RDT: Emerge

Repertory Dance Theatre’s Emerge was an opportunity for each of its company members to choreograph a short piece performed by local dancers. This review reads like the show itself: eight disparate dance works, reflected upon individually. Although the choreographers might share conceptual interests and influences, having performed with each other extensively, their works were not directly in dialogue with one another.

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You Can Sit With Us, choreographed by Justin Bass:

The dancers began scattered on the floor amidst overturned metal chairs and tables. This careful dishevelment ended immediately when the dancers started moving, tidying up. They rose doing lovely tilts with their legs while beaming at the audience and putting the outdoor furniture in well-balanced arrangements. Occasionally the dancers would arrange themselves downstage and gaze at the audience invitingly. I wondered what warranted their relentless expressions of joy mixed with occasional ambivalence and why we were invited to sit with them.

One Step Forward, 500 Miles Back, choreographed and performed by Efrén Corado García:

The lights illuminated García in a striking position - his back to the audience, dark tresses shifting with his rippling arm movements. The piece was parsed into images triggered by the lights going off and then on again, similar to David Parson’s Caught. García, however, was not “caught” in midair, but grounded. He seemed to transform into a new entity for each snapshot, his still-visible silhouette  running to a new location onstage and then settling into position in quasi-darkness (due to the blaring lights from the sound booth). Arvo Pärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel gently pushed the dance forward; each repetition of layered melodies created a common thread between dynamically distinct movement images.

Miasma, choreographed by Jaclyn Brown:

The first third of this piece was a loose-limbed solo danced by Alicia Trump, whose hands occasionally cupped Martha Graham-style, but without the usual rigid arms and contracted torso - a compelling anachronism. This was followed by another solo danced by Marty Buhler, whose likewise loose limbs traversed the opposite diagonal. In the third section the two abruptly came into contact with familiar combative duet material. It was more interesting to witness the two when they were physically separate but moving in relation to each other, connected by common movement vocabulary and compositional elements rather than the obvious physical connection that is expected of a duet between a male and female. The piece started so strikingly with isolated solos, but deferred to duet material without precedence from within the piece to do so.

Figure it out, choreographed by Tyler Orcutt:

This piece consisted of a foundational walking pattern executed by Natalie Border, Tiana Lovett, and Gaby Zabka. Their knees were bent while walking, keeping them in a middle range between standing and fully descended, which they remained within even when they deviated from the walking pattern. Sometimes one dancer would fall in a sustained manner into the arms of the other two, or all of them would do their own phrase. But they consistently settled back into the original pattern that seemed to demand a lot of focus, both from the dancers to stay in sync and from the audience to “figure it out”.

Folie a Deux , choreographed by Nicholas Cendese:

Company members Ursula Perry and Daniel Higgins performed this duet exploring the “madness of two”. Their shared psychosis was manifested in a tense physicality and dim lights. Higgins repeatedly lifted Perry’s arm from the wrist, then tried to encircle her with both arms, only to encircle air as she ducked out of the way. Perry usually manipulated Higgins indirectly while repeating her own phrase that would happen to nudge him out of the way or allow her to slither out of his more direct grasp. Folie a Deux seemed to be an unabashed acknowledgement of the futility of repeating the same action without resolution.

Ipseity, choreographed by Daniel Higgins:

The music of Turkish composer and DJ Mercan Dede created a driving sound texture to which seven white, female dancers moved confidently while wearing identical tan, long-sleeved mini-dresses with slits on the sides. A loose narrative developed, punctuated by a scene in which all of the dancers stood around Elle Johansen who was lying supine. Natalie Border placed her hand on Johansen’s torso and then moved downstage. The two performed mirrored movement upstage and downstage while the other dancers sat in the middle creating a barrier. The piece ended with a powerfully tender solo performed by Border downstage while the rest of the dancers were shrouded in darkness upstage.

after/ever, choreographed by Lauren Curley:

For after/ever, Curley mixed and matched . Dancer Micah Burkhardt wore a skirt that matched the shirt of partner Megan O’Brien. Composer Eli Wrankle performed the violin live onstage, but was accompanied by a recording of himself that served as the rhythm to the melody that he performed. Both pairs - skirt and shirt, melody and rhythm - were separated by space and composition. The implied interdependency of these pairings was subverted by the fact that each component was operated by either another person or a rigid recording. Sometimes Burkhardt would lift O’Brien onto his shoulders or balance her in a fetal position on his reclined torso, emphasizing that the two were not actually one entity despite what their outfits might imply. after/ever brusquely revealed glitches in connectivity between autonomous beings.

Lively Sa-Sa, choreographed by Justin Bass and Ursula Perry:

This collaboration certainly was lively. The dancers had all participated in the company’s Winterdance Workshop and this piece served as a demonstration of what they had done. The movement was alternately wiggly and linear, like a graceful classic jazz dancer acting silly on the dance floor at a wedding reception. The workshop seemed like an upbeat way to stay warm in the beginning of January.

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Emerge seemed to feature mere glimpses of what RDT dancers are interested in choreographically partly because it was structured like a recital, not an interwoven concert. I am curious to see if any members continue these explorations beyond initial emergence.

Emma Wilson is a graduate of the University of Utah and regular contributor to loveDANCEmore. She frequently jams with Porridge for Goldilocks and was recently a choreographer for Red Lake at the Fringe Festival.

an end of year musing

2016 is hard. In undeniable and contradictory ways.  

And the position of loveDANCEmore is challenging: desiring to comment on vital artistic and political intersections but also being a non-profit, largely unable to comment lest it be rendered ineligible for funding.

In a larger world, an organization may publish a piece with a caveat that it's not necessarily the views of the staff. But loveDANCEmore pieces are written pretty exclusively by staff due to the size and scope of our resources available.

So what to do? 

I've settled on what I usually do, which is tell the truth and hope everything else turns out okay.

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When I was in graduate school, we had a History/Theory/Criticism course. During a class session we cycled into a conversation on modern dance in Germany during World War II. I don't remember how we arrived there but I remember the result. 

Two of my peers said that they understood the position of artists who stayed in Germany during the war and "they were just trying to make their art." 

A third peer, Neta Pulvermacher, silently picked up her pencil and threw it (like a dagger) at their faces saying calmly and clearly, "them making their art killed my family." 

Having grown up on a kibbutz, Neta was uniquely more positioned than I was to offer a comment of any kind. And truly, until I saw the pencil fly, I was following the previous train of thought, unable to think of any recourse the artists may have had.  I was only 22, everyone else in the conversation was much older, returning to receive an MFA having already begun astounding careers as choreographers, performers and educators. 

I made a silent agreement with myself in that moment that, if required, I would remember what Neta said and find the fortitude to recall that making art is not excused from political reality. 

I receive money from the state government that is filtered down from the federal government. Is this receipt an endorsement of that government, even if it's used to make political work? Is it ethical to accept money from an entity whose leader verbally vows abuses against women, among other abhorrent behaviors? Is it appropriate to wait and see what happens, or is it essential to immediately commit to an alternative revenue stream? 

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In Utah, and universities across the country, dancers can still become "Certified Movement Analysts," proving that they have completed study of concepts outlined here. 

Laban developed "Labanotation" and worked with the Nazi regime in World War II, coordinating festivals funded (and approved) by Joseph Goebbels. Some claim his attachment to Nazi ideology was for his own survival, but he's still accused of removing non-Aryan pupils and promoting other deadly views through German schools of dance. 

Although his concepts about movement have been defended to me, my brain boils them down to this: why would anyone want to codify something as individual as human movements if not to reduce their explanations of bodies and therefore people? And why do we give experts in that codification an acknowledgement of mastery? Why does the program training students in the work of Laban make no mention of its inherent genocidal world view? 

One of the more potent defenses was from a friend in Salt Lake who learned English as a second language and found the highly verbal process to give him entry points into communicating about dance. The viewpoint that Laban unwittingly gave a gift to a person who would've been eradicated at the time he made his work is not a silver lining, but a painful reminder. 

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In high school I took a class called "American Problems," which should've been called "Republican Mormon Propaganda in Public Education." To allegedly learn about dictatorships, we were forced to enact one. Football players were allowed to be fuhrers, demanding that we buy them snacks of their choice and giving us our grade based on whether or not we were aggressively heteronormative and deferential enough. 

When asked to be the secretary of our new class government, I walked to the Vice Principal's office and asked if, instead of being verbally abused in class, I could write a paper.

In the same year, I advocate, in high school debate tournaments, for the disarmament of the United States nuclear arsenal. At that time I don't actually believe anyone will use nuclear weapons again but repeat aloud over 300 times that the United States is the only country to ever kill anyone with nuclear weapons. 

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The devastation nuclear bombs cause to Japan births Butoh. In undergrad, I will write a paper on Butoh as the embodiment of a dialectic, that the result of a violent political moment is this distinct dance which holds within it both the pain of nuclear warfare and a suggestion, rendered in the landscape, a body may also carry hope. 

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There is a story I've heard third- and fourth-hand about a local dancer who gave up a contract with a prominent company because she didn't want to be topless in a performance. 

In this debate I've come out largely in favor of the company and not the individual. Part of this is me, internalizing the constant requirement that Utah performance be modest, a requirement which only creates under-rehearsed rebellion. 

Why then, am I hopeful that individual Rockettes will protest a required gig at the Presidential Inauguration? 

Yes, being made to perform for the sexual predator President-Elect (remember, assault only has to be verbal, although he's accused of sexual battery as well, particularly in the dressing rooms of performing women) does seem like a powerful degree of difference from being asked to perform in a work where nudity is required. Yet, why do I hope for some women to have better agency and others to take it or leave it? 

Since writing, the internet tells me the "requirement" may be off, making me arguably more afraid about what women I know who desire to complete such a task.

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My body is here, in Utah. Where it's both normative and an anomaly. Where it's both situated in privileges (my demographic helped elect a person) and also denigration (that person doesn't think I am also a full, deserving person). 

The common threads of conformity and resistance are woven through performance because it is a tradition carried on the physical bodies of humans who live it. 

So, in a spirit of open-endedness, here are interesting winter reads related to the political moment (some of them I've read, others are new to me and I'm putting them here not because I know their content is good, but because the subject they purport to explore is relevant to the now). 

If you comment with additional offerings, I will add them. 

Lost and Found, PLATFORM

The People Have Never Stopped Dancing

The Work of Dance

Stepping Left

Dancing Women: Female Bodies on Stage

Black Performance Theory

Dancing Class

Dancers as Diplomats

Dancing into Darkness

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Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore as part of her non-profit, "ashley anderson dances." 

River of Rosewater

Salt Lake City’s Municipal Ballet Co. recently presented River of Rosewater, a reimagining of The Nutcracker. Tchaikovsky’s score was arranged by local band, Pixie and the Partygrass Boys, and the bluegrass background and prominent saxophone begged you to familiarize yourself with Tchaikovsky’s iconic work all over again.

River of Rosewater was a time capsule transporting the audience to the early 1920’s from the moment they walked in. The motif was justified throughout the performance by every detail; the costuming, the music, and the choreography. This particular performance of Municipal Ballet’s was specific to the historic McCune Mansion located in the heart of downtown Salt Lake City, but the limited audience capacity of 60 sold out weeks in advance. I was lucky enough to attend an open dress rehearsal at another historic space, Salt Lake’s Clubhouse. Clubhouse was once home to the Ladies’ Literary Club but is under new ownership and open and available for use. The art-deco architecture fit perfectly with the Gatsby holiday vibes Municipal Ballet originally anticipated with the Mansion site.    

Sarah Longoria is the director of Municipal Ballet Co. Along with the help of her dancers, Longoria wrote and choreographed River of Rosewater. I’ve seen the past few shows of Municipal Ballet’s and I can’t help but notice and fall in love with Longoria’s themes that set her apart as a choreographer but particularly, as a ballet choreographer. Longoria prefers to dance to something other than classical music and she has deep-rooted support for live, local music. Longoria is constantly finding musicians throughout Utah to bring into her self-created spotlight. While Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite is the most classical and typical “ballet” music I can think, Sarah was able to find the means to reinvent the score to meet her aesthetic.

Longoria pays attention to detail, and not just in the dance. She pays attention to every costume, every performer’s character nuances, the energy of the venue, etc. For example: I was wondering why the company did not charge for the open dress rehearsal. Come to find out, Longoria wanted the audience to be able to bring their own drinks because it was fitting to the theme and vitality of the performance (Utah’s laws won’t allow you to charge for a private event with alcohol being served). That attention to detail sets Longoria’s artistry apart.  

Photo by Temria Airmet of Municipal Ballet Co. in a dress rehearsal for River of Rosewater at Clubhouse

Clara Silverhouse, danced by the always lovely Tristana Yegge, is about ten years older than we know her. The show begins with a holiday party where Clara sips a little too much absinthe and has a vivid dream full of dancers and a mystery man. Each dancer sets the tone by wearing unique and custom-made, 1920’s-inspired dresses. The choreography mixes line-dancing and the Charleston as the dancers weave in and out of formation. The performers and audience were smiling and clapping along to the music.   

The dancers in Municipal Ballet Co. possess flawless technique and it’s incredible to witness the execution of their lines in such small quarters. Their movements do not shrink even though an audience member is mere inches away. As a concert audience, we have become overly familiar with viewing dance, particularly ballet, in a theatre setting. And I wouldn’t say it’s rare to see dancers in a close setting. Modern dance does not surprise its audience with the use of an obscure or forcefully unique venue, but in the ballet world, I believe Longoria is in uncharted territory, at least for Utah’s dance community.

An array of soloists then performed for Clara, each with a contemporary rendition inspired by the original work. The standout piece was the Arabian duet performed by Brian Craig Nelson and Cynthia Phillips. Smooth, almost acrobatic movement kept continuously curving and kept the energy twisting. My eyes couldn’t look away.

Photo by Temria Airmet of Municipal Ballet Co. in a dress rehearsal for River of Rosewater at Clubhouse

The magic of River of Rosewater came in Tchaikovsky’s music. Pixie and the Partygrass Boys took on the daunting task of arranging the score. They gave me a new appreciation for Tchaikovsky and how timeless his work is. The classic melodies of "Waltz of the Snowflakes" and "Trepak" were rebirthed with saxophone and distant vocal harmonies leaving me stunned. Pixie and the Partygrass Boys took a score that most dancers know all too well and made it sound brand new. I feel the same for Longoria’s story line. The Nutcracker is a story many of us know all too well. The roaring 20’s-take on Clara’s experience made the whimsical world of The Nutcracker much more relatable and, in my opinion, more enjoyable because I could connect to it. Municipal Ballet Co. did a beautiful job at reinventing a classic. I am sad that I missed the actual showing at the McCune Mansion, but if the performance went even half as well as the dress rehearsal then I would call it a charming success.

Temria Airmet is the Artistic Director of Myriad Dance Company. She received her BFA in Modern Dance from the University of Utah and currently teaches with Ballet West, Tanner Dance, and Millennium Dance Complex.

Myriad Dance: Lights

Myriad Dance Company presented “Lights” at The Downtown Artist Collective on Sunday night. Myriad donated all proceeds from the project, spearheaded by co-director Temria Airmet, to the Utah branch of Volunteers of America; the six performers and five musicians donated their time as well.

The Downtown Artist Collective is a small storefront on 100 South that offers handmade wares by local artists and artisans. For the show, store displays were pushed against the walls to make space for dancing; similar to other recent shows, such as those at Main Street gallery Art 270, the “stage” itself was fairly small and the audience sat right up to its edge.

“Lights” dealt - sometimes literally, sometimes indirectly - with the social and political climate that has come to a head in 2016, and I felt Myriad’s intent and hope from the moment I walked into the space. It was packed, with hardly a seat left in the house, but I was able to squeeze myself to the front and secure a (very good) seat on the floor. I noted my negotiation in and amongst a sea of people as a boon in a world where understanding and acceptance seem to occasionally take the back burner; “Lights” was not only Myriad Dance Company’s reaction to 2016, but a call to action.

The audience and I experienced physical closeness during our viewing of “Lights,” and were (gently) forced to be mindful and accommodating of both the space we ourselves take up and that which others take up around us - an idea whose easy extrapolation is how we coexist in the larger world.

The space featured a hodgepodge of lamps, occasionally turned on and off by the performers, that created a general tone of intimacy. Perhaps, we were not at a performance but instead sharing thoughts and conversation in someone’s living room. Additionally, live musicians both accompanied and were interspersed, salon-like, between the dancing numbers: a guitarist, a husky-voiced folk singer, a singing guitarist, a dancer-turned-vocalist, and my favorite musical performance of the evening, pianist Joseph Chang.

The dances in “Lights” featured different groupings of the six performers, including creator Airmet, and since no choreographic credits were mentioned in the program, I assume most were made collaboratively.

Two solos by Airmet bookended the show (except for a group finale) and were the most potent, searching works of the evening. Airmet always performs with unwavering conviction, and these solos were no exception. They featured poetry spoken, and presumably written, by Airmet and complemented her often-gestural and alternately soft and hard-hitting movement. The choreography could have been considered simple if unaccompanied, but in tandem with the words, it illuminated Airmet’s myriad (no pun intended) strengths as transporting performer, imaginative writer, and thoughtful human.

Throughout other sections, Airmet looked like she could be reciting poetry in her head as she danced - so specific were her expressions as they related to her movements. Intent manifested with varying degrees of maturity in other members of the group, but a general sense of personal investment in each dance was always clear.

Performer Ashley Creek exhibited compelling clarity, hers such that it travelled through and articulated her entire spine. Kendall Fischer radiated honesty and warmth in her sweet, short vignette with another dancer.

Seeing the performers’ unique identities onstage was a reminder that we all possess complex inner realms, though not all do or are able to express their hopes and concerns as openly as through performance. For me, “Lights” was a shared experience in vulnerability, empathy, and inclusivity, and a call to remember those things in our daily interactions.

Myriad implemented a wide range of choreographic choices given the limited space: tour jetes, slides to the floor, battements, and hitch-kicks, sometimes in groups of four, five, or even the whole company. I will posit that the dances, though earnest, could gain from indulging the expansiveness the choreography seemed to crave with either a larger space (though I recognize usable and affordable space is hard to come by, even in SLC) or by allowing more dances to have fewer participants; solos and duets usually offered the most breath and fullness.

The intimate setting at The Downtown Artist Collective uniquely drew focus onto individual performative arcs (differing, perhaps, from Myriad’s previous “Doors”), but the underlying concept for each dance, regardless of number of dancers, was group unity. I felt this net of unity cast not just over the performers, but also over members of the audience as we negotiated knees and coats.

Sometimes the net was cast directly from performer to audience, such as when Alyx Pitkin began to fall forward, only to then be caught by the group, suspended over the first row of audience members. I, too, felt kinesthetically involved, when I experienced wind from a leap across my face on several occasions.

Casual intimacy was a successful thread throughout the show. At one point, dancer Sierra Stauffer leaned against the piano, played again here by Chang, to sing; she oscillated between a contemplative, inward focus and sharing inviting smiles with audience members.

Less effective were moments when the dancers seemed to perform for an audience imagined farther away than actually the case. In my viewing of “Lights,” it was important that the performers acknowledge our proximity, a uniting factor over the course of the evening.

In her second solo, toward the show’s end, Airmet spoke, “My voice got quiet because the truth was hard.” Through “Lights,” she has found a voice, both for herself and Myriad, in movement, music, and performance. For the group’s finale, Airmet, who often invokes music by Kanye West in her work, used his 2016 song “Ultralight Beam”; it was her most effective invocation of West yet. The group found stillness in a tableau at the song’s conclusion, while still breathing heavily (“Father, this prayer is for everyone that feels they’re not good enough”), then, blinking their hands like twinkling lights, reached skyward.

Amy Falls is loveDANCEmore’s program coordinator and a regular contributor to the blog.

It's Not Cracker

I really don’t like the Nutcracker. To my relief, this wasn’t the Nutcracker, but It’s Not Cracker by NOW-ID, December 16 & 17 at UMOCA. With choreography by Charlotte Boye-Christensen, performances by the Bboy Federation, Brad Beakes, Tara McArthur, and Gary Vlasic, and lighting by Cole Adams, It’s Not Cracker was a collage that commented on, and ultimately transcended, the framework of the iconic holiday ballet.

The evening’s performance began with the snow scene, Tchaikovsky’s triumphant music from between the first half of the Nutcracker - the party scene, and the second half - in the land of sweets. Any 12-year-old aspiring ballerina who spent more than one year performing as a party scene girl (raises hand) knows that snow is when the show actually begins. It’s the moment when we get to leave the mundane world of sibling rivalry and tipsy parents to experience a magical other realm.

Performer Tara McArthur took us there. She entered from a door on the left side of a two-story painting of the Salt Lake Temple, an existing installation from UMOCA’s current exhibition, taking a quick sprint around the circumference of the stage. On her second sprint, Brad Beakes joined.

Their side-by-side run morphed into a duet. Deftly weaving lifts, abrupt beginnings and endings, and complex floorwork, these two moved like a flurry of snowflakes. Their adept performance highlighted the flux between starkly angled arm gestures and circular, fluid weight shifts characteristic of choreographer Boye-Christensen’s movement aesthetic. McArthur’s nuanced interpretation of the steps made the dance sing.

An aptly matched duo, I was intrigued during McArthur and Beakes’ brief side-by-side unison phrases, momentary punctuations to their run-on whirling, lifting, falling sentence. I expected Beakes to evolve into McArthur’s Nutcracker Prince, but as the work unfolded, I instead saw her little brother, Fritz. Though a skilled partner, Beakes was at his best when competing for a moment in Clara’s spotlight.

It took me a while to place myself within the score. Once I realized where we were, I sort of fell into Tchaikovsky’s falling snow. We didn’t stay at snow for long, with DJ Artemis re-mixing the  iconic score, we went in and out of sections of the Nutcracker, and other musical genres. At the close of this specific scene, performers from the Bboy Federation sprinted onto the stage as the music shifted. McArthur and Beakes noticed their entry, slowly fading off stage as the Bboy Federation began to dance.

Throughout the work, this kind of integration of multiple styles was evidenced. The Bboy Federation would perform break-out solos, overlapping with Beakes and McArthur’s ongoing duet. To me, the integration of these two different kinds of performers allowed the performers to speak for themselves, in their own aesthetic experiences, something that the original ballet could be rightly criticized for failing to do.

For example, during the Arabian music, six members of the Bboy Federation and Brad knelt on stage in two columns, facing inward. In the center, each artist took a turn improvising with their most specific tricks. This section, in other Nutcrackers that I have seen, is usually a celebration of the female dancer’s flexibility and sexuality, while she undertakes a series of acrobatic tricks in a skimpy, Orientalized Jasmine/Aladdin costume. To see this music re-narrated sans the racialized tropes, by performers speaking in their own voices, provided a more complex understanding of the musical score. Arabian transfigures into something mournful and struggling, while performers grapple with gravity in spins and headstands, and with the weight of the space in their upside-down freezes.  

The performer who really ran the show was Gary Vlasic. While attendees mingled and drank very mulled wine before show (raises hand), Vlasic lay on an iron bed frame positioned between bar and makeshift stage. He had his face covered by a hat, a black-painted nutcracker standing by his side. Floating overhead was an upside-down Christmas tree, also painted black.

Vlasic’s Drosselmeyer was reminiscent of the creepy things about the character in the original, (Drosselmeyer is an uncle-y character who showers one child with affection, but not her sibling, comes into her bedroom, and takes her to a place called the land of sweets - ummmm….), but Vlasic turns these creepy things into something else. He listened to his nutcracker, whispered in its ear, and together they hatched a plan. As the dance unfolded, Vlasic and his nutcracker slowly migrated from bedframe to a black plastic Louis chair center stage. When the nutcracker told Vlasic to join McArthur and Beake’s duet, he began to lead the two towards the edge of the stage, pushing on Beakes’ arm while Beakes carried McArthur on his shoulder. The piece culminated when McArthur reached high overhead, sending a glass circle swirling, shimmering circles of light flying around the room.

It’s Not Cracker wasn’t the Nutcracker. I was swept up with the dance in a way that maybe others, who still find the Nutcracker a magical part of their holiday season, experience. I wondered if the experience was the same for those not as intimately familiar with the original score and plot? A cursory investigation (I asked my non-dancer husband) revealed that some of the nuanced comment on the original which I saw, he did not. However, an experience he did have, and since that’s what NOW-ID sought to provide, it was indeed holiday magic.

Liz Ivkovich is the editor of the print edition of loveDANCEmore. She is putting her MFA in dance (Utah ‘16) to work for the University of Utah’s Sustainability Office and Global Change & Sustainability Center.