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| Cristina Moura (2007) |
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| Jodi Melnick (2011) |
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Glorious Notorious, A Chronicle of Dance Artists
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Chéri—A Romance in Dance
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| Alessandra Ferri & Herman Cornejo. Photo: Joan Marcus |
We learn fragments about everyone's disparate states of mind in Irving's four brief monologues (by Tina Howe). Irving imbues them with enough salt and snap so that we feel her own vanity, and the guilt in her complicity in the awkward relationship. The two dancers never speak, but they spend a great deal of time embracing, un/dressing, and twirling and spinning in multitudinous ways, often with Ferri's legs and feet as punctuation.
They are both supremely gifted ballet dancers, but Clarke only once indulges in a display of technique, when Chéri undergoes a fit of rage expressed in multiple pirouettes and stag leaps. They do, however, use a refined expressive physicality manifested in every subtle gesture and loaded look, a particular refined gift in certain great dancers such as these. And while Clarke resists showing off her cast, the resulting choreography becomes repetitive and uninspiring after a spell. The chemistry between these two expressive performers is palpable, but one wishes that the staging and movement were more transportive.
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| Amy Irving and Herman Cornejo. Photo: Joan Marcus |
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Juilliard's New Dances Plus: A Pina Bausch Revival and Three New Dances
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| Wind von West, by Pina Bausch |
The remounting of Wind von West (1975) is a major collaboration between Pina's alma mater, Juilliard, and the Pina Bausch Foundation, charged with overseeing her life's work. The significance of this project is as much about the future of Bausch's work as this one piece's artistic import. It's primarily a mix of her fluid, organic, somber style that is most memorable from her last solo at BAM (alongside an image of a fish), in Danzón, and still poses or arrested movements.
The stage is segmented by gauze partitions into four receding chambers that were never utilized to maximum dramatic or metaphorical effect. A white-sheeted bed—also lightly used—loomed on one side. The celadon gowns and long hair were elements that would carry through her life's work. On the whole, it felt like an impressionistic scan of her signature voice, devoid of humor and text, yet perhaps more coherent than the pieces that would comprise the bulk of her oeuvre. But the mere fact of its existence holds great promise for future remountings, even if they lack her final stamp.
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| Wind von West |
In Nakamuraya, Take Ueyama dedicated his dance to the Kabuki great Nakamura Kanzaburo—a nice conceit, but the paean was unclear in the dance itself, which included some too-cute miming to start, a romantic duet to Lou Reed's "Perfect Day," and the requisite high velocity group segments. Moultrie's Seeds of Endurance revisited some of these adrenalized pack movements; his dancers shed their long, flounced gowns to reveal flesh-toned briefs and camisoles that evoked our natural state. Both contained exhilarating moments, but the structural demands of the exercise perhaps dictated too-similar scripts.
That said, the Juilliard New Dances series is unsurpassed in showcasing the maximum number of excellent dancers in new, commissioned choreography, and in rare remountings.
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Ailey—Celebrating Matthew Rushing, and 3 Premieres
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| Aszure Barton's LIFT. Photo: Paul Kolnik |
LIFT checks off pretty much every item on a theoretical "Ailey commission wish list." Dramatic chiaroscuro lighting (by Burke Brown). Rhythmic drumming akin at times to a pulse (by Curtis Macdonald). Shirtless men whose muscles gleam in the (see #1). Women dressed in beautiful halter dresses with rippling fringed skirts (by Fritz Masten). Everyone in gold chokers. Large group sections of hopping, like a show of strength in a celebratory tribe, a refrain of which ends the piece. Various sections of shifting tempo and dynamics, from [previous item] to a unusual deliberate duet by Linda Celeste Sims and Jamar Roberts in which they cross the stage while continuously touching. While Barton doesn't create many connected dance sentences, she has a good sense for what provides maximum dramatic effect. Add to this the stunning visual impact that this beautiful company possesses, and the result is affecting and powerful.
Chroma, originally done in 2006 but new to Ailey, is quite a contrast. McGregor's style—rippling torsos, thwacked splits, everything pushed—adds a new note to the Ailey canon. It fit the more balletic dancers best, such as Sarah Daley. The music by Jack White and Jody Talbot ranges from visceral rock to more tempered violin + piano. It's rare to see such a completely overhauled set at Ailey: John Pawson designed a white box with curved seams to eliminate sharp corners, and a punched-out rectangle to provide most entrances and exits. Lucy Carter's lighting design shows just how far white can be pushed, from subtle warm gradations to eerie ice blue. The multi-hued unisex camisole and trunk costumes by Moritz Junge worked better for the women; the spaghetti straps looked too delicate on the men.
Bill T. Jones'D-Man premiered on his own company in 1989, but this tribute to then-company member Demian Acquavella, who died of AIDS, has retained as much vibrance and freshness as its Mendelssohn score. The cast showcased the high energy Kanji Segawa, who I hadn't yet seen so prominently featured. The only drawback is that Jones' own company remounted the piece recently at the Joyce, diluting the impact of its remounting after so many years.
On December 17, company veteran Matthew Rushing was celebrated in two of the company's keystones, Grace and Revelations, plus a medley of excerpts from Pas de Duke, Love Songs (both choreographed by Ailey), and Home. We were assured in a pre-show speech (by either Judith Jamison or Robert Battle—were two speakers necessary?) that Rushing isn't retiring, that he's simply being honored. And deservedly. No one has a finer internal acceleromater, which leads to a great economy of movement, nor greater precision, nor inner drive. Even what might be construed as a flaw—not "selling it" to the audience by smiling or making constant eye contact—comes across as humility. With this in mind, Rushing looks least natural in Pas de Duke, with its Vegas showboating and shiny costumes, and most comfortable outwardly expressing inner emotion in Love Songs to Donny Hathaway's gorgeous rendition of "A Song For You."
As one of many men in Ron Brown's Grace, he looked like a man setting to some serious work, and along the way discovering wonder and moments of, well, grace. In Rennie Harris'Home, Rushing read as the 16-year-old he was when he started with Ailey, skipping and strutting in circles around the cast. A lovely bonus came in Revelations—the recently retired Renee Robinson guest cameo'd as the woman with parasol. It was one instance during the evening when spontaneous applause wasn't directed at Rushing, and proved the loyal Ailey audiences take pride in treating the dancers like family.
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| Home, by Rennie Harris. Photo: Paul Kolnik |
Chroma, originally done in 2006 but new to Ailey, is quite a contrast. McGregor's style—rippling torsos, thwacked splits, everything pushed—adds a new note to the Ailey canon. It fit the more balletic dancers best, such as Sarah Daley. The music by Jack White and Jody Talbot ranges from visceral rock to more tempered violin + piano. It's rare to see such a completely overhauled set at Ailey: John Pawson designed a white box with curved seams to eliminate sharp corners, and a punched-out rectangle to provide most entrances and exits. Lucy Carter's lighting design shows just how far white can be pushed, from subtle warm gradations to eerie ice blue. The multi-hued unisex camisole and trunk costumes by Moritz Junge worked better for the women; the spaghetti straps looked too delicate on the men.
Bill T. Jones'D-Man premiered on his own company in 1989, but this tribute to then-company member Demian Acquavella, who died of AIDS, has retained as much vibrance and freshness as its Mendelssohn score. The cast showcased the high energy Kanji Segawa, who I hadn't yet seen so prominently featured. The only drawback is that Jones' own company remounted the piece recently at the Joyce, diluting the impact of its remounting after so many years.
On December 17, company veteran Matthew Rushing was celebrated in two of the company's keystones, Grace and Revelations, plus a medley of excerpts from Pas de Duke, Love Songs (both choreographed by Ailey), and Home. We were assured in a pre-show speech (by either Judith Jamison or Robert Battle—were two speakers necessary?) that Rushing isn't retiring, that he's simply being honored. And deservedly. No one has a finer internal acceleromater, which leads to a great economy of movement, nor greater precision, nor inner drive. Even what might be construed as a flaw—not "selling it" to the audience by smiling or making constant eye contact—comes across as humility. With this in mind, Rushing looks least natural in Pas de Duke, with its Vegas showboating and shiny costumes, and most comfortable outwardly expressing inner emotion in Love Songs to Donny Hathaway's gorgeous rendition of "A Song For You."
As one of many men in Ron Brown's Grace, he looked like a man setting to some serious work, and along the way discovering wonder and moments of, well, grace. In Rennie Harris'Home, Rushing read as the 16-year-old he was when he started with Ailey, skipping and strutting in circles around the cast. A lovely bonus came in Revelations—the recently retired Renee Robinson guest cameo'd as the woman with parasol. It was one instance during the evening when spontaneous applause wasn't directed at Rushing, and proved the loyal Ailey audiences take pride in treating the dancers like family.
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Ephemeralist's 2013 Highlights
Books
The Good Lord Bird by James McBride
Praised to the hilt already, but I'll keep recommending this funny, lighthearted, insightful novel about an abolitionist's ward until you read it. One book I'm looking forward to re-reading.
The Dog Star by Peter Heller
Another gem in a year of good books. Stands out for its humanity, and affection for dogs, in a people-less world.
Sports
Matt Harvey, New York Mets
Oh Matt, you bright, shining, fallen, but hopefully once more shining shooting star, you... at least Mets fans had a few weeks of joy and a taste of victory.
America's Cup
Technology arising from the desire to win may lead us to a better world. Imagine such leaps of imagination applied to energy conservation or humanitarian causes. Plus, catamarans flying over the water at 70 mph.
Chris Froome, Team Sky, winner of the 2013 Tour de France
Nothing against 2012 Tour de France winner Bradley Wiggins, but Froome's 2013 victory pushed the thought of Wiggins sitting waggishly in that throne out of mind for at least a bit.
Art
James Turrell, Aten, Guggenheim
Transported viewers briefly to an alien morphing color-saturated, egg-shaped world. Slick, for sure, but worked for me.
Stanley Whitney, Team Gallery
Speaking of saturated colors and geometry, such a brilliant surprise from an underrated painter. At once firmly rooted in the history of abstraction, and completely fresh.
Dance
ABT, Koch Theater, Met Opera House
No denying it... a huge event in the world of ballet: Ratmansky'Shostakovich Trilogy. ABT's fall rep season at the Koch featured the company in choreography by major playas: Tharp, Ratmansky, Morris. Seeing fresh faces—Joseph Gorak, James Whiteside—gain confidence and roles is always rewarding, alongside company stalwarts Marcelo Gomes and Gillian Murphy. But I missed David Hallberg's presence immensely; at least he's slated for several Met season ballets this summer.
Dance Theater of Harlem, Rose Theater
Showing great talent and promise, far more than could reasonably be expected after a total reboot.
Rashaun Mitchell's Interface, with Silas Riener, Baryshnikov Arts Center
Another pair of artists who have great skills, a sense of adventure and curiosity, and the ability and resources to make things happen. The site-specific visual environment, by Davison Scandrett, made magic use of a difficult windowed corner theater. They also performed the overstuffed Way In at Danspace—less successful, but which raised yet more questions.
Paul Taylor's Sacre du Printemps (The Rehearsal), Koch Theater
So much invention and astonishing technical demands in this naif-style caper.
New York City Ballet, Koch Theater
Justin Peck's emergence as a choreographer. Anthony Huxley (and here) in Mozartiana. And, as always, Sara Mearns, Tiler Peck, Robert Fairchild, and Tyler Angle in anything.
Troy Schumacher/Satellite Ballet, Joyce Theater
Among many chamber ballet troupes, Schumacher's stood out. The premise of a true collaboration between choreographer, visual artist, poet, and composer seems trite, but Schumacher did seem to infuse the dances, performed by an all-star cast, with some internal structure or narrative.
San Francisco Ballet's season, Koch Theater
When a major ballet company from outside the Gotham comes a-knockin' with rep by Ratmansky, Morris and others, it's a rare treat.
Theater
A Midsummer Night's Dream, Theatre for a New Audience
What a way to inaugurate Theatre for a New Audience's Polonsky Center in Fort Greene. Julie Taymor thinks vividly in three dimensions. And sure the new theater has lots of technical merits, but most of her magic is done with simple devices.
The Good Lord Bird by James McBride
Praised to the hilt already, but I'll keep recommending this funny, lighthearted, insightful novel about an abolitionist's ward until you read it. One book I'm looking forward to re-reading.
The Dog Star by Peter Heller
Another gem in a year of good books. Stands out for its humanity, and affection for dogs, in a people-less world.
Sports
Matt Harvey, New York Mets
Oh Matt, you bright, shining, fallen, but hopefully once more shining shooting star, you... at least Mets fans had a few weeks of joy and a taste of victory.
America's Cup
Technology arising from the desire to win may lead us to a better world. Imagine such leaps of imagination applied to energy conservation or humanitarian causes. Plus, catamarans flying over the water at 70 mph.
Chris Froome, Team Sky, winner of the 2013 Tour de France
Nothing against 2012 Tour de France winner Bradley Wiggins, but Froome's 2013 victory pushed the thought of Wiggins sitting waggishly in that throne out of mind for at least a bit.
James Turrell, Aten, Guggenheim
Transported viewers briefly to an alien morphing color-saturated, egg-shaped world. Slick, for sure, but worked for me.
Stanley Whitney, Team Gallery
Speaking of saturated colors and geometry, such a brilliant surprise from an underrated painter. At once firmly rooted in the history of abstraction, and completely fresh.
Dance
ABT, Koch Theater, Met Opera House
No denying it... a huge event in the world of ballet: Ratmansky'Shostakovich Trilogy. ABT's fall rep season at the Koch featured the company in choreography by major playas: Tharp, Ratmansky, Morris. Seeing fresh faces—Joseph Gorak, James Whiteside—gain confidence and roles is always rewarding, alongside company stalwarts Marcelo Gomes and Gillian Murphy. But I missed David Hallberg's presence immensely; at least he's slated for several Met season ballets this summer.
Dance Theater of Harlem, Rose Theater
Showing great talent and promise, far more than could reasonably be expected after a total reboot.
Rashaun Mitchell's Interface, with Silas Riener, Baryshnikov Arts Center
Another pair of artists who have great skills, a sense of adventure and curiosity, and the ability and resources to make things happen. The site-specific visual environment, by Davison Scandrett, made magic use of a difficult windowed corner theater. They also performed the overstuffed Way In at Danspace—less successful, but which raised yet more questions.
Paul Taylor's Sacre du Printemps (The Rehearsal), Koch Theater
So much invention and astonishing technical demands in this naif-style caper.
New York City Ballet, Koch Theater
Justin Peck's emergence as a choreographer. Anthony Huxley (and here) in Mozartiana. And, as always, Sara Mearns, Tiler Peck, Robert Fairchild, and Tyler Angle in anything.
Troy Schumacher/Satellite Ballet, Joyce Theater
Among many chamber ballet troupes, Schumacher's stood out. The premise of a true collaboration between choreographer, visual artist, poet, and composer seems trite, but Schumacher did seem to infuse the dances, performed by an all-star cast, with some internal structure or narrative.
San Francisco Ballet's season, Koch Theater
When a major ballet company from outside the Gotham comes a-knockin' with rep by Ratmansky, Morris and others, it's a rare treat.
Theater
A Midsummer Night's Dream, Theatre for a New Audience
What a way to inaugurate Theatre for a New Audience's Polonsky Center in Fort Greene. Julie Taymor thinks vividly in three dimensions. And sure the new theater has lots of technical merits, but most of her magic is done with simple devices.
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Gotham Dance—Elkins and Shick
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| doug elkins choreography etc. Photo: Julieta Cervantes |
Doug Elkins'Scott, Queen of Marys (1994) is all precision moves and poses, with a kaleidoscope of influences from the highland fling, voguing, hip-hop, ballet, and ballroom. The eight dancers wear smart, form-fitting athletic gear (by Naoko Nagata) reminiscent of Star Trek (why don't others use of this type of gear more often?). Javier Ninja is the mysterious, fleeting central figure of the dance who makes a grand entrance by executing an elaborate Medusa's head of snaking hands and arms. The runway stomp binds this stylistic collage, which is delivered in a highly presentational, semi-confrontational attitude by the dancers to goad, or dare, you into liking it, which of course you do. And while Elkins' highly varied choreography may seem improvisational at moments, his bouncy phrases (to a score by Mio Morales) fit together like a precision machine.
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| Vicky Shick and Dancers |
In the end, Everything felt like a word search in which I sought moments of logic, in contrast to Elkins' crisply engineered crossword puzzle.
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What's It All About—Bacharach Reimagined
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| Kyle Riabko. Photo: Joan Marcus |
Kyle Riabko has rearranged nearly 30+ songs (most with lyrics by the remarkable lyricist Hal David) and strung them like newly-polished gems into a sleek, 90-minute show, at New York Theatre Workshop, directed by Steven Hoggett. Many arrangements, whittled down to acoustic guitar and voice, reveal the darting melodies and smart lyrics. (Video here.) Simply hearing new voices sing the familiar words fosters a new awareness of their appeal.
The imaginative set by Christine Jones (who designed the ingenious set for American Idiot, among others) serves as a sturdy metaphor for the project. The theater's walls and upstage wall are covered with old rugs; battered old sofas lie stage right and left, and hang from the upstage wall, bookending an avalanche of guitars and a cello (many of which are used throughout the show). Lamps with old-fashioned shades are scattered about the stage, or hang on the walls. It looks like a barn full of estate cast-offs. What might seem like old favorites—the most comfortable old couch, that fallback tune that always make you hum along—are revivified and given new purpose. Gradually, the props and detritus become illuminated from behind; the musty lampshades removed to reveal twinkling light bulbs, like a beautiful sky with northern lights and fireflies. The songs, meanwhile, shed years—and the baggage of Dionne or Herb or Aretha—to emerge anew.
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| Front row: Nathaly Lopez, Laura Dreyfuss, Kyle Riabko. Back row: James Williams, James Nathan Hopkins, Daniel Woods, Daniel Bailen. Photo: Joan Marcus |
"Alfie" spawned the title and bits of it pop up throughout the show, primarily as an inquisitive rejoinder layered over another lyric. It serves as the tenuous narrative through-line navigating love, loss, and hope. A couple of tunes kick out the jambs—a surprisingly rockin'"Message to Michael," and the encore number, "What's New Pussycat?" (although you gotta watch Tom Jones in the original). Hoggett, in addition to sure handedly directing, provided the no-nonsense choreography, including strategic head tosses and foot stamping. The show is a celebration of a chapter in American pop culture that has for too long been shelved as kitsch or neutralized as mainstream. The reassessment is underway. (Extended through February 2.)
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Llewyn & Ulysses—Two Nomadic Cats
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| Ulysses and Llewyn |
Ulysses is the apt name of the elusive ginger tabby who, in many ways, becomes a metaphor for Llewyn (Oscar Isaac) himself. Both are always moving, whether by curious nature (who hasn't had a cat make a break for it) or by circumstance (no apartment). Llewyn doesn't seem to have a particular affinity for Ulysses, but more than once he wakes up to find the cat lying on his chest, purring loudly.
The two are thrown together in less glowing circumstances when both are shut out of their temporary/permanent apartment, and Llewyn is forced (or takes it upon himself) to carry the kitty around the city, partners in exile. They take the subway—if there are two more incompatible things than a packed subway car and a loose cat, I don't know what they are—creating some of the more indelible scenes in a gorgeously shot film. We see Ulysses' reflection in the subway window as the train hurtles down the tracks. The cat escapes the man's clutches, but is caught and taken safely to the next stop on Llewyn's nomadic journey.
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| Whoa. |
That would be his ex-paramour Jean's (Carey Mulligan) apartment. Of course, trouble is always around the corner, and the cat once more escapes, this time through a window that Llewyn cracks open to smoke. (And anyone who has ever had a cat would have a sixth sense about such potential pitfalls, which adds another layer of angst. I'm yelling internally, "shut the window! the cat!...")
So Llewyn is constantly on the lam looking for a break, while Ulysses is on the prowl for something not dissimilar—a mouse, a bird, more attention, and the like. I guess you could call it career advancement for cats. And when either gets a break, or receives an act of kindness, they spurn it or it turns into another reason to move along yet again. Llewyn, like a cat, takes for granted acts of generosity and can't help but hew to his own self-described standards of behavior and of standards for his art.
Later in the film, as Llewyn is driving back from Chicago during a snowfall, a tabby cat runs in front of his car, and he hits it. He stops to look for it, and while he didn't flatten the cat, he sees it limping away into the woods. Chastened, unlucky, alone in the cold, cruel world, Llewyn is like the battered kitty. He sulks back to his friends—owners of Ulysses—who welcome back their "folk singer friend" even after taking abuse from Llewyn, who wouldn't play a song on demand for other friends of theirs. (In addition to letting Ulysses out, he found and returned a different cat, adding salt to the wound.)
Alas, Ulysses found his way back to them as well. So both escapees return, one humbled, both hungry. If there's any hope to hold out for Llewyn, it's that, like a cat, he will endear himself despite spurning help and affection.
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Bronx Gothic—Innocence Lost
IanDouglas+copy.jpg) |
| Okwui Okpakwasili. Photo: Ian Douglas |
In this intense, intensely personal physical theater piece, as we enter, she stands in the corner of a cordoned off square within the sanctuary, where the audience lines two sides; her body judders and shakes as if jolted by an electric shock. How she sustains this trance for even a few minutes is astonishing, but this continues for another quarter hour. She then calmly begins to revisit her Bronx-based adolescence, reading notes exchanged with her experienced best friend at the time. Despite her maroon jersey halter dress being soaked with sweat, she barely breathes hard as she speaks into a mic. She switches octaves for the two girls' voices, between naive and knowing; her vocal and breathing control should be the envy of any opera singer.
Between her many note-reading sessions, she repeats an alarming movement sequence in which she collapses to the floor joint by joint, each bone thudding as it hits, as well as her skull. She sings several songs in a lovely voice, lifting the mood of this dense reverie. The tone is also lightened by the kitschy figurine lamps and plant clusters scattered around what feels as much like a boxing ring as a stage. Much of what she recounts from the notes are differing levels of maturity from two 11-year-old girls: one all too experienced with boys and sex; the other innocent. Toward the end of the 80-minute work, Okpokwasili eerily takes on a wise Bronx adolescent's tone and aggression. She tears down the nature of the two girls' toxic relationship, recalling being repeatedly tagged ugly. It clearly scarred her, and she repeats it so much that we, as she must have, begin to believe it. A litany of questions and commands prompting us to determine if we're waking or dreaming further erases the line between real and imagined. The dream shades into nightmare again and again.
This confessional often approaches how the naive girl must have felt—held between thrall and terror at her friend's braggadoccio and admonishments—but witnessing the gamut of expression used by Okpokwasili is to marvel at her multifaceted talent.
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BalleNext—Chamber Ballet Takes a Leap
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| Katilyn Gilliland and Michele Wiles in Surmisable Units. Photo: Stephanie Berger |
One of the pleasures of this proliferation is to be able to see impeccable dancers such as Wiles, once a principal with ABT, in a more intimate setting. Not every skilled dancer has the ability to project to the rafters, and Wiles, despite her immaculate balance and line, is among the subtler of dramatists. But in a theater the size of New York Live Arts, she connected with the audience in a way she hadn't seemed to in larger theaters. The same can be said of ex-NYCB principal Stephen Hanna, who danced one work on the program; always a solid partner, his pleasing, if unshowy, demeanor could be somewhat lost in the Koch Theater. Additionally, Wiles has rounded out her company with excellent dancers, most notably Kaitlyn Gilliland, another NYCB alum; it's a gift to see this luminous dancer's endless lines and captivating, mysterious gaze in such a context.
The highlight of the all-Brian Reeder choreographed program at NYLA was Surmisable Units, a somewhat technogeek title for an intriguing dance. The anchor was the parlor trick performance by Ben Laude of Steve Reich's Piano Phase (alternating performances, incredibly, with Juan Carlos Fernandez-Nieto—it's difficult to believe that more than one person could pull this off), a work for two pianos. Laude sat between two pianos at right angles, somehow playing both at once. Solos by a revolving cast on stage right, and behind the pianos, repeated slicing arms and upper body movements, as pairs or individuals performed larger-scale passages at stage left. One or two dancers would slide under the pianos (something we saw recently by Justin Peck as well), and continue their arm gestures while lying down. Gilliland and Wiles paired up, partnering one another and holding hands while walking the perimeter. Capezio is credited for the long-sleeved, colored tops and short skirts, somewhat evoking figure skating outfits.
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| Jens Weber and Michele Wiles in Different Homes. Photo: Stephanie Berger |
The company also reprised Picnic (2012), with the fleeting suggestion of a narrative. This Tudoresque mood piece with shifting group dynamics showcased the talented dancers, including Tiffany Mangulabnan (who tossed off some perfect-split grand jetés), Brittany Cioce, and Sarah Atkins. It also demonstrated the dramatic and stylistic range of which BalletNext, and Brian Reeder, are capable.
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In the Presence of Two Monuments—Hilliard Ensemble in the Temple of Dendur
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| The Hilliard Ensemble: Gordon Jones, Steven Harrold, Rogers Covey-Crump, and David James |
Not that the concert was a sure thing. The latest polar-vortexed, foot-dumping snowstorm forced the quartet to jump on a last-ditch flight from North Carolina to Philly, and Amtrak it from there, barely making it to NYC. Then, after John Schaefer introduced the group at the Met Museum, and they took their spots to sing, there was no light on their music. After a few minutes and some ad-libbing (including their woeful tale of travel), lights lit, and they began to sing.
The program blended ancient and contemporary songs, creating a chronological diversity for which the ensemble is known. It began with selections from 13th-century France; the phrasing and seven-syllable rhythms felt as much verse as song. Ah, Gentle Jesu! (Sheryngham, ca. 1500) is structured as a conversation between penitent (two upper voices) and a crucified Christ (two lower voices), a responsorial dialogue that evoked a profoundly human feeling.
By now, many works have been commissioned and written for the quartet. Aus dem Psalm 69 (2007, Katia Tchemberdji) is interwoven with eerie, darkly shaded chords of closely spaced notes. Alexander Raskatov also wrote Praise for the group in 1998. This work in five parts features imagery ranging from lapping, accreting notes; rippling, echoing sounds; and staccato declamations.
Selections from Armenia included Sharakans by Komitas, with folk music details, and Lord, who made the Spring Run (Vache Sharafyan), with dirge-like lower vocals supporting a dancing upper vocal line. Arvo Pärt has written works for the ensemble, but here, they sang his Most Holy Mother of God, with its exposed solo phrases underscoring the solitude of man, with haunting, distant pleas of "save us."
The program showed the quartet's sensitivity and internal tuning. The repertory emphasizes group balance and harmonics, and a reining in of individualism. On occasion, David James' lovely countertenor takes wing and soars above the ensemble, but always returns to blend in. Tenors Rogers Covey-Crump (the "novice" who has been with the group just 15 years) and Steven Harrold, plus baritone Gordon Jones, fill out the ensemble, which has also just released Il Cor Tristo (ECM), featuring compositions by Roger Marsh with lyrics from Dante's Inferno.
Hilliard's absence will leave a vacuum. They demonstrated their intrepidness in Heiner Goebbel's fully-staged I went to the house but did not enter (2012 White Light Festival), and their depth in a specialty genre of four-voice compositions at the Temple of Dendur. Two monuments in one vast space.
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The Little Prince—New York Roots
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Drawing for The Little Prince. The Morgan Library & Museum, New York © Estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Photo: Graham S. Haber |
The Little Prince: A New York Story, at the Morgan Library through April 27, emphasizes the book's New York's roots. Antoine de St. Exupéry (1900—1944), who had left occupied France, lived in an apartment in New York where he drafted much of the book. He made mention of the city and of Long Island, which he summered as well, but those references were cut before the final version.
I recall the book as one of my favorites growing up. And despite a somewhat indistinct memory of the precise plot, the thought of the tri-state area's inclusion would certainly have diluted the exotic Frenchness, and other-worldliness, of it. There is a delicacy and preciousness that has nothing to do with the grit and humility of being in New York.
The book's theme of utter isolation is the one that resonates strongly in my childhood's eye. The prince standing all alone on his tiny planet, and his run-ins with others on their desolate orbs, more or less encapsulate the solitude of growing up. Childhood can be pretty lonely; in effect, you're on your own little planet until you learn how to play with all the other little (or big) aliens on their planets.
The concept drawings show the yellow-scarfed prince as angrier—eyebrows aslant, face more concerned—than the book, where he appears more placid and happy. This element of tension somehow permeated the settings, even if it was erased from the boy's personage.
Sadly, St. Exupéry was deployed as The Little Prince was being printed. In 1944, he died on a recon mission in North Africa, shortly before the liberation of Paris. He would not see it printed in his native tongue.
I like to think he observed the success of his book from the peace of his own little planet.
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Drawing for The Little Prince The Morgan Library & Museum, New York © Estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Photo: Graham S. Haber, 2013 |
The concept drawings show the yellow-scarfed prince as angrier—eyebrows aslant, face more concerned—than the book, where he appears more placid and happy. This element of tension somehow permeated the settings, even if it was erased from the boy's personage.
Sadly, St. Exupéry was deployed as The Little Prince was being printed. In 1944, he died on a recon mission in North Africa, shortly before the liberation of Paris. He would not see it printed in his native tongue.
I like to think he observed the success of his book from the peace of his own little planet.
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Ferran Adrià—Revolutionary Alchemist
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Ferran Adrià Plating Diagram, ca. 2000-2004. Colored pen on graph paper Courtesy of elBullifoundation |
There's some unavoidable deflation upon entering the Drawing Center's Ferran Adrià: Notes on Creativity exhibition, because after all, reading about food can't compare with eating it, even if you're talking about some of the most conceptual edibles ever made. But once you get past that, there's much to glean from this show of notes and sketches about the revolutionary Spanish chef's theories and inventions that helped him to create nearly 1,800 new dishes. Not only does it draw attention to the food itself, but the craft of plating—combinations of flavors, as well as sculptural and graphic composition.
The works on view, through February 28, range widely: plating diagrams (above), genomic theory diagrams about the history of cuisine, a vitrine of colorful plasticine sculptures showing the shapes of food presentation, tools adapted for elBulli's "molecular gastronomy." Large photographic murals of the kitchen and interior of the now-closed elBulli create an interior room which houses several panels of drawings (the lowest of which are difficult to see unless you're a mouse). If some of the theory seems a bit pretentious, consider what it must have taken to craft "quinoa helada de foie-gras de pato con consomé." And there is little fussiness about many of the drawings, done in a naive style with colored pens, or written in what could've been haste or fervor.
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| Ferran Adrià, courtesy elBullifoundation |
Supporting the main exhibition, in the downstairs lab, the film 1846 screens, which shows every dish created at elBulli, as well as a film about Adrià's participation in Documenta. There are references to Bullipedia, a nebulous database of practice and theory currently in process. And on the lighter side, in the stairwell hangs a portrait of the chef by Simpson's creator Matt Groening. And if you didn't catch the film documentation of the food, a set of volumes with glamour shots of the restaurant's meals sits in the lobby. After that, you'll surely be primed to wolf down a liquid olive or vegetable foam.
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Devotion 4—Aiming for Ecstasy, if Not Perfection
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| Rachel Berman. Photo: Paula Court |
This could mean painting an entire floor and wall panels, precisely managing every lighting angle and cue, specifying the type of seating and its immediate surrounds, or flipping the orientation of a venue. There is also the movement itself, around which everything else revolves, but it is one—albeit important—part of the whole. In that sense, it approaches the operatic, in which every element is deliberate and interlocked (with one caveat*).
On its own, 4 stands as a study of jumping moves and forward rolls, spins, endurance, and the nature of a performance itself. There are numerous variants on the jump, and each dancer has her/his own signature version: straight up, hands darting out in okay signs; legs straight out; landing on one leg in a pose, or in a squat or lunge. (The spot where most of the jumping takes place appears to be a springy mat.) The dancers do forward rolls, outlining "D" shapes or circles, often wearing sweatshirts with padding on the spine, but often without that protection. Nicole Mannarino is once again a primary figure (Holy Spirit), as she was in Devotion Study #1 which was previously in the same space; in addition to jumps, she pivots on her toes in zig zags, crossing one foot coyly. Rachel Berman, in addition to being the Narrator, is the other Holy Spirit; her vocabulary includes deep, turned out lunges with a contracted torso and shooting arms that evoke a bit of Martha Graham's dogma. The movements are not from the dance canon; they derive from daily life and playing, but they are codified precisely according to Michelson's own vision.
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| Photo: Paula Court |
The audience sits on hassocks covered in white canvas, lined three deep along the long wall opposite the elevators. (Among a laundry list of pre-show warnings, we were ominously informed that we would be sharing a seat with someone, but mercifully that did not happen.) We were split into sections by aisles used by the dancers as staging areas, in lieu of a true offstage. Guards are stationed at the stair entrance and in front of the elevators to prevent people from entering during the performance; they become nearly immobile statues that move occasionally, and are thanked by Michelson at the beginning of the performance.
Michelson and curator Jay Sanders sit in the gallery speaking text by playwright Richard Maxwell. (Words caught in my notes: Proust, Milton, Shelley, a whole new level of choreography in the context of history, you always go home.) Near the end, Michelson recites numbers which correspondingly (or not) appear in green LEDs on the far wall of the gallery. Their dialogue intermixes with R&B played softly, as if at a distance; late in the work, Philip Glass'In the Upper Room begins, and with it the possibility of the ecstatic. (The same music, famous from the Twyla Tharp ballet of the same name, was used at the Kitchen.) *That said, music seems to be the weakest piece. In a January interview with Gia Kourlas, she admitted that she wasn't certain what the music would be, and in the end, it seems to be primarily ambient, other than the Glass.
Indeed, Mannarino, sweating and in the zone, after several costume changes and a good hour of work behind her, smiles genuinely for the first time. A level of formality in the house had broken down; the dancers waved and signaled at one another, as Michelson held up fingers to signify a countdown. Now and then, she picked up discarded sweatshirts. She wore sloppy looking sweatpants covered with paint stains that matched the floor—clearly a reminder that she had painted the panels in abstract patterns of largely green and earth tones. While she is implicit in everything we're seeing, her immediate presence is in our ears, on the periphery, as a custodian.
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| Photo: Paula Court |
We're close enough to feel the heat coming off their bodies. One had an open contusion on her spine, perhaps from doing somersaults, which elicits a measure of protective sympathy. But if you think about what athletes endure while going about their jobs, and ballerinas—bloody toes and awful injuries of all sorts—what's a contusion or two but a badge of honor? Hardly a stigmata.
The dancers' costumes changed from gymnastic-style long sleeved leotards in blue, to unitards of flesh and white, to black tights, to a floral bathing suit worn by Mannarino in the finale. White pared-down Converse All-Stars are worn throughout. Their hair is teased into afros. The sporty costumes are reminders of the basketball court-like shape of the gallery, underscored when the dancers casually toss off their sweatshirts mid-stage like basketball players pulling off their sweatpants when re-entering a game. In the closing moment (after a group hug by the dancers), recalling Devotion Study #1, a man wearing a horse head takes center stage and lies down like an odalisque, signaling the end. The lighting is most beautiful when it is primarily natural, coming from the famous geometric recessed window; it is augmented by soft golden light from one corner, and a closely-spaced row of spotlights topping one long wall.
I had a mixed reaction to Devotion Study #1 I think because of an overriding empathy with the performers, and what connective tissue torture the unending backward running seemed to entail, while I admired the dancers' endurance. But I found the first part of the project, Devotion (at the Kitchen), awe-inspiring, with its complete transformation of the space, and its Olympic-level calisthenics that showed the human body's potential. 4 belongs alongside Devotion. It quotes from that earlier work in movement and music, and in the effortful ecstasy resulting from it. Michelson mentions that she would like to return to the theater setting. That time is eagerly anticipated.
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Footnote: 4 (closed) coincided neatly with the Whitney exhibition Rituals of Rented Island, a survey of performance art in the 1970s. While many of those projects had a shaggy dog, ad hoc, Fluxus quality, Michelson's defines a 21st century sleekness and exactitude that has perhaps come about from the digitization of everything. The gallery in which 4 took place will house a floor of the upcoming Whitney Biennial, a moment of calm before the storm.
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John King: Edge of Darkness at Heskin Contemporary
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| Eternally Arriving, 2013, graphite and pastel on paper, 22" x 30" |
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| Installation view, including the video Born Twice (Yellow), at right. |
Tucked around a corner in the rear of the gallery is a 3-1/2 minute video, Born Twice (Yellow), 2014, which details the evolution of a giant, 100+ carat yellow diamond, from rough stone to immaculately faceted, charted in time-lapse shots taken throughout the cutting process. In many ways, it's a time-based interpretation of what might be going on in Eternally Arriving, which collapses the advent of time. And in the case of this yellow diamond, eternity is an enthralling possibility.
For a more in-depth look at King's work, visit his website: johnmcdevittking.com
Heskin Contemporary is at 443 West 37th Street across from the Baryshnikov Arts Center.
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Crystalline Structure and Lush Romanticism
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| Tanowitz's Heaven on One's Head. Photo: Yi-Chun Wu |
Tanowitz fully inhabits every venue her company performs at, often transforming it, and this held true for the Joyce. Heaven on One's Head was danced by nine, clad in red velvet shorts and tops (by Bartelme) that match the Joyce's proscenium curtain, which at first was raised halfway. The upstage brick wall of the Joyce's stage was exposed, its ruggedness and rectangular floating niche lit boldly by Davison Scandrett, who flooded the stage with sun-strong light and splashes of red. The four members of the FLUX Quartet sit in the pit playing Colin Noncarrow's score, from strident to pensive.
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| Melissa Toogood and Maggie Cloud in Tanowitz's Passagen. Photo: Yi-Chun Wu |
Tanowitz's dancers have performed in pointe shoes in the past; here, they are barefoot, the better to firmly feel the floor and press against it. (Two members of her company—Toogood and Dylan Crossman—are Cunningham alum, and if you saw Merce's company, you've seen the world's strongest human feet, like tree roots). Ballet is the basic language, but it's accented with the angular modernism of Cunningham, as well as quirks that are often the result of recombinants, like a game of Exquisite Corpse, but with dance—a contracted torso above diamond-shaped legs, an oddly canted head, arms in low fifth behind the body rather than in front.
We see bird-like imagery in the upright carriages, darting movements, and still poses with forced-arch feet or extended limbs. Every position is crisp and intentional, and the overall exactitude amplifies the larger, space-eating phrases to feel that much more dramatic. Tanowitz plays with the curtain legs, placing dancers half exposed, or looping onstage briefly. Late in the work, Toogood dances on a small thrust built downstage of the curtain, which lowers to show only the other dancers' busy feet. She looks toward the curtain with some wistfulness, and rejoins for the finale.
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| Sara Mearns and Adrian Danchig-Waring in Scarlett's Acheron. Photo: Paul Kolnik |
The women wear calf length dresses with purple bodices; the men, purple ombre cutoff tights (designed by Scarlett). Their torsos' musculature is emphasized in the many lifts that become an essential tool throughout the dance, and also underscores the high tone of romance, the equation of strength and vulnerability, of being swept off one's feet. Mark Stanley's dark lighting scheme abets the sense of mystery and impressionism. Antonio Carmena plays the lone man, free to leap and hurtle speedily across the stage, while three main pairs focus inward. There's a pliancy and airiness to Robert Fairchild and Tiler Peck's lifts, and she wends around him like a sleek cat. Megan Fairchild and Gonzalo Garcia dance a section with great propulsion and forceful partnering, and Andrew Veyette curves his body protectively around Sara Adams. While Scarlett doesn't set forth any radical new structure, there is a lush fervor and muscularity to his romantic vision.
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LeeSaar's Grass and Jackals
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| Photo: Yi-chun Wu |
But the beauty is undeniably moving. The sinewy dancers slink, crouch, stand perfectly still, and confront us repeatedly with direct gazes. Their eyebrows are painted like Groucho Marx's, hair taut in ponytails, in a highly stylized yet minimal aesthetic. As practioners of gaga, made prevalent by Ohad Naharin, they succeed more than others who work in this style, keeping quirks and superfluous additions to a minimum. Their hips move freely, legs float in extensions, knees are ever bent and loose. They lean forward on splayed knees, or in splits, examining us. Quick rabbit punches and chuffs remind us of the Israeli Army stints the two choreographers underwent before moving to New York. A certain degree of this steeliness pervades the movement and underlying kinetic drama. The soundtrack is an ecelectic melange of acoustic guitar, uptempo dance, shimmering ambient, and pop tune ("Princess Crocodile," incidentally the title of LeeSaar's upcoming work at BAC.)
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| Photo: Yi-chun Wu |
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RNZB—Toward a Unique Voice
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| Of Days. Evan Li |
Of Days, choreographed by Andrew Simmons (of New Zealand) last year, is undeniably full of beauty (other than the unfortunate choice of bare legs for the women, who wore Kate Venables' pale grey, draped-top leotards and pointe shoes). But just how far can mere beauty go? In the opening tableau, the four women stood stage right, gently waving a raised arm like a tree branch. After ten minutes of tendus, deliberate backward steps, and arabesques, one section blended into the next; various tracks of new-agey music, by three composers seemingly inspired by Arvo Pärt, formed an unending sonic miasma. The dancers moved ever so carefully—apparently emotionally fragile as well—but it translated to a sense of boredom and a certain metronomic predictability.
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| Clytie Campbell in Banderillero. Photo: Bill Cooper |
28 Variations establishes technical chops, and connects RNZB to the inexorable global Millepied zeitgeist in ballet now. In contrast to the numbing beauty of Simmons' dance, Banderillero creates a vivid, hermetic world with its own charismatic language—a signature work that makes a memorable impression on New York balletomanes, or at least this one.
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Benon—Straw or Plastic?
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| Souleymane Badolo and Charmaine Warren. Photo: Ian Douglas |
Shadowed closely by Warren, wearing a hooded cloak of clear plastic over a dress with a Hefty-strip skirt (by Wunmi), Badolo clutches an armful of plastic cups, dropping one now and then to produce a clatter. Warren looks like a ghost wordlessly guiding him to inflict her evil plastic bidding on the earth. Jeff Hudgins plays the sax in the choir loft; as he moves from one side to another, and then downstairs, the sound shifts like a restless spirit.
After a long spell of wandering, the two dancers face one another, making a burst of small hand gestures. Badolo puts on the cloak, and they both fling themselves on their stomachs like human bowling balls, knocking into the scattered cups. Warren prowls the edge of a sharply lit oval (lighting by Carol Mullins); the music shifts to a recording of a plucked instrument with vocals. She rolls her shoulders, scoops air toward her face, and poses with one foot in a forced arch. Badolo has donned a tunic embellished with grass that sits perpendicularly to his arms and torso, transforming him into a bristling mythic creature of nature. Warren places some grass rings, mats, and fronds in a circle around Badolo, whose every careful pose is accentuated by the tunic. She removes his tunic piece by piece, leaving him bare-chested—the human in between nature and industrialization. He approaches a couple of viewers and stares at them confrontationally, from a close proximity, implying that we are all responsible for the planet. The movement remains upright, at times reminiscent of heroic Greek sculpture.
Hudgins' sax plays over a recording of music from Burkina Faso (Badolo's homeland). The motifs throughout—the props/costumes, the movement, the music—delineate the contrast between a contemporary industrialized society versus a traditional one more respectful of nature. It's a simple premise, but one that needs all the exposure it can get.
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Tinkerers at Play Among the Sculptures
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| Photo by Rebecca Greenfield |
Twinned, a Met Museum Presents collaboration between Alarm Will Sound and Dance Heginbotham, pushed the dance/music partnership farther than ever. Musical choices form the common ground between the two groups, who performed in the soaring American sculpture court on a temporary stage centered around St. Gaudens' elegant golden Diana sculpture (the performers moved around the sculptures in situ, at times playing hide and seek among them). The performance included compositions by Edgard Varèse, Richard D. James, and Tyondai Braxton, plus transition segments by Raymond Scott marked by their scratchy recording quality and projections of ones and zeroes wallpapered over the entire courtyard.
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| Photo by Rebecca Greenfield |
The two dozen or so members of Alarm Will Sound, led by the intrepid Alan Pierson, move nearly as much as Heginbotham's seven dancers. The musicians entered and took unorthodox positions before the action began—one kneeling, head resting on trombone; another lying on her side. Pierson strode dramatically to the podium, where he placed his large e-tablet containing his score (pic here), and began Varèse's Intégrales, which emphasized antiphony and the specific placement and directionality of sounds. Each instrument could be heard clearly, like a jungle full of animals rousing and crying out in turn. The piece ended with a huge crash of percussion, like the loudest thunder clap marking the end of a storm.
The piccolo, flute, and clarinet players had it easier than the cellist or bass drummer, who pushed her instrument around on wheels, but everyone moved swiftly and decisively as staged. (Some seemed to run in an overly dramatic fashion in leather soled heels that added to the percussion, intentionally or not.) A player stood on the second floor balcony, others were placed at a distance, near the Tiffany stained glass installation. The primary orchestra setup sat behind the dance stage, in front of the 1822 bank building facade, dramatically lit red, violet, and blue. The stage was bounded by LED floor units which offered great lighting flexibility and control. In general, the production values were impressive, particularly for a one-night event.
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| Photo by Rebecca Greenfield |
After another Raymond Scott interlude, the dancers joined the orchestra in the pit for Varèse's Poème électronique, playing novelty instruments—striking a pipe, cranking a fishing reel thingy, whacking a gong, crinkling cellophane. Three movements by James followed, and the performers migrated onto the stage, centered around Eirich, pogo-ing and orbited the stage. Eight dancers and musicians, heads dropped, chugged en masse as Eirich jumped and darted like a bird. The musicians lay down, playing their instruments (even the cellist). The dancers changed into equestrian garb for the final section, featuring Tyondai Braxton's premiere of Fly By Wire. This intriguing composition is by turns melodic, jaunty, sparkling, and triumphant. The dancers galloped, hands gripping invisible reins—again, like children wholly committed to the game at hand, in this case, involving horses. The imagery painted a vivid tableau, although it felt a bit narrow for such a textured and evocative score. Nonetheless, the two groups and their musical choices were an inspired collaborative effort.
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