Ailey—Celebrating Matthew Rushing, and 3 Premieres

Aszure Barton's LIFT. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Ailey is like a big ocean liner, steaming along, impervious to swells, waves, sharks, and other crazy things in the water. Likewise, it's so big that it's not easy for one person to change its course, even if that person is Artistic Director Robert Battle. But the effects of his hand on the wheel can finally be felt after a couple of years. The Dec 22 evening program featured three new works, and not a revelation to be had (repertory-wise, that is). It included Wayne McGregor's Chroma, Aszure Barton's LIFT, and a classic from Bill T. Jones, an excerpt from D-Man in the Water.

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.

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.

BTJ/AZ—Music and Movement, Pure and Not-so-simple

Erick Montes Chavero shows good form in D-Man. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Bill T. Jones has strong opinions and isn't afraid to express them, both in his public appearances and in the works for his company and on Broadway. Sometimes this makes us forget what a good pure movement maker he can be, but Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane & Company's two-program run at the Joyce (through April 7) reminds us as it emphasizes formal work to classical music. The live performance of the Orion String Quartet is a big bonus. The run celebrates 30 years, and is titled Play and Play: An Evening of Movement and Music. Well, make that two evenings.

D-Man in the Waters (1989) was restaged after languishing for a dozen or so years. It was originally created amidst the scourge of AIDS as a tribute to one of the afflicted dancers who was doggedly battling the disease. This approach of embracing life at its fullest rings loud and clear, and by the end, I wanted to collapse in a heap alongside what must be completely exhausted, if fulfilled, dancers. To Mendelssohn's Octet for Strings in E-flat major, the dancers scissor their arms in front of their faces, and run in loops to form a self-perpetuating line. Physical virtuosity, busyness, a sense of community, heroicness, and an irrepressible lust for life are paramount. A signature of the work is a bow shaped flying jump, as if the dancer was flung, ribcage leading, from a trebuchet, embodying joy and defiance.

In D-Man, Arthur Aviles led the original company, which spawned a number of accomplished choreographers. Many made cameos in Continuous Replay (1977/1991), the epic naked-to-clothed accumulation dance to Beethoven arranged by Jerome Begin; on March 26, following Erick Montes Chavero as "The Clock" or leader, alumni included Aviles, Heidi Latsky, Larry Goldhuber, and Sean Curran. And while BTJ/AZ is, if anything, more diverse than ever, these alumni underscored how personality-driven the original company was, particularly with both Jones and Zane performing. (Aviles celebrates his 50th birthday with guest appearances in the first movement of D-Man on two dates; both he and the piece received Bessie Awards in 1989.) The program began with Spent Days Out Yonder (2000), to Mozart, which played with upstage and downstage silhouettes and horizontal crossings.
   
The second program featured two premieres, both interestingly with choreography credit to Jones with Associate Artistic Director Janet Wong and the company. In Ravel: Landscape or Portrait? Bjorn Amelan's set design—the edges of a cube delineated by lines and tape (evocative of Alex Katz's metal framed cube for Paul Taylor's Polaris)—felt like a house with eight occupants who formed expanding and contracting clusters. Jennifer Nugent, invaluable for her physical wisdom and inner complexity, held up fingers to count, marking some secret deadline. She vogue-tiptoed across stage, quoting D-Man. A pattern of foliage is projected on the entire front wall of the Joyce, extending the stage far beyond the proscenium, like a Sleeping Beauty set gone rogue.

Nugent cradles Leonard in Story/. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Story/ taps the anti-structure of "a random menu of movement," according to program notes, paired with Schubert's Death and the Maiden played by Orion from an upstage corner (they otherwise were seated in the "pit," such as it is.) Amelan here lays down a grid of tape to form 12 squares, which are lit selectively and precisely by Robert Wierzel. Dancers follow the leader in snaking loopy lines and big lifts (Chavero is the most frequent soarer and general instigator; Joseph Poulson, the loner here). In choreography for groups, Jones has always excelled at coaxing the gaze through space with rhythmically timed movements, and this is no exception. Parallel quartets move as if in alternate universes; a green apple mostly held by I-Ling Liu becomes a colorful focal point in a primarily grayscale world. Nugent and the large, lyrical LaMichael Leonard Jr. share a tender duet—an intricate, unspooling filament of rolling, spinning, sliding, and an odd donkey ear gesture. 

It's a dense dance, especially situated at the end of the second program—but then again, what by this company isn't, unless it's simply a shorter dance? It was a treat to see Jones' pure movement to classical music in a concentrated bloc.

Cultural Identity: Trope or Truth

In performance, the politics of identity is such a common stated theme as to be a default for artists who’d prefer to let their work do the talking rather than writing the dreaded artist’s statement. But is this acceding to cultural dynamics? Is it simply the easiest path, a one-size-fits-all panacea meant to try to shape the amorphous?

Last weekend, Danspace Project showed 80s videos of dance excerpts by black choreographers, chosen by Will Rawls as part of the Parallels platform, titled "Protagonists: Documents of Dance and Debate," at the appropriately alliterative Douglas Dunn loft. Shown were clips by Blondell Cummings, Ishmael Houston-Jones (the platform’s curator), Ralph Lemon (all three were present), plus a dialogue/demo between Steve Paxton and Bill T. Jones.

None of dances came from what Houston-Jones termed “the Ailey tradition,” a semi-codified blend of modern, jazz, and African traditions, with a theatrical bent. Nor do these artists describe themselves (at least firstly) as African-American choreographers. They simply happen to be African-American.

What came through was how personally specific these excerpts were, which is one of the few common denominators of post-Judson modern dance in New York. Essentially, the freedom to pursue a personal theater, regardless of technique, which nonetheless is continually at hand. It just doesn’t define these dances.

I’d never seen Cummings perform, which I immediately regretted after seeing her slippery, darting, detailed phrases accumulate like a dazzling mound of soap bubbles in Chicken Soup. Set in a "kitchen," she danced with a cast iron pan, tapping into the role of women in the family, as the family foundation, providing sustenance and comfort, and yet also somehow ineluctably and gravely bound to duty.

Houston-Jones’ work included his mother. He carried her onstage on his shoulder (a simple act that encapsulated the poignancy of a mother/son relationship) and she recited a monologue while painting eggs. His point was to try to ignore whatever she was saying, creating an complex tension between the connect and the disconnect.

Ralph Lemon’s segment was apparently one of the first choreographic efforts by him (and one he hadn’t seen in 30 years). It seemed strange, purposefully opaque, gender vague (he wore a skirt), but intriguing—a precursor to his later powerful mix of sheer kinetic impulse and anthropology.

The Paxton/Jones segment consisted of short solo performance clips, followed by a heated dialogue about aesthetics and authenticity. The original talk from 1983 was provocative then, and still gives off a static charge years later. An example: when Jones does an arabesque, what are the associations it brings that could be questioned as emotionally authentic? Jones insisted that performing it elicited certain genuine emotions. Clearly, just watching a few minutes didn’t allow time to absorb much, but apparently it can (and should)  be seen at the New York Library of Performing Arts.

So rather than creating any sort of definition of "black dance," this program seemed to toss a loosely woven net around a number of imaginative choreographers working in the 80s, who happen to be black. Like their non-black counterparts, they inserted details that either read clearly, or added some mysterious personal texture, but in the end felt universal.

Serenade/The Proposition, 11/18/09

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Bill T. Jones' Serenade/The Proposition at the Joyce.

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/dance-blog/serenadethe-proposition/770/

Amazing how Bill T. Jones’ work looks and feels as fresh as ever in his company’s 25th year.Serenade/The Proposition, at the Joyce through last Sunday, takes inspiration from Abraham Lincoln, whose bicentennial approaches. The performance combines Jones’ elegant choreography, spoken text, and live chamber orchestra and singer in a rich, luminous hour-long work.

At its heart is the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, which although constantly evolving, always thrills with a heady chemistry arising from a combo of strong individuals. Paul Matteson, a perennial warm presence in the dance world, traces Lincoln’s virtues with his gentle motion, noble bearing, and willingness to aid others. The company members periodically strike unique poses to form a “spine” bisecting the stage, regrouping before bursting apart in individual phrases—a neat metaphor for the united and sometimes disunited states of America.

Bill T. Jones’ Chapel Chapter, 6/12/09

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Bill T. Jones’ Chapel Chapter, at Harlem Gate

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/performance/bill-t-jones-chapelchapter/718/

A common (annoying) complaint among New York cultural critics is that there is too much going on in the city. This week, for instance, there are several dance shows that I will not see, with serious regrets. I know – everyone should have such problems. But one show that I will notmiss is Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company’s Chapel/Chapter at Harlem Stage Gatehouse, presented by Harlem Stage. Why? Because I missed it the last time around, in 2006, sucked into the cycle of “not enough hours in a day,” and I have rued that decision ever since I watched some video snippets and listened to a litany of raves.

Fela’s Outsized Life, 9/8/08

-->Fela at 37 Arts http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/performance/felas-outsized-life/613/

Ten years ago, it might’ve been a stretch to imagine that Bill T. Jones would be the driving force behind a potential Broadway hit, even if it had been Fela!, about the life and music of political activist and musician Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. Jones was of course a major figure in the dance world, but his work reflected interests often polar opposite to those driving Broadway – intellectual, socially probing, formally experimental or refined. Sure, there were plenty of pop and prosaic elements in the mix, but it was not about commercial appeal.

In Fela!, which he directed and choreographed (and co-wrote with Jim Lewis), and after receiving a Tony for his work on the hit Spring Awakening, Jones has found the sweet spot in between, although his involvement in the project began as a hired choreographer. Kuti’s life approached something of the mythic. He was seemingly without limits in terms of ambition (he aimed to be president of Nigeria), carnal appetite (he married 27 women at once, his “queens”), nor art-wise (he created Afrobeat). His life story is so outsized that if it were fiction, it might be viewed as implausible.