB Coke, Sprite, Ġellewża – the sparkling rosé wine. The prices were all in Maltese currency and you realise how much one misses the old currency and exclaim: “Oh my God, it’s been a while.” We found tokens, promotions, jackets lying on the floor in the cloakrooms, although we didn’t exhibit the jackets. In such an exhibition, we didn’t want artefacts to overwhelm the photos, we wanted them to complement the photos.

If we try to read those ruins and listen to what they’re telling you, you can give them the value that they deserve

JA: Therese, unlike for Spaces in Suspension, in which you participated photographically, you have taken on a curatorial role for The Last Dance. Are there different emotions involved? Can you elaborate on the curatorial aspect of the enterprise?

TD: I’m a photographer first and foremost, so missing out on the photographic experience didn’t make me feel bad this time as I shoot a lot anyway. In this case, knowing Joe so much and working with him so often, we’re always shoulder to shoulder, it was interesting for me to objectively look at someone else’s work and create a good balance for the narrative to form. It is something that I tried to enjoy doing with my students in class, for example when they are preparing their final projects.

Being a curator is similar to my role as a lecturer. With Joe, I have the honour to curate my mentor’s work. Looking at it objectively and understanding what he shot and what he was seeing, and bringing my clubbing days into the whole thing, it was certainly an experience. It is this merging of generations in a way.

Another exhibit.

Joe and I don’t disagree, we critique and analyse and reflect – there is always this growth happening, rather than an ego taking over. I think our baggage merged pretty well. We have deep respect for ruins and for aesthetics of decay, and absence and presence, and memory. They are areas of research that we always felt inclined to investigate. Even though sometimes, people might think that we produce the same work, we really don’t. We take different approaches and methodologies and sometimes we end up with the same result.

While writing the curatorial piece, I admit I was listening to house and techno music as it was not easy as sitting down and getting things out of me that I had experienced before; I had to literally transport my brain via music to that time in order to write. It flowed when I did that. I had to put myself there, but it wasn’t difficult as when I heard the first few beats, I was transported back. I still dance nowadays; I still go to festivals but I’m a little bit more ‘curated’ in that sense.

During the opening, we had two tracks looping, at a lower volume than the chattering of the people. We found that kind of atmospheric beat was needed in order to get the people into the groove. When I transport myself back, entering a club was always a huge experience, you get goosebumps, you know you’re going to meet friends, the DJ is going to play your song. For that pocket of time, God is a DJ.

Another photograph

JA: I think that there are other spaces in suspension around our country, even domestic ones that have been locked up for decades. Do you feel that these are time capsules that should be restored and preserved as much as possible? Would that also somehow reverse the process of ‘weathering’ by time, in which the artistic appeal of decay would be also reversed?

JS: It is always great to get access to such places.

TD: We always try to get proper access by getting permission to do so, without trespassing. I get the thrill one gets from trespassing but I also tell my students when they do so, “now what are you going to do with the photos you have shot?”

Joe and I always seek the proper permission to access these sites because we always want to share the result. Some places are indeed time capsules, they have a lot of value. I believe that, with our work, we are bringing this awareness gradually because all people tend to see is ruins. If we try to read those ruins and listen to what they’re telling you, you can give them the value that they deserve.

JS: In an ideal world, it would be good to see these places renovated and preserved. But progress is progress unfortunately.

TD: While following my master’s in cultural heritage, there used to be this debate – for example, if the old Valletta theatre should be rebuilt or not. It is much better leaving things in ruins, rather than rebuilding them, because you can never rebuild them as they were. The material is new, the way in which they were built was different from how it is done nowadays. So, is it worth rebuilding com’ era, dov’ era, like The Fenice in Venice, which has burnt down three times? Can you really rebuild it and, with the rebuilding, are you going to re-enact the memories? No, you can’t. I think that the ruins of the theatre next to the parliament building in Valletta had to remain as such and any intervention done should have been reversible – that is how heritage works.

A space in suspension

In terms of this disco, you cannot refurbish its memories. Places have spirits which are intangible, they hook to the memories of people. Unless we educate the younger generation, they will have no respect for these places, they would not see the value.

JS: One obviously must consider the commercial aspect – people ask us why did this place close its doors? The avenues for entertainment lie elsewhere nowadays.

TD: Places of entertainment have changed. For Generation Z, their method of entertainment is way different to what we were accustomed to. Their entertainment in on the mobile phone, the computer, gaming, etc. We must respect that as it’s part of moving on. Therefore, it would not make economic sense to refurbish such venues. Silent discos are a thing these days, I’ve been to some myself but there is no communication between clubgoers whatsoever. And that is sad.

The Last Dance, hosted by Astra Cultural Hub, Teatru Astra Complex, Victoria, Gozo, is on until Friday, June 16.