Deseret Experimental Opera Company: 2047

The Bertelsen Manor was an uncommon venue for Deseret Experimental Opera Company’s 2047. Filled with childhood photos, piles of mail, and an old dog that wandered across the wood floors, the space was immediately intimate. I felt as if I was visiting a friend rather than attending a performance. Bolstered by this informal energy, the operas themselves were presented in the home’s attic ballroom.

Founded in 2013 by Logan Hone, Jesse Quebbeman-Turley, and Luke Swenson, Deseret Experimental Opera Company (DEXO) is an artistic collective that emphasizes cross-medium collaboration.  In this vein, 2047 asked four teams of a librettist, a composer, and a choreographer to create “micro-operas” addressing a simple but open-ended question: what will the Wasatch Front be like in thirty years?

“The Beekeeper’s Journal” followed a beekeeper and her apprentice as they attempted to manage a swarm of bees that commandeered a data center, putting both the beekeepers and the data retrievers at risk.  “Back Below” delved into the memories of Sarah and Rachel as they flew home to a Wasatch Front that no longer sees winter snow. A security system trapped an unhappy couple in “Open House.”  Finally, “The 55 brides of Brileen Young” profiled a group of polygamist brides as they prepared to travel east across the plains.

Written by Lara Candland and choreographed by Jasmine Stack, “The Beekeeper’s Journal” punctuated brief dialogues and audio of journal entries describing the mesmerizing beauty of a bee hive with movement accompanied by layered counting in various languages.  The beekeeper and her apprentice folded into mirrored positions, echoing and tessellating into each other with soft fluidity.  The warmth of these dance sequences contrasted the vacantly precise gestures employed by the beekeeper during the rest of the operetta.  Utilizing spacious silence, expressionless voices, and an ominous buzzing of hidden instruments, sound designer Jesse Quebbeman-Turley created an ajar landscape that was far from what I expected of an opera.  Ending with the suggestion that the bees had disturbingly embalmed the beekeeper and workers in sweet honey, I questioned what exactly the relationship was between the bees and the humans.

With an incisive libretto by Ilana Fogelson and crisp music by Hannah Johnson McLaughlin, “Back Below” focused on Sarah, as she returned to her family and home after twenty years away, and Rachel, as she attempted to introduce her daughter to a childhood home far away in place and memory.

Emma Sargent’s performance as Sarah stood out for its simplicity and sincerity.  As Sargent leaned her head against an imagined window, her movement and voice’s nuanced clarity was arresting. A foil to the quiet seriousness of Sargent, Nicholas Daulton’s Flight Attendant was delightful. Full of humor and charm, Daulton’s playful gestures poked fun at the familiar pre-flight speech. I actually laughed out loud as he signaled the chorus’s direction changes while in an one-legged airplane balance.  

Emma Wilson’s choreography for “Back Below” was witty and engaging.  Wilson deftly arranged the chorus with movements recognizably specific but heightened just enough to make them feel futuristic. They argued over seats and climbed across rows, wove their hands like blades of grass and jostled with the turbulence of the plane. Wilson tightly forged the movement to the story and music, creating a predicted future that felt darkly realistic despite its comedy.

At one point, a silver cord physicalized the connection between Rachel’s daughter and Sarah, tying one’s head to the other’s heart. Simple and poignant, the cord twisted to entangle the two, binding childhood creation of memory to adulthood’s remembering. I wondered how we will convey the memory of this place once it has changed beyond recognition. How do you tell a child about snow when they may never see it? As strange as that question sounds, “Back Below” reminded me that it is an unfortunately practical one to consider.

I couldn’t make up my mind about “Open House.” It felt like the collaborators couldn’t either. The franticly absurd energy of the two dancers portraying the rogue security system, their wonderfully silly bright red goggles, and a mid-action rave complete with LEDs, glow sticks, and light-up gloves primed me for a darkly surprising comedy. But the music and story took themselves very seriously. I wished “Open House” had gone more the direction of Carly Schaub’s quirky choreography; it was a missed opportunity.

Closing the nearly three hour evening, “The 55 brides of Brileen Young” opened with deep voices singing navigation directions from Provo, Utah to the Missouri site where the LDS Church places the Garden of Eden. Brides of all genders, dressed in a mixture of white skirts, silken nightgowns, and billowing sleepshirts marked with blue “b”’s, pantomimed preparing, searching, and gathering. Supported by an ominous drone recalling an electric generator, the brides seemed trapped in the repetitive forward motion of travel.

Luke Swenson’s allusive libretto related a series of vignettes in the life of the group of polygamist brides. One bride, a cappella, called the rest to prepare. Their answers were layered so thickly that individual voices were difficult to differentiate. One by one, the brides met each other mid-stage to matter of factly detail preparatory shopping and the quiet rigors of child rearing. Joined by a few audience members, the brides sang a rustic hymn and alluded to Mormon Sunday meetings, one of the many references throughout to LDS culture.  Introduced by the ward choir director, they called upon members, all with the last name Young, to “fulfill their destiny.”

Even when the brides were separated, they were distinctly united as if their lives had been entwined to the point of becoming indistinguishable. This feeling largely came from the dense compositions of Stuart Wheeler and from Meagan Bertelsen’s simple but skillful spatial arrangements. Voice and body were defined by those around them in a way that did not diminish individuals but instead honored dependency.

In a particularly absorbing moment, two bearded brides stood chest to chest, their bodies pushed into each other and sparely lit by a flashlight pressed between them. Lips nearly touching, they sang of an intimacy that softened edges and they echoed this intimacy in the boundary-blurring nearness of their bodies. The indefinable story coupled with the uncommon sight of such closeness captivated me. I relished the ability to wander through all possibilities of their relationship and did not want the tender moment to end.

As I wrote this review, I found myself talking through the show much more than usual, only able to process the performance through rambling conversation. Because only theme and medium loosely tied the four operas, 2047 did not lend itself to a neat concluding impression. Some moments made me sit up straighter and some didn’t. However, that was the draw: it was an evening formed around wondering and striving rather than arriving.

Mary Lyn Graves, a native of Tulsa, OK, studied dance at the University of Oklahoma. She currently dances with Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company.

Aerial Arts of Utah: Flight of Fancy; Illusions

Aerial Arts of Utah presented Flight of Fancy; Illusions at the Rose Wagner this past weekend. The curtain opened to a foggy scene that set up a theme that connected the whole show: a woman curiously wandering around, being shown various sparkly objects and aerial acts by a mysterious man in a top hat. Similar themes are common in Cirque du Soleil and other shows.

 The collection of aerial acts included standard apparatuses such as aerial trapeze, hoop, and fabrics. And there were also some unique apparatus combinations, such as four sets of aerial hammocks and two sets of aerial fabrics, all hanging from a wide bar that spun in place. There was also some acro partner work and some dance. I appreciated the variety and the creative use of combined aerial apparatuses.

 My favorite piece included four aerialists on a double trapeze. Their costuming and character approach was charmingly reminiscent of vintage circus performers. In addition to precise and well-practiced choreography that was performed in coordination with the music, what made this piece stand out was how the performers connected with the audience through eye contact, and by providing applause cues via ‘ta-da’ movements (for example, jazz hands shooting out on all sides). Their playful, showy, confident attitude was inviting and enjoyable.

 Areas in which I hope this group will continue to improve include flexibility (specifically of the feet and legs) and character, which felt shallow at times. On the other hand, commendable elements of Illusions included strength, bravery, skill at aerial tricks, and connecting the show with the concept of the wandering woman and the top hat man.

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company. In addition to dancing with Myriad, she also performs with Voodoo Productions, and has enjoyed opportunities with SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co, and La Rouge Entertainment, among others.

Ballet West: Aladdin

On Thursday night I went to Aladdin with my mom. Before I saw the dance, I saw the movie and they are different. In the dance, characters have different names -- Aladdin’s monkey is called Malik, Jafar is called The Sorcerer, and Princess Jasmine’s name is Kalila. The dance is also different because they defeat the Sorcerer by making him a rat instead of turning him into a Genie.

In the dance there are two genies -- the genie of the lamp and the genie of the ring. The genie of the ring is small and he was my favorite character. The way he was called was cool -- the dancers crossed their hands and twinkled their fingers. The little genie danced sharp and serious.

Other kids might like the Sorcerer because he wears jewels and has an evil laugh. They might also like the parts with a camel and snake because kids like animals and they were cool and funny. The snake dancer had a fake snake head and wiggled her arms. The camel had one dancer at the top and one at the bottom and they kicked their legs.

The part I liked best was the fighting with swords and the machines that made it smoky.

Other kids might not like the wedding because it’s the longest part and the most boring, even though the dancers were pretty. Other kids might be confused about why the narrator says there are slaves dressed in pink, that didn’t seem like slavery to me, but it is a fairy tale.

I think kids should go see Aladdin because it’s only an hour, there are some funny parts, and the dancers did a good job.  

Anderson Garrett is a first grader at Washington Elementary; he has taken creative dance class at Tanner Dance and tap at Janet Gray Studios.

Ballet West’s annual Family Series is designed to present a complete story ballet with just an hour running time. Ballet West II dancers perform alongside Ballet West Academy students in Aladdin through this Sunday, October 22nd: https://balletwest.org/events/aladdin2017.

OSBA presents BODYTRAFFIC

The Ogden Symphony Ballet Association (OSBA) kicked off their new Dance Series last Friday with a performance by L.A.-based BODYTRAFFIC. Rounding out OSBA’s annual presentations of Ballet West and the Utah Symphony, the new series will also feature Collage Dance Collective and Parsons Dance in early 2018.

It’s a trek from downtown Salt Lake up north to Weber State University’s Val A. Browning Center, but BODYTRAFFIC’s four-work, mixed bill proved ample justification for braving the traffic. (The show also featured SLC native and U of U alum Jessica Liu and fellow NCSA grad Lindsey Matheis!)

An aptly long-titled work by Barak Marshall opened the program: “And at midnight, the green bride floated through the village square…” was as strange and rambling as its name first let on. An exciting initial outburst of unison gesture sequences too quickly dispersed into two of the dancers speaking in fake accents into a microphone, describing specifically, and sexually, the preparation for a fish dish. This became the pattern for the rest of the dance -- captivating gesture bursts which quickly unravelled into narrative interjections that left me confused, rather than intrigued, by their randomness.

Every time the dancers re-entered for another round of unison gestures, the repetitive structure of the phrase they returned to, its sharpness (and impeccable togetherness), and the movement motifs themselves complemented the musical structure so well (as noted in the program, the music for the piece was an assemblage of Jewish love songs and hymns in the Yiddish, Ladino, and Yemenite traditions). While the gestures weren’t accompanied by much lower body movement -- just simple side-steps and drops into lunges -- they triggered a kinesthetic involvement. I felt my investment in the dance wander when, one by one, the women were mysteriously “killed” by the men and slid backwards off a bench, and when a woman hopped around with her feet secured to a board.

Marshall’s mother, Margalit Oved, is also an artist and the dance is based on a story about her family’s neighbors in Yemen. I would love to know more about this story and how it is woven into the narrative Marshall has constructed; upon my first viewing, its disjointed fragmentation gave an impression of many false endings.

Stijn Celis' "Fragile Dwellings", courtesy of BODYTRAFFIC website.

Stijn Celis’ “Fragile Dwellings” was a lovely study in serenity, not unlike a dream from start to finish. Clad in all-white, on a hazy stage cut by beams of light, a series of soloists swept, reached, and spiraled fluidly to soaring choral music, and then in silence. A fourth soloist began and then, just as I had the fleeting impression that the structure had become monotonous, the other three appeared as if conjured by my thoughts. The four dancers wove amongst one another, lightly taking hands and gently partnering. The final image of “Fragile Dwellings”, two watching while another supported Lindsey Matheis in a lush backbend, served to extend the dance’s spectral suspension long past when the curtain fell. Celis, whose name was new to me, showcased an incredible knack for crafting liminal magic with choreographic elements that might seem obvious in another setting.  

Victor Quijada's "Once again, before you go", courtesy of BODYTRAFFIC website.

Until this show, I’d yet to see Victor Quijada’s work performed live. “Once again, before you go” was an excellent formal introduction, as it encapsulated everything I anticipated from the creator of hip-hop/modern dance crossover company RUBBERBANDance. An opening duet for two men was the ideal mashup of contemporary and break dance techniques. I found that the combination of the two also affected my interpretation of the men’s onstage relationship; while in either form, there are expected ways that two males might be presented together (for example, a relationship duet in a contemporary setting and a rivalry in break dancing), the blurring of the two provided a new take on how two men could exist together in performance.

The dancers always had their hands splayed wide: like starfish ready to receive and connect, giving them an air of trepidation mixed with confidence in their transitions from move to move, especially when partnering. I assume this comes from break dancing, hands held out to absorb and anticipate contact with the floor -- it had an intriguing effect transposed to the vertical.

At the end of “Once again, before you go,”, a side beam dramatically illuminated a dancer scooped up by two more; she was held aloft for a brief second before the lights cut to black. The image was striking, but its effect was also due to timing: if it had been any other dance you’ve ever seen, the end probably wouldn’t have come for awhile longer. Here, Quijada placed it unexpectedly, and its suddenness was breathtaking.

Richard Siegal's "o2Joy", courtesy of BODYTRAFFIC website.

BODYTRAFFIC’s program up to this point consisted mostly of “serious dance” -- enjoyable, certainly, but cerebral all the same. Sensibly programmed, “o2Joy” by Richard Siegal closed the show with a gleeful romp set to jazz classics like Ella Fitzgerald’s “All of Me.” Sock slides, a tombé coupé jeté circle, and the spirit of hamming it up all found their places in this finale. A solo lip-syncer elicited many laughs from the audience as he refused to fully exit the stage time after time. As a different sort of mashup, Siegal wove together a fun blend of technical kicks, turns, and partnering with sock-hop-style hip twists and flapping hands.

After a bit of meandering, the ending image of “o2joy” was also surprising, as a woman melted at the knees in the hands of her partner.

The entire evening was a delight, and so were the exceptional dancers of BODYTRAFFIC. Kudos to the OSBA for the new programmatic endeavor, and I hope it sticks. Looking forward to their spring offerings, and to seeing more Salt Lake folks up at WSU.

Amy Falls is the development coordinator at Ballet West, and manages loveDANCEmore’s online journal. If you’re interested in adding your voice to the community conversation by covering a show, please email her at amy@lovedancemore.org.

Brine: Disembodied We

Brine’s Disembodied We (presented by Repertory Dance Theatre's Link Series) was performed to a sellout crowd on Friday at the Rose Wagner’s Leona Wagner Black Box, one of my favorite venues. It was lovely to see the theatre filled with an enthusiastic audience. “Take your own interpretations from the works presented and glean your own meanings from what you witness,” exhorted Ashley Creek in the program notes; and so, I will venture to do so.

“A.D. Part Two: Terra”, choreographed by Creek, set the evening off to an intriguing start, with two masked faces peeking out from behind black curtains. They parted to reveal a sea of shimmering black-clad bodies and masked faces, and … yet another black curtain. That too parted. The dancers moved and drummed insistently on the floor, as they rolled, pulled and pushed, leapt and gesticulated. As a lone, unmasked dancer gestured repeatedly in the foreground, the masked crowd seemed to be both menacing and supportive in turns. It simultaneously evoked the facades we wear to smooth our daily social interactions and, at the same time, there was a hint of the aggression with impunity empowered by anonymity of the mask, as on internet message boards. When the masked dancers marched up along the aisles to engage the audience in an intense turbulent conversation, it was a powerful moment, if somewhat overwrought. It indicated that this was a sequel to another work, which this viewer has not had the pleasure of watching. As in Greek theatre, the masks with the exaggerated expressions were successful in inducing dread and disquiet that the music and the mostly-dim lighting also amplified.

At the very end of the piece, the dancers threw their masks with just a split second in which to reveal themselves and one wondered: was it joy, was it triumph; what did they reveal?

Monica Campbell’s “Passage” commenced with Lady Liberty's immortal words:

“Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

As music by Warsaw Village Band rose in plaintive notes, dancers gracefully promenaded across the floor, conjuring an unmistakable imagery of loss, regret, and longing for what lies behind whilst still looking toward the hope of the future: the epitome of every immigrant's journey. A lyrical piece, it also possessed subtle hints at the support structures, or lack thereof, for these communities within unfamiliar mores of the new land -- like safety nets that at once protect and stifle. A sense of the struggle to fit in, and then of eventual assimilation, was echoed by the physical movements of the dancers.

The exceptional item of the evening followed: Alicia Trump's “Gaslighting Blatherskites" was nothing short of brilliant, at least for this reviewer. Two dancers performed in perfect synchrony to minimal yet stirring music, with aptly chosen snippets of audio from presidential campaign debates past. Together, these elements rendered a masterful portrayal of sound-byte culture, the lack of nuanced or sustained discussion in debates, and the arguments that consume our current political and social discourse. With unceasing dynamism, pithy messaging, unimpeachably adroit choreography and equally exquisite execution that had me glued to the edge of my seat wanting more, this was one of the stand-out pieces of the concert for me. It would be hard to provide a narrative description of the movement in this chimerical piece; one had to see it to experience it. 'Do you feel safe, I don't feel so safe...' in the voice of our current President Trump -- the words trailed off as the lights went out.

Gina Terrell’s “Kwashiorkor” (or, serious malnutrition caused by lack of protein) highlighted the plight of starving children the world over, and juxtaposed images of hunger and need in the background with the soft grace of giving in the foreground. Appearing first in bare leotards, women writhed, angst-ridden, embodying a state of famine; then, the imagery evolved to that of plenty, and perhaps even of waste, as they danced to grain falling from the sky. This conveyed eloquently that it is not an absence of plenty but rather plenty of absence that allows millions to go undernourished. The piece was well-conceived, though the images of starving African children  seemed a tad bit overt, and trite. Certainly, it tugged at the heartstrings of my inner maternal persona. I wonder if they could have achieved the same effect with different, more subtle symbolism.

After the intermission, “What breaks us” by Sara Pickett explored how emotional bulwarks are erected and broken, and illustrated the effect of conformity, of complacence, and the stimulus needed to perhaps lurch us out of these malingering states into one of active response. The bare minimum soundscape for the choreography was intriguing and novel. The idea was well-envisaged, but the execution felt a little less energetic than one might have hoped for.

Symmer Andrew’s “Fragments” began with a video of dancers individually emoting to the camera, first in night-time surroundings, followed by a gathering on a grassy lawn. Shortly thereafter the dancers descended onto the stage in the same configuration, accompanied by live music (which was somewhat unsettling: intentionally so, I suspect). I confess, I was somewhat confounded by this piece, unsure of how to interpret it. While there certainly was an element of chaos as indicated by the title, the intent behind it was ambiguous, and eluded an easy elucidation in my mind.

The final item of the evening, “Lucy (Part 1)” by LAJAMARTIN, was a high-energy, technically demanding disquisition of the early origins of human civilization. A glimpse of early encounters with wild animals, the fear response, tribal bonding and rivalry, and the seeking of shelter from the elements were all beautifully illustrated in a power-packed performance of muscular, gasp-inducing moves. The dancers prowled, hunted, beat with sticks, leapt into the air, landed low on the ground; it was all incredibly athletic. Every facet that goes into the presentation of performing arts -- audio, lighting, costuming, specials effects (i.e., snow falling and blowing like a blizzard like in this piece) -- along with the sheer grace and vigorous dexterity of the dancers was optimally employed in this intimate theatre setting. It capped off a thoroughly enjoyable evening on a high note.

Overall, Disembodied We was a moving, thought-provoking, and entertaining experience to be savoured for this somewhat unschooled viewer of modern dance. It inspires me to bring the same sensibility to the milieu of classical Indian dance forms that I am more familiar with. Kudos to RDT and Brine for a well-produced, wisely curated evening.

Srilatha Singh is a Bharatanatyam artiste and the director of Chitrakaavya Dance. While interested in encouraging excellence in her art form, she is also keenly compelled to explore relevance and agency through the artistic medium.