New York Notebook, January 2025

Justin Faircloth, Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Wendell Gray II, Jay Carlon. Courtesy New York Live Arts. Photo: Maria Baranova

Super Nothing

Miguel Gutierrez
New York Live Arts, Jan 12-18, 2025

Miguel Gutierrez has, over decades, been predictably unpredictable. He has woven into performances sections of spoken text, multimedia, performance, and dance. In Super Nothing, at New York Live Arts, perhaps what’s most surprising is that nearly the entire 70-minute piece comprises abstract and gestural movement. Also, that movement is set to music (by Rosana Cabán), wide-ranging in style and dynamic, thoughout the work. As Gutierrez says in his program note, his main emotion of late is grief, primarily about the state of politics here and abroad.

And so in the face of what feels like shouting into the wind and being blown backward, he turns to the dancer’s tool kit, the body. He has set the work on four remarkable performers: Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Wendell Gray II, Justin Faircloth, and Jay Carlon. For about an hour, with little apparent repetition, each one moves continuously — thousands of small movements strung together, some gestural and deeply evocative, others freeform, expressing a palette of emotions, or simply conveying joy or sorrow. Carolina Ortiz designed the gorgeous variegated lighting, including a costume change interlude when the lights came to life and took over as the focus.

From my notes on the movement: free, expressive, playful, twitching, arm paddling, staggering around perimeter, spasming, bracelet shaking while ascending stairs, seal flippers pushing forward, whipping attitude turns, self-conscious voguing, fake phone call, tending to an ailing friend. Dancers exit, and the lighting takes over as fog rolls in—the omnipresent kite above, lit hues of white from warm to cool, red/yellow projected discs, flat rectangles, banks of warm sidelights brightening and dimming, with the temperature rising and falling on our eager faces. It almost felt as if the building had come alive irrespective of our presence.

Jay Carlon, Wendell Gray II, Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Justin Faircloth. Courtesy New York Live Arts. Photo: Maria Baranova

The performers return, having changed from black & white slashed pieces to neon yellow and black garments. After another spell of dashed off gestures and freeform moves, they unite centerstage in a square, and begin a multi-measure section that feels much more purposeful and structured. They repeat it facing different directions, snapping into a line, and reclustering. Toward the end, they move as close to us as possible, intensely repeating individual phrases manically, then retreat upstage and trickle off. They’ve left it all on the stage, moving us with their stamina, dedication, and intellect. Lunatics might be running the asylum, but these artists are in full control of their bodies.

Ronald K. Brown / Evidence

Joyce Theater, Jan 14-19, 2025

Ronald K. Brown / Evidence celebrates 40 years this season, believe it or not. There is still nothing like Brown’s work—so ecstatic, full of faith, incorporating challenging techniques and rhythms, and largely presented in proscenium dance venues, with impressive production elements. But it’s mainly the ecstasy and elation, generated through an explosive vocabulary unspooled effortlessly by his dancers and mixed with pensive moments.

Demetrius Burns and
Shaylin D. Watson.
Photo by Whitney Brown

Grace (1999/2003), commissioned by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, remains Brown’s most resonant work, and among the great modern dances. The music, by Duke Ellington, Roy Davis, Jr., and Fela Kuti, with guest singer Gordon Chambers, undergirds and propels the many movements—a harmonious artistic creation that feels like the kinetic manifestation of the title. And while it’s difficult to match the athletic prowess of the Ailey company’s dancers, Evidence delivers a more humanistic interpretation, while having the advantage of being closer to us in a smaller house.

Ailey also commissioned Serving Nia (2001); the Joyce performance was Evidence’s company premiere. On the shorter side at about 15 minutes, the piece is set in front of a striking backdrop depicting—depending on your mood—either a cliff face or a wall at a sharp angle, tucked into a corner and evocative of Ed Ruscha’s geometric compositions. Brown’s dancers often face to the side, signifying a private communication with an unseen being, and also favors a diagonal movement path. Sadly, when the lighting shifted to a deep red, I could only think of the LA fires.

In Order My Steps (2005), Kevin Boseman guests as a dancer and speaker. The work began as a collaboration between Brown and Kevin’s late brother, actor Chadwick. Themes of war and addiction emerge in the music and long monologue delivered by Boseman. This piece felt different than Brown’s usual music-driven style, including the more relaxed jazz music (Terry Riley, Bob Marley, David Ivey) and partitioning the stage area with the dancers at left in two lines, and Boseman at right. There was less of the joyful unleashing of energy so prominent in much of his other work, in particular Grace, but it did showcase Boseman’s breadth of talent and Brown’s willingness to experiment.

Nick Cave at Shainman Gallery. Photo: Susan Yung

Nick Cave, Amalgams and Graphts

Jack Shainman Gallery, 46 Lafayette St, to Mar 15

The New York gallery scene surely reflects the real estate market in the city. The mass has shifted innumerable times, mostly involving varying gallery densities in Manhattan’s East Village, UES, Soho, Noho, Chelsea, LES, Tribeca, and Lower Manhattan, among others. It seems that the latest notable shift is onto Broadway below Canal (and a handful of blocks south, east, and west), where huge storefronts that not long ago housed cheap clothing and shoe stores are now galleries.

Marian Goodman now has an entire building at 385 Broadway near Walker. But the other big headline is another satellite of Jack Shainman Gallery in the Clocktower Building designed by McKim, Mead & White, from 1898, and originally the home of New York Life Insurance. It has nearly 30-foot high ceilings, with original marble columns and a massive bank vault door; stand-alone office cubicles dot the mezzanine. 

The space’s inaugural show, work by Nick Cave, seems to have demanded the new outpost’s acquisition; it includes Amalgam (Origin), a 26-foot high bronze casting that echoes his Soundsuit series. Related Amalgam sculptures created on a human scale are also on view, as well as an extensive series of Graphts—wall pieces composed of floral and souvenir map serving tray fragments, needlepoint portraits (including of Cave), and floral elements intricately collaged together by screws. Cave’s work is charged with many levels of meaning and symbolism, and the craftsmanship nears perfection. These latter-day treasures have found a proper temporary home in an architectural manifestation of capitalism. Shainman adds this to a portfolio of reclaimed spaces, which includes The School in Kinderhook, NY.

New York Notebook—February 2020

Rotunda. Photo: Erin Baiano

Prior to the performance including Rotunda, Justin Peck’s latest dance for New York City Ballet, Peck appeared in front of the curtain to introduce the “art series” evening which also included Jerome Robbins' In G Major and Chris Wheeldon's DGV. In casual clothes, Peck could’ve (and may have) just hopped off his skateboard on his way to the park. His relaxed demeanor extended to his colloquialisms; he repeated “you guys” numerous times, referring to us in the audience—us guys. This feeling of community, which is tangible in his choreography, perhaps emanates from the company as a tribe, now led by recent company members Jonathan Stafford and Wendy Whelan.

Foremost, Peck’s dances are sociable gatherings, occasions to play or compete—or both. They also demonstrate that his first language is ballet, and dancers are his words, to be pliantly and fluently put to use. His movement can translate “you guys” into expressive phrases that capture that amiability and freshness. As we’ve learned with each new dance he creates, there are several subgenres to his oeuvre, and Rotunda falls within the core bunch of plotless, pointe shoe ballets with a relaxed, warm feeling. The fact that it followed  Robbins’ In G Major underscored the connection between the two choreographers.

Peck’s dances continue to offer up gifts to the dancers. Rotunda gives the unassuming principal Gonzalo Garcia one of his finest, most expansive roles yet. At the piece’s start, he lies onstage alone, to be joined by 11 others wearing Bartelme/Jung’s appealing, variegated tights and tops. The group draws into a cluster, then cleaves into two rings—one led by Garcia, the other by Sara Mearns—which intersect like Venn diagrams, orbiting across the stage, and pulling toward the downstage corners as the groups collectively tendu their feet. Mearns walks as if she’s on the street, sunken into her hips, feet turned out ballerina-walk style, shoulders rolled forward slightly. Her partner in an extended duet, Gilbert Bolden III, is a larger than average, striking dramatic presence, a counterpoint to Mearns' bold demeanor.

It’s not easy to continue to innovate while continuing to create using the well-established ballet vocabulary, but small tweaks dot Peck’s largely effortless syntax: a woman’s slightly bent knee in a split lift, a man doing a split penché arabesque (showing valuable new soloist Jovani Furlan’s flexibility), quick direction shifts following deep pliés. Garcia has a riveting solo in which he repeats inside attitude triple pirouettes and flitting petit allegro variations with ease, showing us the quiet strengths which have been lurking inside of him all along.

Mercy. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

Ronald K. Brown’s Evidence: A Dance Company performed a new work alongside some old favorites at the Joyce. Grace, now 20 years old and commissioned by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, remains one of his finest and most consistently thrilling works. It’s one of the rare dances performed intermittently in New York by Ailey and its choreographer’s native company, giving us a chance to see it in a larger house by a shinier cast (Ailey), and closer up by a group more attuned to the nuances and rhythms of Brown’s lexicon. (Also, for the first time among many that I’ve seen it, the men did not dance shirtless in a section late in the dance, which can often elicit hoots from the audience.) There are fewer—no?—works of dance that evoke more joy than Grace, plain and simple.

The evening led off with High Life, a suite that evolves from traditional song and garb to modern, including the infectious beats of the title genre. The New York premiere of Mercy featured elegant fabric “columns” (Tsubasa Kamei) and somewhat bulky costumes by Omotayo Wunmi Olaiya (who designed all costumes for the program). To mood-shifting music by Meshell Ndegeocello, and led by the dynamic Annique Roberts wearing a dramatic mesh headpiece, the dancers ebbed and flowed across the stage, punching, slashing, spinning, their skirt and tunic panels flying. As a company, Evidence looks strong and  confident, with a luminous relative newcomer in Joyce Edwards—statuesque, silky, quick, and completely magnetic. Hard to believe this still fresh-feeling troupe celebrates 35 years of existence.

A Splendid Partnership

Arcell Cabuag and Ronald K. Brown. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

It's hard to believe that Arcell Cabuag is celebrating 20 years with Ronald K. Brown/Evidence. He's the company's associate artistic director, and the steady on-stage soul of the troupe. His partnership with Ronald Brown was on display at the Joyce Theater on February 6, in the premiere of Den of Dreams, a duet created in tribute to Cabuag. He entered, slinky and prowling, moving slowly and fluidly. Brown joined him, and they continuously watched one another even as they moved apart and behind one another. At one point, they shook hands at centerstage, affirming to us the strong bond that obviously exists between these collaborators and friends.

The program was otherwise a mix of older works (the other programs contained another premiere). In Come Ye (2002), the dancers' feet kept in time to the complex drum rhythms, while the torso and arms elaborated on the darting melodic lines. A repeated motif of clenched fists held aloft signaled a call for unity as the company clustered, split up, and traced the perimeter of the stage. Excerpts from Lessons: March (1995) featured Annique Roberts and Courtney Paige Ross moving to a recording of a speech Dr. Martin Luther King Jr; he said in essence that having money doesn't make you rich, and that there are no superior or inferior races. It's a somewhat futile task to match in movement the power of Dr. King's oration, but Roberts and Ross are both engaging and dynamic presences. 

The Feb 6 program closed with Upside Down, an excerpt from the 1998 work Destiny. It embodied many of the signature elements for which Brown is known and loved—a relentless, pulsing rhythm delineated through movement; a communal experience marking a passage; and the increase in dynamics to a feverishly ecstatic apex. A recumbent Cabuag is carried off, aloft, by the others; it might mark yet another nod to the decades of service that he has given to the company. And well deserved.          

Ailey Turns to the New (and Taylor)

Matthew Rushing and Linda Celeste Sims in Open Door. Photo: Paul Kolnik

As the Alvin Ailey American Dance Company enters its fifth year under the leadership of Robert Battle, at least one program in its City Center season showed that the future is now—but with a twist. On Dec 17, a slate of premieres/new productions, the past was represented by a company premiere of Paul Taylor's Piazzolla Caldera (1997). It led a program fleshed out with new work by Ronald K. Brown, Kyle Abraham, and Battle. None of it felt like familiar fare by Ailey, which peppers most other evenings throughout the month-long run. And a subtle link between Battle and Taylor underscored an affinity for dark narrative, and a generational legacy.

Awakening, by Battle, began with a bang: John Mackey's brass instrumentals blasting at air horn-volume, quickly chasing some viewers out of their speaker-adjacent seats. The dancers, in uniform white tunics and pants which could be interpreted as asylum or spaceship gear, darted and pivoted in a V formation, seemingly in hasty desperation. The lights, by Al Crawford, at first lit only their shins; this horizontal motif echoes in a crosswise white slit that cleaves the black cyc in half. There's a general sense of revolution and apocalypse. The group coalesces, gazing in one direction, then splits and careens around the stage once more. Jamar Roberts emerges as the leader, coiling and unfurling amid the turmoil of the crowd. 

Interestingly, for me this work evokes the drama and tumultuous underlying narrative of Paul Taylor's The Word and Speaking in Tongues. This makes sense given Battle's place on the Taylor family tree, beginning as a prominent dancer and choreographer in ex-Taylor dancer David Parsons' company. In Awakening, the group feverishly follows its leader, whether for dogmatic or militaristic reasons. And the rhythmic, staccato phrases remind us of how different Battle's own work is than Ailey's fluid, classical jazz vocabulary.

Jacqueline Green in Untitled America: First Movement. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Piazzolla was set on Ailey by Taylor alum Richard Chen See. In theory, it should be an ideal work for Ailey—sultry, athletic, atmospheric. But from the important opening passage—here danced by Jamar Roberts; for Taylor by Michael Trusnovec—it was clear that Ailey's version would be softer and far less aggressive than the original. Trusnovec dances it with scalpel-like precision, imbuing social dance with a feral menace. Roberts looks terrific but passionless; his performance lacks the necessary darkness. Linda Celeste Sims, in the lead female role, dances with more attack, although as the despondent outcast, she seems more hungry than truly desperate.   

Kyle Abraham choreographed Untitled America (First Movement), a brief trio to a touching song by Laura Mvula. This premiere is about the long-term effects of incarceration, though its unspecific gestures suggest emotional turmoil between closely bonded loved ones. Jacqueline Green's lucid, long lines highlighted this installment of what should be an interesting final serial.

Capping off the evening was Ronald K. Brown's premiere, Open Door, a timely paean to Cuban culture with music by some of its best-known musical sons including Tito Puente and Arturo O'Farrill. Brown can make dances with narrative or historical subject matter, but this dance is simply a full-blown physical celebration. Making it even more joyous are Linda Celeste Sims and Matthew Rushing leading eight dancers in pulsating, rippling vamps that traverse and follow the stage's edges. It's a classic Brown combination of grounded African moves embellished with quirky arm gestures, like brushing something off the shoulder, or arms held at 90º around the face. But never mind the details, what's important is that the company looks absolutely elated during the piece. Rushing can't suppress a huge smile, and Sims beams right back at him. We in turn absorb and reflect all that love back at them, and on and on.

Meanwhile, Ailey's legacy is maintained in repertory, foremost by Revelations, by far his finest dance. But the growing prominence of the school of Paul Taylor, whether through his own work or in Battle's, cannot be overlooked, alongside premieres by some of the bright younger lights of contemporary dance. At the same time, Taylor is welcoming in other modern choreographers' work, both old and new. It's an interesting time for the giants and legatees of modern dance, indeed. 

Dance Notebook—Evidence and Romeo & Juliet

Annique Roberts in The Subtle One. Photo: Ayodele Casel

Evidence at the Joyce, Feb 24, 2015

A great distinction about Ronald Brown's 2014 dance, The Subtle One, is its jazz score by Jason Moran, played live by his trio in Tuesday's performance at the Joyce Theater. It had been awhile since I'd heard jazz played live for dance; so much of what is played live falls under the Bang on a Can style of new music, often without a melody or flowing pulse. So it was a pleasure to hear music by Moran, who scored the film Selma, plus a song by Tarus Mateen, who played bass.

The dance is, like its title, a subtle one. The smoldering star Annique Roberts begins moving at an even, moderate pace, marked by unfurling arms and a oft-repeated balance in which the she reaches forward yearningly with one arm. She is joined by the rest of the company, which breaks from briskly rhythmic ensemble sections into twos and threes, arms pumping like locomotive wheels. The work, while unspecific in story, refers to a stanza by Alan Harris about the strength of spirituality. The overall elegiac quality of the piece is enhanced by the white and peach-ombréd tunics, by Keiko Voltaire.

Evidence and Mikhailovsky Ballet—Surprising Similarities

Mikhailovsky Ballet in Flames of Paris. Photo: Costas

Ronald Brown's Evidence: A Dance Company, from Brooklyn, and the Mikhailovsky Ballet, from St. Petersburg, Russia, couldn't be more different. Or could they? Both have had recent/current runs in New York. And both, in their own ways and on vastly different scales, told stories of the past with unique communicative genres of dance. 

The Mikhailovsky performed Giselle and Flames of Paris in its first week at the Koch. Its production of Giselle feels familiar to the production performed by ABT. The backdrops are painted a little more realistically, and the foliage rises and falls, revealing and hiding Myrta and Giselle, and also alluding to the supernatural setting of the woods. (The elegant Borzois seem to be the same pair, however.) Natalia Osipova is the epitome of a Giselle, radiating innocence and sweetness at the beginning, and descending into a catatonic state of madness. Famous for her ballon, she appears weightless in jumps and when lifted by Leonid Sarafanov (the Count), who spears the air like an arrow when he leaps. 

Flames of Paris (1932) is an oddity—to Americans, in any case. It was commissioned to mark the 15th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. Set in 1792, in a suburb of Marseilles, and in Paris, it's a simplistic account of the clash between classes. It switches locales from a marquis' ballroom to the streets of Paris, and from swanning bourgeoisie in velvet to peasants in clogs bearing the tricolor. One problem with the concept of the revolution is that it's supposed to be about the people, so pulling out principals to perform impressive solos and duets goes against principle. And yet, Angelina Vorontsova and Ivan Zaytsev led the cast with, respectively, delicate pizzicato steps and flying, muscular leaps. The peasant crowd scenes were the most energetic, with rousing folk dances (including an adorable little girl who kept up with the steps) and representatives from different ethnic segments of the country. The ballet will most likely not be adopted by non-Russian companies, so its rarity gave a viewing all the more urgency.

One Shot. Photo: David Andrako

Turning to Evidence, in residence at BRIC in Brooklyn, on the surface, the company and its repertory is the polar opposite of ballet, right? But it has a good deal in common. Brown's choreography, an inventive amalgam of African and all manner of modern dance, is a constant stream of communication to the audience. There are several kinds of steps in his vocabulary, which he combines and mixes to create continuously fascinating dance: 

* The emphatic statement, which can be a phrase that includes some gesture to convey specific concepts. In One Shot, one example was two hands clawing the air plus a fishing rod gesture.
* The bass line, when the lower body marks the rhythm while the upper does its own thing
* Traveling moves, which get the dancers from one place to another; these can feel ceremonial or just fun. 
* Marking time, providing a breather in action while reinforcing the music's pulse.

Broadly, ballet is not all that different. Mime and gesture play a big part and are used to denote a specific action. Waltz steps can behave in a similar way to the bass line, following the music while the upper body has its own set of complementary moves. There are many traveling steps in ballet, some small, like bourées; others big, like grand jétés. 

Brown's One Shot (2007) is an homage to Charles Teenie Harris, who documented life in Pittsburgh. It includes many of his photos of his projected behind the dancers. We get a glimpse of prosperous folks in the mid-20th century—beautifully dressed, and sometimes downright glamorous. Most of the subjects are black, although there are several group shots that include whites as well. There's a feeling of elegance and conviviality. Evidence's dancers are dressed in an approximation of the photographs' feel. They showboat, flirt, social dance, enter the military, and return. To Lena Horne singing, Coral Dolphin has a lovely solo, showing her silky style and a burning intensity the radiates through her cucumber-cool exterior. Annique Roberts, as always, rewards viewers with a boneless, impressively economical way of dancing. The company, clad in denim, led off with Come Ye: Amen (2002), an energetic work to the music of Fela Kuti.

Brown's choreography is wondrously consistent in connecting with the audience and conveying a constant stream of storytelling. The grand spectacles of the Mikhailovsky (which continue through this week) similarly grasp viewers' attention, with the help of lavish sets and dozens of dancers. Both in one week is a major gift for dance fans. 

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.

Everybody Dance Now! Or just stand there.

Earth to Annique (in Gatekeepers): you can come down now! Photo: David Andrako

This fall, two organizations have opened within one block near the BAM Harvey Theater, BRIC House and Theater for a New Audience. BRIC's new headquarters is on the location where it was previously based along with Urban Glass (which also has new digs in the complex) and is an impressively varied multi-use space, including "the stoop"—an amphitheater like open atrium with step seating, a gallery space, a tv studio, a rehearsal space, a cafe area, and a 250-seat flexible theater.

Ron Brown shows the way to his company and community dancers
 in On Earth Together. Photo: David Andrako

The good news is that the mood was celebratory at one of Evidence's first week of performances (and the first ever dance in the theater). The theater was pretty full, and the audience eager to embrace the company. It presented an older work, Gatekeepers (1999), to music by Wunmi (who also designed the costumes), and the latest version of a growing Stevie Wonder tribute, On Earth Together, begun in 2011 and now nearly an evening-length work in itself. The twist this time around: dancers from the community were smoothly incorporated into several of the numbers. Their ages ranged wildly, from elementary school-aged to grandparent-aged, but all danced enthusiastically and with composure. Some looked nearly ready to substitute for one of Brown's excellent regular company dancers, including the ever-magnetic and silky Annique Roberts, who became Brown's partner in the final movements. She clearly inspires him, as she does us. 

The bad news? The sight lines are wanting in the chosen bleacher-style setup, at least for dance. Seated behind an average height person, I had to lean forward to glimpse the dancers' feet. Hopefully, the arrangement can be tweaked to fix this drawback, but it wasn't enough to dampen the crowd's exuberance. And the stage is perhaps half the size of the just-big-enough Joyce, where Evidence often performs. The run continues this week with Torch (2013) and On Earth Together with a different group of community members. 

Huggin' it out in Way In. Photo: Ian Douglas

Way In, at Danspace Project, by Rashaun Mitchell and Silas Riener, also included non-professional performers. It they wanted to—not that they do—this pair will never be able to shake the fact that they were stellar dancers with Merce Cunningham. Fortunately, the skills they honed with Merce are now like a superpower, summoned at will to astound us mortals. Technique aside, they have an intellectual and conceptual curiosity that is catalyzing some fascinating and varied work (Interface and Nox). Here, they chose to work with lighting and set designer Davison Scandrett and writer and ex-dance reviewer for the NY Times, Claudia La Rocco. (Question: Why did they collaborate with La Rocco? Answer: So she couldn't review the show! *rimshot*). Jokes aside, La Rocco has always been unsparingly honest with her opinion in reviews, and here she takes a risk in exposing herself physically to what is most likely an audience very familiar with her point of view. 

The piece begins somewhat tediously, with Scandrett lying on a dolly, awkwardly wheeling hand-written signs (turn off phones, emergency exits, etc) to La Rocco, who coyly holds them up like a boxing ring "girl," and exaggeratedly imitates a bored airline attendant. The set, by Mitchell, Riener, and Scandrett, played a major role—pink lace fabric formed a false ceiling over the stage, and walled off the altar area. It created a perfumy bordello feel, and the resulting compartments were lit to delineate on and offstage. Light was shone through the lace to capture its textural pattern in shadow. 

The work is so stuffed that those who crave technique are rewarded, as are those who care more about ideas. Riener and Mitchell's focus, flexibility, and control are peerless; in one section, Riener relevés on his incredibly articulated metatarsals and ever so slowly rotates 270º, tracking Mitchell as he slinks around the perimeter, close to viewers. You can hardly see Riener moving, so great is his finesse, and even though his laser gaze directs you to watch Mitchell, it's impossible to stop watching Riener. Backgrounding the first half, over Muzak-style early music (Rameau and Lully) we hear a monologue (spoken by La Rocco) shifting between descriptive and postulative: what do we expect to see? How important is technique? After awhile, the verbiage devolves into noise, but the mere juxtaposition of the two "teams" and their respective activities calls into question many tenets of performance that have been raised since there was dance, and more frequently since the Judson movement.

The Way Out of Way In. Photo: Ian Douglas

The non-dancers were both ungraceful enough in contrast to the Riener & Mitchell that it was hard to resist feeling resentful toward their presence onstage, presumably intentionally. (I should add that nearly anyone would be ungraceful compared to those two.) This particularly held true toward the end, when Riener & Mitchell moved behind the scrim to change from their sleek black unitards and rehearsal clothes that they'd layered on, into silver, dollar-print trunks and pink lace jumpsuits. Onstage, the other two played catch-the-rolling-gumball for a long time. A dialogue between them played, and again became noise. (They also lay like odalisques, drank tea, and ate cake.) No doubt it was intended to ask what kind of movement constitutes performance, because the gumballers clearly were "performing." 

But we were given plenty of virtuosic dance by the trained ones, who had a sort of throw-down. They repeatedly ran at one another from opposite ends of the sanctuary, clashing like elegant wrestlers, lifting each other with effort. They circled the stage, doing bold assemblé jumps. Mitchell promenaded in arabesque led by Riener's hand in his mouth. Down to their trunks, they moved like powerful boa constrictors, sliding their legs up the columns into splits, bending and twisting in yoga poses, slipping into mid-stage splits done as close as shadows. They danced as one at times, their shared histories and understanding becoming rich fuel to add to their Cunningham superpowers. 

In the finale, Scandrett moved a bunch of spotlights into place around a mic. La Rocco changed from her jeans into a long taffeta skirt, untied her voluminous hair, pulled white tulle netting over her head, and began intoning into the mic like a priestess. "Why did you come here tonight? What did you expect?" Her speech echoed increasingly until it was unintelligible. Riener and Mitchell, sweaty, by now had squidged their way across the sanctuary, up the steps, and were posed fawningly at her feet, like sweet putti, before standing at attention. It seemed like they might be married, but perhaps it was more marking the union of collaborators, of ideas. But it was an odd, kitschy ritual capping a show that did indeed pose a boatload of questions—many old, some new—about a way in. 

Fall For Dance Among the Trees and Stars

STREB al fresco. Photo: Tammy Shell

Batteries recharged, dance returned to life last Monday with the advent of the 10th Fall For Dance. To celebrate, in addition to the standard five programs at City Center, the Public Theater hosted a veritable all-star FFD program at the Delacorte in Central Park. The weather turned out to be fall-perfect, with a bright harvest moon slicing through wispy clouds, and bats flitting mischievously above the trees, silhouetted in front of the Disney-lit Belvedere castle.

Unlike City Center's fare, which usually features well-known companies mixed with lesser-known ones, and some indigenous styles juxtaposed with ballet or modern, the Delacorte program—free!—consisted of bold-faced, primetime names. 

STREB led off with Human Fountain (inspired by the Bellagio fountain in Vegas) in which the dancers dove off of scaffolding onto a crash mat in various patterns and twisting moves. Their adrenaline was certainly inspiring, but after about 10 minutes, despite knowing they take certain precautions to prevent injury, I couldn't help but think about their brains bouncing around in their skulls, and their spines taking punishment as well. They looked awfully happy in bows, anyway, before continuing their duties as stagehands and striking the mats as the real stagehands dismantled the scaffolding enough to roll it in two parts to the side.

Evidence, right-side up in Upside Down. Photo: Tammy Shell

Ronald K. Brown/Evidence brought Upside Down, alluding to the loss of a soul and its impact on a community, accompanied by Oumou Sangare's music followed by live vocals and drums performing a number by Fela Kuti. (STREB and Evidence benefitted the most from the al fresco setting, as both can feel a bit caged inside.)  The two songs both ended with Cabaug being lifted and carried off solemnly, as if lying in state, but in between, the dancers showed off Brown's irrepressible African-based style in group sections and solos. Annique Roberts (nominated for a Bessie this year) radiated with calm luminosity, as usual.

Maria Kowroski and Adrian Danchig-Waring in Red Angels

New York City Ballet's dancers looked their best in their dark warmup clothes rather than the red spandex costumes for Red Angels, choreographed by Ulysses Dove, with live electric violin accompaniment. The striking cast of Maria Kowroski, Adrian Danchig-Waring, Jennie Somogyi, and Chase Finlay never looked at ease, perhaps to be expected on a chilly evening. Ballet seems like it wants warmth to encourage as much friction with the floor as possible, and elasticity in their hard-working muscles. Nonetheless, they danced and vogued their way through the showy moves well enough.

Paul Taylor Dance Company in Esplanade, but another cast.

Paul Taylor's Esplanade closed the program, deservedly—a self-contained, perfectly structured dance that garners applause simply when it begins. Despite its outward reputation as a sunny romp, there are some heartachingly solemn and intimate moments that touch on mortality and the fragility of human connections. Laura Halzack has taken the deceptively challenging role left by the retired Amy Young; it requires a series of rapid hinge-falls, and later, backwards plops into the hands of Michael Trusnovec. Michelle Fleet occupies the central role, running and flitting among the group, warmly bidding us hello and goodbye. It was a fitting cap to a showcase of the city's dance riches, if nothing we weren't already familiar with.

Ailey Premiere of Ron Brown's Four Corners

Photo: Christopher Duggan

Dance Magazine review of Ronald K. Brown's Four Corners, a premiere by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater at the Koch last week:

http://www.dancemagazine.com/reviews/June-2013/Alvin-Ailey-American-Dance-Theater

Evidence—Constant Conversation

Annique Roberts (left, in Torch) wants YOU. Photo: Ayodele Casel.

Ronald K. Brown has created his own mesmerizing dance language, blending African with modern, ballet, and a bunch of other stuff. It hits me most powerfully when it's driven by the wide-ranging music, the movement emanating from each dancer's core that acts like a gyroscope, tethering windmilling arms and bouncing feet and legs. But it can have its own interesting life apart from the music, as it did in Order My Steps (2005) at the Joyce recently, which included a pensive, spacy composition by Kronos Quartet in addition to Bob Marley. It's read less with the heart and more with the brain.

In Brown's choreography, the dancers always seem to be feeding us information, whether it's one of the gestures that have become a sort of shorthand (fingers pointing up or at us, or the "what can I say" shrug), telling a storyline more directly, or simply needing to move, with the same spontaneity and power as a horse bucking. Even the funny stiff-legged shuffle to move on and offstage, or the subtle shoulder shrugging and air patting that convey "going" or "thinking" or "staying" to me... it's a constant conversation.

Brown's company, Evidence, premiered his new work, Torch, on February 12th. Annique Roberts, in all white, represents the piece's inspiration, a company patron who succumbed from cancer. She takes a literal fall from a shoulder stand, and is shadowed by Brown in his sole appearance of the evening. The tone is reverential, but the pace quickens as music shifts gears. Roberts is remarkable in this dance, and throughout the program—muscular, plush, quick, angelic, and serene. Torch suffers somewhat from the unflattering kelly green and white costumes by Keiko Voltaire, although the women change from choir robes (as some fevered gospel music plays) to sportier mint and butter hued clothes as the work progresses. 

Roberts is also featured in Incidents (1998), a work danced by five women based on stories from the life of a slave. Here, the voluminous muslin costumes by Omotayo Olaiya are used to good effect as the dancers gather their skirts vigorously or spin, letting them balloon out. A woman with a bare back is tended to by the other three, immediately creating an evocative, dramatic setting, and an example of Brown's more literal style. Matthew Rushing danced a section of Ife/My Heart (2005) done by Brown for the Ailey company. One of the most concise dancers around, Rushing's precision and speed are unfailing, and his somewhat remote affect actually intensifies the emotions produced by the movement. He's always a thrill to watch.

The Softer Side of the Ailey Company

Akua Noni Parker and Antonio Douthit in Jiri Kylian's 
Petite Mort. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Ailey's dancers always look amazing, but it's good to see them flourishing in choreography that emphasizes subtlety and plush muscularity in addition to flash and dazzle, which is understandably what they get when work is made on the company. Because who wouldn't be tempted to push these copiously talented artists to their limit? 

Part of the craft in making this happen is to select existing repertory, such as Jiri Kylian's Petite Mort, alongside commissions by young talent such as Kyle Abraham, as Artistic Director Robert Battle did this year. Petite Mort (1991) engages viewers immediately with its courtly trappings of tamed swords and stand-alone hoop gowns (by Joke Visser) slid over scant camisoles and trunks. Hypnotic, if familiar, Mozart accompanies Kylian's pleasing, classical modern movement, which emphasizes line, detailed extremities, and the handsome formal arrangements.

This dance has also been performed by ABT, which tells you something about the company's direction. Paul Taylor's Arden Court, now Kylian... the presence of both make sense given the technique at hand, even if it will take time for these dances (especially the Taylor) to become second nature. 

Jacqueline Green with cast in Kyle Abraham's Another Night. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Kyle Abraham, on the other hand, is young, on the rise, and suddenly everywhere. His phrases can consist of quick moves punctuated by a suspended balance, darting and stopping like a hummingbird. He weaves many styles into his premiere, Another Night, and in that respect, also puts to good use the typical sets of skills held by Ailey's company. It feels celebratory, in contrast to the psychological and historical weightiness of Kylian's work. If not the most memorable work, the dancers looked elated.

Ditto for Ronald K. Brown's Grace, in a new production, though I'm not sure what was new other than casting choices and some of the lighting scheme. With Revelations, it remains among the finest repertory. It's no coincidence that both dances vary in dynamic between their numerous sections in terms of music and tempo, and acknowledge both earthy vitality and spiritual transcendence. 

With the retirement of the serene Renee Robinson, it was a pleasure to see newcomer Jacqueline Green channeling some of Robinson's elegance and radiance. Another standout was Sean Carmon, all tensile line in Revelations' "Sinner Man." Alicia Graf Mack and Jamar Roberts continue to be paragons of grace and power, both possessing superb technique in addition to their natural gifts.

Ballet Hispanico—Casting a Wide Net

Rodney Hamilton, Vanessa Valecillos, Mario Ismael Espinoza in Espiritu Vivo. Photo: Rosalie O'Connor

Ballet Hispanico is a work in constant process—less about defining what comprises Hispanic dance than stretching its definition and possibilities. The company of 16 is made up of seemingly ever fewer dancers of latino descent (standouts are Min-Tzu Li and new member Jamal Rashann Callender), but one or more major elements in the works in repertory relate to artists of Spanish-speaking countries. Performances continue at the Joyce through April 29.

Brooklynite Ronald K. Brown choreographed one of the season's premieres, and the hook seems to be that he uses music by Susana Baca, the dusky-voiced Peruvian singer (who I sadly missed performing live the first week). Brown's movement for Espiritu Vivo significantly tempers the propulsive, gravity-bound African vocabulary he so skillfully deploys on his own company. He has adapted some of the motifs—the pulled-back elbows, spearing leaps, and floating attitude turns—but they're softened and somewhat drained of the feverish energy so contagious in his dances. It's pleasant enough, but it came off as among the most basic of the choreographer's compositions. Still, give Ballet Hispanico credit for pursuing a highly successful contemporary dancemaker outside the geographical/linguistic parameters, even if the connection is but filament-thin.

I reviewed Mad'moiselle (by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa) two years ago, and this year I wasn't as distracted by some of the production elements (like the pink trannie wigs) and could appreciate more the snappy pace of the varied and numerous scenes and musical selections, the shapely and muscular movement, and the high level of skill by the dancers. Again, Li danced the lead role, engrossing in her convincing state of detachment and with her refined, bold lines.

In contrast, the program led off with Pedro Ruiz's Guajira (1999). With its traditional feel and narrative tracing the lives of peasants, it evoked an earlier era in the repertory, concentrating more on folkloric-oriented dances rather than following the more recent free-form conceptual connection to being Hispanic (under Artistic Director Eduardo Vilaro).

What Ballet Hispanico is doing is not easy or safe, but in a way, having a loose, yet defined, premise has allowed the company to expand in many ways while (without getting too literal) retaining a constant voice. This admittedly wooly identity isn't a bad thing amid a world-wide klatch of like-sized ballet companies.