Chiara Costanza
Ph. Michelle Grace Hunder
Stranger #9
Chiara Costanza, film & TV composer and electronic producer
I was so curious to meet Chiara after discovering her work. What I knew about her was that when she arrived in Melbourne from Turin (Italy), she began her career as a DJ focused on techno and electronic music, and later developed into a film and TV composer. It’s a fascinating journey, where the driving force has always been an obsessive passion for music.
Everyone who knows me knows how passionate I am about cinema and the whole universe around it. That’s one of the reasons I was so eager to meet Chiara and discover the world behind her work.
In our conversation, she shared her journey — one that shows how passion can push someone to say: either this or nothing. Yet it wasn’t passion alone; her path was shaped by determination, experimentation, coincidences, and failures — the very challenges that sometimes force you to bring out your claws and fight for what you want. Chiara is someone who, even though she has been — and continues to be — recognised for her talent, remains genuinely surprised and deeply grateful. Her greatest joy lies in sharing her excitement for music with others and allowing it to become a point of connection.
How would you introduce yourself?
I’m an Italian musician based in Melbourne, where I’ve lived for the past twenty years. I began my journey as a pianist, but it was only after moving to Australia that I discovered electronic music. I immersed myself in DJing, club culture, and collecting vinyl records of every genre, and that’s when my passion for music truly came alive again.
Today, I work full-time as a composer for film and television—a role I absolutely love and feel deeply grateful for every day. Music has always been my greatest passion, and this lifelong obsession is what brought me here. Without it, I’m not sure I would have made it this far. Oh, and I also have a cat named Cloe.
You’re known as a composer for film and television, a DJ and electronic music producer, a musician, and a sound designer. Could you share some key moments that have shaped your professional journey?
As a composer, the biggest milestone was writing the score for a short film called All These Creatures, which went on to win the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 2018. That was also my first major project in cinema. Until then, I had composed music for commercials and personal dj projects, but not yet for film—so that moment marked a real turning point in my career.
Another milestone came when I collaborated again with the same director on his feature film Inside, which is now available on Netflix. Tonight, in fact, APRA is hosting a listening party where the full soundtrack will be played—something that feels like a very meaningful recognition for me.
Composing the music for the Netflix series Heartbreak High was another major highlight. It’s a show known worldwide, and that opportunity opened many more doors for me.
In terms of my DJ career, one unforgettable moment was performing live at the Meredith Music Festival in 2016, in front of 10,000 people. I played an entire set of my own music using drum machines and synthesizers—it was absolutely incredible. Another peak moment came in 2019, when I opened for Nina Kraviz at Piknic Électronik Melbourne. That was the height of my DJ and live performance career, which I gradually stepped back from after COVID in order to focus more fully on composition.
What has been the greatest challenge you’ve faced in your career, and how did it shape you?
In 2014, I was working in a studio in South Melbourne—my very first job in the music industry. When it closed, I managed to get hired at another studio, where I began composing music for advertising. It was casual freelance work, but fairly steady. At some point, though, the atmosphere changed, the industry shifted, and I suddenly found myself without a job.
That was devastating. It was the first time I had been earning a living doing something I truly loved, and losing that opportunity was not easy to accept. On one hand, it shook me, but on the other, it woke me up. I’ve always believed that things happen for a reason. If I had stayed in that studio, I probably wouldn’t be doing what I do now.
The drive and determination I developed—the hunger to make it—wouldn’t have been the same if I had remained in that safe, comfortable place. It became a challenge with myself, but also a chance to prove myself to my parents. But more than anything, it was my own obsession. I knew I would either do this with my life—or nothing at all.
In the end, that difficult and painful experience of losing my job became the push I needed to bring out my claws and carve out the career I have today. It took years, but I eventually won that challenge.
How did Chiara Kickdrum come to life, and how did you become a composer for film and television?
The name Chiara Kickdrum came from a very specific need. My surname is Costanza, which works fine in Italy—but in Australia the first thing people think of is George Costanza from Seinfeld, the ‘90s TV show they love here. I realised that if I started DJing under my real name, I’d always be associated with George Costanza! So I chose a new name, inspired by the techno kick drum, which I was really into at the time.
My DJ career started almost by accident. I began organising an event with a friend at a club in central Melbourne called Loop, near Parliament—though it doesn’t exist anymore. From there, word spread, and little by little people started inviting me to play at other events. It all happened quite organically, though once again my obsession with music played a big role. At that time, I was collecting a huge number of records, constantly listening to music, and felt a strong need to share it. I think that’s what drives most people to start DJing—the urge to share their passion, that excitement for music, with others. From then on, my DJ career became pretty intense and lasted about seven years, from 2012 to 2019/2020. I always knew it wouldn’t last forever—the DJ lifestyle isn’t exactly the healthiest in the world. I still play now, but not in the same way as before.
My path as a composer began with those early studio jobs I mentioned earlier, where I had already built up some experience and music to share. When the studio—Electric Dreams—no longer needed me, I went back to university to study interpreting, while continuing to DJ, make, and write music. Around that time, I decided to start reaching out directly to Australian directors. I researched filmmakers whose work I felt connected to, and surprisingly, I received many positive replies. Among them was Charles Williams, the director of All These Creatures. Working with him took me to Cannes, which was one of the biggest milestones of my career. Being there on awards night was unforgettable—and when the film won the Palme d’Or, it truly felt like a sign. What were the chances of that happening!?
When I returned to Melbourne, I sent out another round of emails. A friend of mine, Jemma Burns, who was working at LevelTwo as a music supervisor for film and television, had listened to the tracks I shared and started pitching my music for projects. Thanks to her, and to producers and directors who heard my work and wanted to collaborate, new opportunities kept coming. I composed my first series for ABC, Kiki and Kitty, then The Other Guy (season two) for Stan, followed by my first feature film, Long Story Short by Josh Lawson, in 2020/21. From there, more projects naturally followed.
Part of your career is also dedicated to teaching (currently at RMIT University, and previously at the University of Melbourne Conservatorium, Monash University, JMC Academy, among others). How do you approach working with students, and how does this experience enrich you?
I love teaching, probably because I get to talk about what I truly love. Especially now, after a few years of experience, there’s nothing more rewarding than sharing my knowledge with younger generations. Looking back, I owe so much to my own teachers—especially Darrin Verhagen, who taught sound design when I studied Sound Art at RMIT from 2010 to 2012. I remember how often he would play us his work for theatre and film productions, and I have to admit, it deeply enriched me. So if among the 500 students I’ve taught, I can have even a fraction of that same impact—directly or indirectly—on just one of them, that would be amazing.
What I also love is that students continue to be a huge source of inspiration for me. Listening to their projects, hearing their new ideas and concepts, or even when they introduce me to a plugin I’d never come across before—it honestly moves me. There are moments when I’ve heard student compositions that have truly touched me. That’s what enriches me so much about teaching: art is about giving, but also receiving.
I personally see cinema as one of the most universal and accessible artistic languages. How does your musical composition fit into this language?
Music is, without doubt, the most universal language—it connects everyone, everywhere, at any time. Many of my childhood memories are tied to music, especially film music. Take E.T., for example: John Williams’ score still moves me today because it reconnects me with my past and my memories. Without that kind of deep connection to music, I probably wouldn’t be doing what I do now.
When I compose for film, I don’t set out with the intention of creating something iconic—it happens more organically, almost naturally. What fascinates me most about the relationship between music and cinema is how music alone can stand as one thing, but when it’s paired with a film, it amplifies the narrative, the characters’ stories, and even their inner worlds. Music can bring out something invisible yet profoundly felt, and that’s what I always try to explore: going inside the story, inside the characters, and giving the audience a deeper experience of the film.
My film music is often described as cinematic—which may sound obvious—but for me it means it carries many layers: minimal yet complex at the same time. Working with directors and stepping into projects that aren’t originally mine gives me the chance to create things I would never come up with on my own. I always treat the collaboration between music and cinema as a learning process—it’s like going to school and being paid to learn, because every project teaches me something new. Thinking outside the box, writing music that doesn’t just sound beautiful on its own but truly serves the scene—these external challenges are what shape me into the composer I aspire to be.
Your audience often changes depending on the role you’re playing. What’s the most meaningful feedback you’ve received?
As a DJ, one of the highlights was definitely my set at the Meredith Music Festival in 2016. Even years later, people would come up to me in clubs and tell me how emotional—and even life-changing—that set had been for them. That kind of feedback is unforgettable. As I said earlier, it’s about giving and receiving, and it’s this exchange that gives me the drive to keep going.
When it comes to film, I think back to my first short film project, All These Creatures. A wonderful director, George Sikharulidze, with whom I later collaborated on Panopticon, once told me that before we even met, he had been using my music from All These Creatures as a case study in his classes at the University of Chicago. Stories like that are countless, and they remind me how the impact of your work often goes far beyond what you can imagine when you’re creating it. You know you’ve done something good, but it’s only when you get that kind of feedback that you truly realise the importance of what you’ve made.
More recently, I received an email that meant a lot to me: Air Edel, one of the world’s leading agencies for composers, reached out to represent me after hearing my work on the miniseries Mix Tape and later on Panopticon. That was a huge milestone, and I’ve just signed a contract with them.
I find it fascinating how your musical path spans two very different worlds: on the one hand, mainstream projects like composing for TV series, and on the other, your work as a techno and electronic DJ, which leans more underground. Do these two sides of your practice speak to each other?
Absolutely! I wouldn’t be doing commercial projects if it weren’t for my techno and electronic music. For example, when I was asked to work on Heartbreak High, a mainstream Netflix series, one of the things that caught the producers’ attention was precisely my cool, underground background. That allowed me to bring some of my knowledge of experimental electronic music into a more commercial context. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be asked to score a Marvel movie and Disney will want me to follow strict rules without any space for experimentation –though I doubt it! If you listen to Black Panther, for instance, what Ludwig Göransson did there is very different from most Marvel films, and in my opinion, it’s one of the most beautiful soundtracks of the past decade.
There’s always an opportunity, even in the most commercial projects, to do something a little different. It can even become a learning experience for directors, who sometimes don’t realise that an unusual sound might actually work better than the one they had in mind. I always put a bit of Chiara Kickdrum flavour into everything I do. Sometimes you have to give a director something they didn’t even know existed—that’s what makes the process more collaborative.
It also works the other way around: doing commercial projects makes me crave going back to experimental work and appreciating those moments of freedom. You need that balance in your practice. At the beginning, you might think that having such a diverse profile could hold you back, but over time you realise that it’s actually your uniqueness—what you bring from both worlds—that makes you stand out.
Turin and Melbourne are both places you call home. What do you carry from each city into your work?
I’ve been living in Melbourne for 21 years now, so essentially my entire adult life has unfolded here. My family has also moved here, so Melbourne truly became home. That said, earlier this year in March I went back to Turin after seven or eight years away, and I felt a real reconnection with the city. When I first moved to Australia, I actually despised Turin—I thought it was boring, bourgeois, traditional, very closed minded… and in some ways, those aspects are still there. But this time I rediscovered another layer of the city, an underground, more interesting side.
I grew up in Chieri, a small town just outside Turin, and after visiting friends there, I decided to spend a week alone in an Airbnb in the city. I wanted to reconnect, to see how it felt after all these years. And I loved it. Now I’m even considering moving back at some point, even temporarily, because Turin really is a fantastic and inspiring city. It has this darker kind of energy, which you don’t find in Melbourne.
Melbourne, on the other hand, is the city that made it possible for me to do what I love for a living. Compared to Italians—without generalising too much—Australians are far more informal. Even at university, students greet you casually; there isn’t that hierarchical, reverential system you find in Italy. Here everything feels more relaxed, more equal, with fewer barriers. And that openness allowed someone like me—an Italian young woman with no connections at all when I arrived—to eventually build the career I have today. For that, I’ll always be deeply grateful to Melbourne.
Is there a project you still dream of realizing—something that, for some reason, hasn’t yet taken shape?
Yes. A few years ago, the City of Melbourne invited me to create a project for the Melbourne Town Hall, where there’s a massive pipe organ. They asked me to develop a one-hour performance that incorporates the organ, but I haven’t yet had the chance to bring it to life.
It’s a project I find incredibly exciting—not only for the opportunity to experiment with the sound of the organ in such a unique space, but also because after four or five years of working full-time in composition, it would give me the freedom to create something entirely my own, which I really miss.
I’ve always thought of this piece as a way of composing music for a film that doesn’t exist. In a way, it would be a new business card to present myself to the world, as Chiara, a creator of sounds. I truly hope I’ll be able to make it happen soon.
Could you name a person who inspires you or someone you admire?
I would like to name choreographer Prue Lang. Prue is Australian, but currently lives in Paris, and she is an incredible choreographer and collaborator with whom I’ve had the honour of working.
“Dear Prue,
you are a great source of inspiration to me. Collaborating with you has always been enriching. Your visionary approach to dance and movement, your sensitivity, and your creative strength have left a deep mark on my artistic journey. I am grateful for the experiences we have shared and for the impact you have had on my work and on my personal growth.
Baci Baci”
