Here they are: thoughts on the pieces, probably in order of how much they interested me. I attended the Friday show.
• Party of Three, a piece by Lorn MacDougal and Alain Le Razer, was a lot of fun. It made me glad I had chosen this piece for my article on Program A. I was pleasantly surprised at how the piece, in which the dancers make music and the musician/composer moves, came together, helped by a bubbly tone that (I'm not sure why) I wasn't expecting. Score 1 for MacDougal and Le Razer, who are new to Austin.
• Nomad, a solo, with boxes, choreographed by Maggie Lasher, proprietor of an entity called ChinaCat Productions (which, according to the MySpace page, is also involved in fire shows and jewelry making), showed refreshingly good aesthetic sense, though the pace of the theatrical and prop-reliant piece lagged.
• Before and then there were 3, by Carisa Armstrong, Christine Bergeron, and Kathleen Byrne, I had two negative thoughts: 1. Do we really need another dance piece to Yann Tiersen? and 2. The work shown by these three at their concert at the Dougherty a couple of weeks ago was, um, let's just leave it unsaid. However, I found the piece more interesting than anything I saw during the May concert, and, in fact, it seemed to be the response to the music that heightened their work. However again, I still couldn't find much motive in the piece. On my program, I scribbled, "Why? Why touching, pushing, etc.? Why?"
• During Run, an ensemble piece by Mollea Harrison, I was thinking, What, if anything, does contemporary dance gain from dance team and cheer–type influences? Quite possibly energy and synchronicity, sometimes for better, often for worse. Also, a program note stated that the piece was "an emotional expression of why people run." That sounds quite psychological, but I didn't see any of that. I just saw people running.
• I liked danah bella's solo at last year's Big Range—she has an intense focus and energy and seems to have martial arts influences—but this year's duet, . . . from a place of brokenness, left me rather blank.
• I really enjoy watching Leah Smiley Tubbs dance, but that's all I got out of her ensemble piece, In/Out.
• Mysti Jace Pride's piece, Progress Against Limitations, was a quite literal representation of some women frozen into and escaping a frieze (think Grecian urn). The piece missed opportunities to use the idea as a platform for higher thinking or real comedy, and here, again, I wondered why. I also wondered, "Do you need to actually freeze your movements to let us know that you're a frieze?"
Programs B, C, and D TK next week! More info on the festival here: www.bigrangeaustin.org.
09 June 2009
I completely forgot
that I wrote those lines in the header up there. Huh. Did I finish the poem? Where is it?
05 May 2009
Thoughts on LeeSaar The Company's Geisha
I wanted to like this work, but it left me flat, so much so that I didn't have much to say about it for a few days. It left my head empty, and not in a good, zen way. After processing for a few days, though, some ideas sifted out.
First of all, music seemed unimportant. Most of the movement was done in silence, and what music did accompany the dancing seemed purely atmospheric. The movement sequences were interluded by Lee Sher singing cheesy Israeli love songs in a dressing gown. These sections were funny and brought the audience back to alertness as they no doubt wondered what the heck was going on, but I could not identify any larger purpose for these blazingly obvious non sequiturs.
The repetition in the piece, performed by Saar Harari and Jye-Hwei Lin, both nude to the waist and wearing jeans on bottom, seemed to belie more a method of creation than a structural or aesthetic purpose. One way of coming up with choreography for contemporary dance is to "workshop" short sections of interesting movement in rehearsal and then put these sections together to form a larger work. While many artists use this method successfully, in Geisha, the seams showed. The repetition of movement sections seemed to lack structure and transition.
That said, some of the movements were interesting and seemed to circumscribe the "geisha" theme. A recurrent pose for Lin, in which her upper body was tipped back with her back flat, face to the ceiling, and arms dangling, bent at the elbows, suggested submission. Some gestures made with her fingers were among the most fascinating movements, hinting at the refined training of a geisha and elevating the choreography above the pedestrian when they occurred. I wished that Lin could have used this same intricacy and muscular control with the rest of her body. Much of the choreography was the of the flinging, thrown away sort. But a lengthy pelvis-swirling section for both Lin and Harari, though mind-numbing, suggested ritual, like a mating dance. Another section near the end was more interesting: the dancers stood about eight feet apart, facing each other, and made subtle movements in which one partner sometimes seem to control or affect the other before the connection disappeared.
Here's the company's web page for Geisha.
First of all, music seemed unimportant. Most of the movement was done in silence, and what music did accompany the dancing seemed purely atmospheric. The movement sequences were interluded by Lee Sher singing cheesy Israeli love songs in a dressing gown. These sections were funny and brought the audience back to alertness as they no doubt wondered what the heck was going on, but I could not identify any larger purpose for these blazingly obvious non sequiturs.
The repetition in the piece, performed by Saar Harari and Jye-Hwei Lin, both nude to the waist and wearing jeans on bottom, seemed to belie more a method of creation than a structural or aesthetic purpose. One way of coming up with choreography for contemporary dance is to "workshop" short sections of interesting movement in rehearsal and then put these sections together to form a larger work. While many artists use this method successfully, in Geisha, the seams showed. The repetition of movement sections seemed to lack structure and transition.
That said, some of the movements were interesting and seemed to circumscribe the "geisha" theme. A recurrent pose for Lin, in which her upper body was tipped back with her back flat, face to the ceiling, and arms dangling, bent at the elbows, suggested submission. Some gestures made with her fingers were among the most fascinating movements, hinting at the refined training of a geisha and elevating the choreography above the pedestrian when they occurred. I wished that Lin could have used this same intricacy and muscular control with the rest of her body. Much of the choreography was the of the flinging, thrown away sort. But a lengthy pelvis-swirling section for both Lin and Harari, though mind-numbing, suggested ritual, like a mating dance. Another section near the end was more interesting: the dancers stood about eight feet apart, facing each other, and made subtle movements in which one partner sometimes seem to control or affect the other before the connection disappeared.
Here's the company's web page for Geisha.
28 April 2009
Blue60—Fusebox Festival's scrappy side?
I expected Blue60 to be the speed-dating type of performance: a lineup of 60 one-minute performed works was planned to fill the stage of the Blue Theater. Due to, I guess, limited backstage room, the performers lined up outside in the puddles, waiting, as the audience did, indoors, for half an hour after the scheduled start time as the organizers did some last-minute filling of slots. Instead of a juried, well-organized show that lived up to the rest of the festival, what the audience got was an open stage nite. To their credit, each performer did seem to have some type of distinct plan, but while most seemed to have given their acts some thought—in a range of degrees—others appeared to have come up their act on the way to the theater. In between the legitimate acts, a gal made demands of energy from and pointed a pole at sections of the audience, conducting a chorus of "Blue! 60! Aaah!" Frankly, I don't like this kind of thing at all. If the work onstage elicits energy, then there'll be energy. If it's flat, it's flat. You may be able to trick some of the audience into having more fun than they are, but no sir, not me. I'll be the one in the back taking things way too seriously.
One of the best things about an open stage, or open mic, is the dynamic of the reception. Heckling, snickering, rolling of eyes, silence, and rapture are all part of the fun. The Blue60 audience was too polite to heckle much, but they did laugh a whole. A few things that got laughs, like a gray-haired, bespectacled man with a bouncy six-foot pole protruding from his shirt front, on which hung a neatly pressed pink polka dot dress, as he walked a small dog and fake-whistled a nostalgic tune, I thought were more stark or poetic or even cute than funny. Some others, like the young man who spun a yoga ball on his finger while doing the armpit fart-noise thing (the armpit having been moistened with beer) and expressing his need, as a child, for parental attention, were just funny. Some eluded to real theater, and others were just boring. I had expected to see more theater, less fart noises, less boring.
Throughout the hour (and a half), I kept thinking about an open stage nite I used to go see in Denver at the Bug Theatre. They called it Freak Train, it was once a month, five minutes per act, 12 acts, $5, free beer, packed house (the Blue was at about 2/3 capacity tonight). If I remember correctly, the quality and diversity of the acts was about the same. But the price was right (Blue60 tickets were $15 online), and beer is, I think, a more effective and pleasant way to trick the audience into having more fun than they are, if need be.
One of the best things about an open stage, or open mic, is the dynamic of the reception. Heckling, snickering, rolling of eyes, silence, and rapture are all part of the fun. The Blue60 audience was too polite to heckle much, but they did laugh a whole. A few things that got laughs, like a gray-haired, bespectacled man with a bouncy six-foot pole protruding from his shirt front, on which hung a neatly pressed pink polka dot dress, as he walked a small dog and fake-whistled a nostalgic tune, I thought were more stark or poetic or even cute than funny. Some others, like the young man who spun a yoga ball on his finger while doing the armpit fart-noise thing (the armpit having been moistened with beer) and expressing his need, as a child, for parental attention, were just funny. Some eluded to real theater, and others were just boring. I had expected to see more theater, less fart noises, less boring.
Throughout the hour (and a half), I kept thinking about an open stage nite I used to go see in Denver at the Bug Theatre. They called it Freak Train, it was once a month, five minutes per act, 12 acts, $5, free beer, packed house (the Blue was at about 2/3 capacity tonight). If I remember correctly, the quality and diversity of the acts was about the same. But the price was right (Blue60 tickets were $15 online), and beer is, I think, a more effective and pleasant way to trick the audience into having more fun than they are, if need be.
26 April 2009
Thoughts on Bodies in Urban Spaces
My favorite aspect of seeing Bodies in Urban Spaces, which was performed in Austin as part of Fusebox Festival this weekend, was the sheer thrill of speed-walking with the audience through the streets, almost oblivious to the traffic that slowed in confusion and to the guide who barked at us to stop, start, keep moving, and get out of the street, our gazes searching high and low and then locked on some section of metal and mortar we'd never noticed before that had been momentarily elevated to art by a colorful body-sculpture.
Choreographer Willi Dorner certainly has an eye for sculpture, line, and found art, and the piece required skill and stamina of the dancers (it was hot and they wore long sleeves and pants to protect their bodies, resulting in some damn-tired red faces by the end). But, of course, I asked (myself) the question: Is it dance? After contemplating stillness, energy, silence, transitions, line, and space, I decided
Kind of
and
Who cares?
06 April 2009
Speak for Yourself and the Grief Cycle
This review contains a caveat near the end, beginning with the word "oy." If you're prone to being offended, you may want to skip to it first.
Speak for Yourself, the title of Ballet East's spring mixed bill was how I felt about the rest of the audience cheering after "Amor, Vida, y Fiesta," a ridiculously boring, poorly executed oversimplification of Latin-glazed dances in black and red. I went through the cycle of grief over poorly used stage time*. Then, I realized I must truly be an optimist, because I stayed for the second half.
Of course, in a eight-ballet mixed bill as diverse as Ballet East's, a varied reaction is almost certain. I had come expecting to be interested in only one piece, Sharon Marroquin's new "Desprendimiento", and while I did enjoy this contemplative, emotional, well-structured, and well-rehearsed piece, two others also kept me in the saddle. In Amberlee Anderson's Fingertips and Eyebrows, inspired by the works of Eldon Ping (I had no idea who he was, either), avatars of a cute, hot-pink–shirted female robot made some interesting shapes and angles to Stereolab. In Speak for Yourself, Franscisco Gella's choreography to songs of Imogen Heap was crisp and precise and had speed and momentum that was lacking in several of the other pieces. The songs, with trite lyrics that were occasionally represented literally in the movement, seemed a sophomoric choice, but the dancers seemed to repsond to them better than the Arvo Part in the first dance on the program. Kids these days . . . ? Part's music was the best part of Melissa Villarreal's disappointing Trees of Life, which used Greenpeace video footage by strangely alternating it with the dancing. The result was that we saw unremarkable, underrehearsed choreography with elephants, monkeys, and trees in between. Sadly, none of the visuals seemed an equal match to the powerful strains of Part.
Oy, I want to like Ballet East's shows. I appreciate the venue the company provides for choreographers like Marroquin. I think the outreach work the directors do borders on qualifying for sainthood. However, it would be irresponsible—for the successful work, the art form, and the Austin dance scene—to gloss over what isn't up to par.
*Cycle of grief over poorly used stage time:
1. Disappointment. (Well, this kind of sucks.)
2. Boredom. (I wonder when this theater was renovated.)
3. Denial. (Maybe it's not that bad. Please, let me find something interesting onstage!)
4. Offended. (I can't believe I paid for this! Do they think the audience is stupid? I should just leave.)
5. Disappointment. (This just makes me sad. Oh no, really, a standing ovation?)
Speak for Yourself, the title of Ballet East's spring mixed bill was how I felt about the rest of the audience cheering after "Amor, Vida, y Fiesta," a ridiculously boring, poorly executed oversimplification of Latin-glazed dances in black and red. I went through the cycle of grief over poorly used stage time*. Then, I realized I must truly be an optimist, because I stayed for the second half.
Of course, in a eight-ballet mixed bill as diverse as Ballet East's, a varied reaction is almost certain. I had come expecting to be interested in only one piece, Sharon Marroquin's new "Desprendimiento", and while I did enjoy this contemplative, emotional, well-structured, and well-rehearsed piece, two others also kept me in the saddle. In Amberlee Anderson's Fingertips and Eyebrows, inspired by the works of Eldon Ping (I had no idea who he was, either), avatars of a cute, hot-pink–shirted female robot made some interesting shapes and angles to Stereolab. In Speak for Yourself, Franscisco Gella's choreography to songs of Imogen Heap was crisp and precise and had speed and momentum that was lacking in several of the other pieces. The songs, with trite lyrics that were occasionally represented literally in the movement, seemed a sophomoric choice, but the dancers seemed to repsond to them better than the Arvo Part in the first dance on the program. Kids these days . . . ? Part's music was the best part of Melissa Villarreal's disappointing Trees of Life, which used Greenpeace video footage by strangely alternating it with the dancing. The result was that we saw unremarkable, underrehearsed choreography with elephants, monkeys, and trees in between. Sadly, none of the visuals seemed an equal match to the powerful strains of Part.
Oy, I want to like Ballet East's shows. I appreciate the venue the company provides for choreographers like Marroquin. I think the outreach work the directors do borders on qualifying for sainthood. However, it would be irresponsible—for the successful work, the art form, and the Austin dance scene—to gloss over what isn't up to par.
*Cycle of grief over poorly used stage time:
1. Disappointment. (Well, this kind of sucks.)
2. Boredom. (I wonder when this theater was renovated.)
3. Denial. (Maybe it's not that bad. Please, let me find something interesting onstage!)
4. Offended. (I can't believe I paid for this! Do they think the audience is stupid? I should just leave.)
5. Disappointment. (This just makes me sad. Oh no, really, a standing ovation?)
26 March 2009
Quick thoughts on Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater @ Bass Concert Hall, 3/25/09
They certainly brought their crowd-pleasers—Go in Grace (2008) w/ live music onstage by Sweet Honey in the Rock, Suite Otis (1971) to songs by Otis Redding, and, of course, Revelations (1960) to traditional spirituals. The crowd really loved it.
The dancers, generally, are really great—some of the best, technically, in any U.S. contemporary dance company. Line, extension, presence—it's all there.
Go in Grace: I appreciated the live music—rarer and rarer these days—and the integration of the singers onstage. However, the very literal interpretation of the narrative, a a bit of didacticism, made me think this was a production suited for children. I could see this performed for groups of school kids. I did enjoy the touch of a joke—at least that's how I understood it—made with the hoodie and sneaker sporting Boyz characters. They came tearing through the scene, occasionally disrupting the simple movements of the family dressed in the plainclothes typical of narrative modern dance.
Suite Otis: 1971. Great music does not a good dance make. This work seemed quite dated, but the crowd enjoyed the music and dancers swivelling their hips at every opportunity. I would have liked to see something more recent and with a touch of art, please.
Revelations: I tried to be a good student at look at this work in the context of 1960. It's a bit more interesting that way. I didn't expect the beginning section, "I Been 'Buked," and "Fix Me, Jesus" to resonate even without a change in context, but they did. In the latter, Linda Celeste Sims was awesome, using every molecule in her small body to, well, pray. Though this section probably contains the least actual movement, this was real dance.
The dancers, generally, are really great—some of the best, technically, in any U.S. contemporary dance company. Line, extension, presence—it's all there.
Go in Grace: I appreciated the live music—rarer and rarer these days—and the integration of the singers onstage. However, the very literal interpretation of the narrative, a a bit of didacticism, made me think this was a production suited for children. I could see this performed for groups of school kids. I did enjoy the touch of a joke—at least that's how I understood it—made with the hoodie and sneaker sporting Boyz characters. They came tearing through the scene, occasionally disrupting the simple movements of the family dressed in the plainclothes typical of narrative modern dance.
Suite Otis: 1971. Great music does not a good dance make. This work seemed quite dated, but the crowd enjoyed the music and dancers swivelling their hips at every opportunity. I would have liked to see something more recent and with a touch of art, please.
Revelations: I tried to be a good student at look at this work in the context of 1960. It's a bit more interesting that way. I didn't expect the beginning section, "I Been 'Buked," and "Fix Me, Jesus" to resonate even without a change in context, but they did. In the latter, Linda Celeste Sims was awesome, using every molecule in her small body to, well, pray. Though this section probably contains the least actual movement, this was real dance.
23 March 2009
Observer
Last week was a disorienting—mostly in a good way—one here. We had spring break, with both preschool and the school my husband teaches at closed. Then, there was SXSW, which always makes me feel very cool for living in Austin and like a total loser for not dropping the girl off at some grandparents' house for the week and buckling down for the whole crushing experience. This year, we just kind of basked in the secondhand glow—the freebies, the media coverage, the day parties, the young young rockin' creative vibe.
Strangely, said vibe had an effect on me that was the opposite of creative. I haven't seen any dance in a while, and I haven't written about any dance in a while (status to change soon). That equaled a slump. While I was happy to take in any and all, I could care less about commenting on it (OK, well, we did have a few good amateur discussions about psychology and the evolution of rock) or creating anything myself. There were a couple of days where I nearly decided I would be just fine as just an observer, audience member, partaker. It's such a relief to pull on that way of thinking sometimes. Maybe someday it will come and stay.
Strangely, said vibe had an effect on me that was the opposite of creative. I haven't seen any dance in a while, and I haven't written about any dance in a while (status to change soon). That equaled a slump. While I was happy to take in any and all, I could care less about commenting on it (OK, well, we did have a few good amateur discussions about psychology and the evolution of rock) or creating anything myself. There were a couple of days where I nearly decided I would be just fine as just an observer, audience member, partaker. It's such a relief to pull on that way of thinking sometimes. Maybe someday it will come and stay.
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