Rarely, on entering a theatre space, are you offered earplugs. Such is the fiery brand of Emma Frankland’s self-described “destructive” work that we can expect tonight’s performance to be unabashedly loud – worthy of hearing protection – and Source is happy to declare that it lives up to its reputation in more ways than one.
Described as a “radical misremembering” No Apologies maps itself atop of and against Nirvana’s iconic 1993 MTV Unplugged concert. Taking to the stage in loose fit jeans, white tee and grey cardigan, Emma Frankland as Kurt is joined onstage by a five-piece band. It begins as tribute, a nostalgic look back at a pivotal moment in 90s grunge rock (the audience are treated to renditions of Come As You Are, Dumb and, pointedly, All Apologies.) But it transitions astutely into an open-ended argument, delivered by Frankland, on the trans experience in the 30+ years since that concert first aired.
“Kurt Cobain was trans.” Frankland heckles the audience. And with that defiant statement we slide into a fascinating wormhole of care and controversy, a deep dive into a discourse routinely skirted in today’s media.
But… Kurt Cobain was trans? Is it true? Is it conspiracy? Is it allegorical? Is it projection? Does it matter?
In spite of it’s title, No Apologies is a nuanced handling of an inflammatory and pertinent subject matter, one that (alongside its audience) it treats with care and thought. Questions such as “If Kurt Cobain was alive today would they come out as trans?” or “Could the trans community have benefitted from celebrity trans ‘idols’?” allow the piece to unpick stereotypes and straw men in an ebullient fashion, bubbling throughout with a just rage (especially in light of the controversial ruling given earlier that day by the Supreme Court.) Part gig-theatre, part tribute and part polemic the show pitches and rolls on a tide of its own making, allowing for an almost stream-of-consciousness quality to the narrative – at times a rousing battlecry, at others a neighbourly chat.
Frankland – as conductor, narrator and frontperson – is an expert storyteller. She knows how to carve an image onstage and seamlessly weaves 90s counterculture with folkloric archetypes, blending it all with the political and personal that anchors the show. Performance art sits alongside tribute act and chaos swirls with the chandelier that she sets swinging from on high. At times some of the larger set-pieces are deployed somewhat clunkily, disjointing the production’s rhythm, but there’s a wink and a nod towards the show’s overall rawness that lends an honesty to the performance which an audience can’t help but appreciate. Through it all runs a searing indictment of those blind to, blasé of or embittered against the trans experience. It might be a hard watch at times but it is a necessary one.
Through an inspired focal point – an acoustic concert in the early nineties – Frankland guides a tempered narrative packed with her signature disruptive and destructive clout. The evening is indeed a tribute but not how we might have initially expected. Part reclaiming, part reframing, this is a history that was always here and, had we but chosen to recognise it, it could have led us to a more inclusive future. A future into which we were all invited to come as we are.
Attenborough Centre for the Creative Arts, Wednesday 16th April 2025
