Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

Just before I started writing this post I realised that I was about to repeat myself. Yet again I was going to write how I was jogging the other night when I suddenly thought of something I’d read a few days before. I don’t like repeating myself, but I have noticed that most of the ideas I come up with for my posts arrive during times of physical exercise, whether that be riding my bike, jogging or walking.

So, the other day whilst out running a thought suddenly assaulted me. By which I mean that this mental intruder jumped out from a nearby bush, blocked my path, forced me to perform an emergency stop and delivered a storm of blows to my whole self for which I was, sadly, unprepared. The result was that for the rest of my run I was mentally bruised and desperate to avenge myself. I’m hoping that with today’s post I’ll be settling the score with the intrusive thought. You, fellow bloggers and readers, will the judges.

Nijinsky: mad genius or misunderstood creator?

An article that appeared in the London Review of Books recently (Half Snake, Half Panther by JamesDavidson) attempted to throw some light on the unfortunate fate suffered by the genius ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky. Charting his rapid ascension to fame as part of the Ballets Russes, the company directed by Serge de Diaghilev, the piece was not just an excellent analysis of Nijinsky’s achievements and misfortunes but also a good insight into the mind of the troubled artist. Especially, the artist gone mad.

Nijinsky’s final performance before being committed to an asylum took place at the Suvretta House Hotel in Budapest, Hungary. In front of an audience of two hundred people, the creator of L’Après-midi d’un faune, sat in silence staring at them. After half an hour he began to dance, but not to a set routine. His movements were unpredictable and wild. According to Mr Davidson, Nijinsky “laid a velvet cross on the floor and stood at its crosspoint with arms outstretched. He then proceeded to dance the First World War.” His encore saw him facing the wall and making strange movements.

Thus, Nijinsky’s “moment of madness” had arrived. Madness that had been accelerated by Diaghilev’s rejection of him when the latter found out the dancer had married the Hungarian socialite Romola de Pulszky (Nijinsky and Diaghilev had been in a relationship years earlier). Reading the article again for the purpose of this post I thought of a different reason for Nijinsky’s mental instability. My theory does not override James’s analysis at all; it merely expands on it. Besides, my totally unscientific proposition is based on what I’ve come to observe in and accept from what we have come to know as “the artist as a crazy genius”.

What if Nijinsky, like many other artists, had made an imaginary map, a map that signified the territory their art had created and struggled with the idea that not everyone would be able to navigate freely on that map? A piece of art, whether it is a choreography, a musical score, or a sculpture demands a rather intimate level of commitment from those to whom it is directed. When you, as an artist, are in the process of building this imaginary map, you must accept that between conception and completion, reality will set in and your map might look and feel utterly different to what you expected or believed it to be. This can be rather disappointing for many artists, but it becomes really frustrating if the audience (your audience) “gets lost” whilst traversing your map. For Nijinsky the answer to this question arrived on the night that he premiered The Rite of the Spring. We all know what happened that night at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. What is less known is that the audience didn’t have any problems with the musical score (after all, Stravinsky was able to play the entire piece a few days after without any interruptions) but with the choreography. Traditionalists were outraged, critics were divided over it and the attending public didn’t know what to think so many joined forces with the traditionalists. Unsurprisingly, Nijinsky fell out of favour with Diaghilev who thought the world was not ready for the former’s ballets. As a consequence Diaghilev spoke to the dancer’s sister, Nijinska, and asked her to advise her brother to take a sabbatical.

Was, then, Nijinsky’s madness partly a case of his art being misunderstood as opposed to mere pathology? If art lovers are used to a certain type of map, what happens when their cardinal points are dislocated? What happens if north suddenly becomes west and a desert is no longer barren land, but the depth of an ocean?

I am not suggesting that there is a causal link between madness and art (or vice versa as some of you will rush to say). Plenty of artists go through life without ever paying a visit to a sanatorium. However, the history of art is full of creators who, sadly, lost their minds for various reasons. Lack of acknowledgement at the time they existed has always been one of those elements. Art is not just an ability we possess, but also a skill we develop through life. A reader who rejects a writer’s ability to create an alternative map; a ballet enthusiast who refuses to engage with a choreographer’s futuristic vision; they are not merely stating an opinion (for opinions are there to be expressed freely since we all have them) but also violating – albeit unconsciously – the artist’s individual human experience. No wonder, some artists go mad. It is this dichotomy of creating, first for him/herself, and then including an imaginary public. Here, of course, I’m referring to those artists for whom there is no such thing as “target audience”. If you are an author or a musician who knows which levers to tweak in order to get a reaction – and acclaim – from your “crowd”, then, this post is not for you. If you, on the other hand, have drawn or are in the process of drawing your own map, Nijinsky’s tale is a cautionary one. Even if a little bit of madness in the arts world is welcome every now and then.

© 2013

Next Post: “Of Literature and Other Abstract Thoughts”, to be published on Tuesday 22^nd October at 11:59pm (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections, Music and Dance

Spring is the most terpsichorean of seasons. The way flowers suddenly sprout from trees that were bare just a few days ago has the same magical quality of a grand jeté or one of Chango’s somersaults. This is the time of the year when daffodils crane their necks, like ballerinas, to peer upwards at the still let’s-play-hide-and-seek sun. Birds stage their own version of the X Factor and nature slowly awakens from its stupor. Like a dancer, nature stretches its cramped muscles, atrophied by what this year has been an endless cold snap.

Spring in my garden

Performers are show-offs. It’s one of the unwritten rules we all learn the minute we put on our leotards, tracksuit bottoms or shorts. We want to be seen, we want to be acknowledged and if praise is also given, then, it’s a hat-trick for us. Spring is the same. It boasts the smell of the first blossoms, the sensual, effervescent energy of animals leaping about after spending months in their winter lair and the melodic whistles of winged creatures. No wonder spring’s one of my favourite seasons together with autumn. But, whilst the latter’s beauty lies in its slow demise and the colours it uses to draw its death, the former conjures up life at the snap of its green fingers. The early morning chill is usually replaced by the welcoming warmth of the afternoon sun. And in the midst of this beautiful madness it’s not rare to come across butterflies challenging each other in a dance-off.

Yes, for one season only, nature becomes Terpsichore, choral song included.

This is “see you later” from me. As usual I will go into hibernation for a whole month. There won’t be much activity on my blog because I will be away from my computer almost totally. Thanks for your comments and support. I wish you all a happy Easter break!

© 2013

Photo taken by the blog author

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 28th April at 10am (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections, Music and Dance

When news first reached me of the death of Apple's trail-blazing wizard, Steven Jobs, a few days ago, I had just completed the first two-hundred pages of Naomi Klein's brilliant and eye-opening book "The Shock Doctrine". Somehow Steven's image as a quasi-messianic entrepeneur blended with the same God-like appeal that Milton Friedman, chief architect of the "laissez-faire" free-market approach, had for decades. I'm not implying they're directly linked. Jobs and Friedman were as similar to each other as a fish and a football are. One was an economist with a strong dislike for central government, the other one was a creative visionary and aesthete. But there were certain parallels between them in that they were both products of the same socioeconomic system which enabled them to pursue analogous goals, albeit in different ways.

For instance, my first brush with one Job's creations, the Apple Mac, came fortuitously eight years ago when I began to work in the arts. There were just a couple of PCs in the office and they were in constant use. That meant that the only machine available was a Mac that belonged to the Chief Executive.

As an uninitiated to one of Jobs' babies I found the computer hard to operate and it frustrated me no end, if truth be told. However, even I had to admit that the Mac's soft, smooth, curved, white box design was a wonder at which to marvel. Besides, since I was neither a visual artist, nor a musician, the machine was not primarily made for me. The myriad menus that allowed composers to mix and re-mix their pieces and photographers to muck around with images were some of the reasons why people parted with their hard-earned cash for this piece of sophisticated machinery.

The other reasons had to do with Jobs' vision. One where the consumer was supposed to reign unchallenged. Also, it was a world where the "i" in his products (iPod, iPhone, iPad), in my view, symbolised the individual, the "I can do" attitude, a sentiment that was vindicated by the many hundreds who always flocked to the unveiling of a new Apple product. Never mind the fact that Steve's company was not what you could consider as niche; having an iPod set you apart from the herd.

In that sense, Friedman's focus on the individual was not a lot different, even if his modus operandi was. According to Naomi Klein, Milton's political and economic trademark was "privatization, government deregulation and deep cuts to social spending". In order to achieve these goals he prescribed the same universal medicine to attentive audiences the world over: shock therapy.

The effects of his ideas are everywhere to see, from Chile to Iraq. Countries with massive debts, people living below the poverty line and corrupt governments. Ultimately the clearest example of Friedman's philosophy was the role of the individual in society. And by individual, read corporations. Unlike Steve Jobs, though, who tapped into a person's individuality, Milton plumped for a more rapacious individualism.

Individuality vs individualism. The former is innate, the latter is nurtured. Capitalism at its best knows how to take full advantage of a person's individual power. It creates a platform where this person can thrive. The challenge is to make this person conscious of the collective/society in which he or she lives and therefore the duties and responsibilities that come with investing capital and making a profit.

By the way, this is not an ode to capitalism or private property, but an acknowledgement to the spirit of adventure and enterprise that Steve Jobs represented. The late Apple founder didn't just create computers and software, he made them sexy. Before him, sitting in front of a computer (a PC, more likely) was a task to be endured. That is, until the arrival of the internet and youtube. All those clips of cats falling over helped us while the hours away on a rainy Saturday afternoon at work.

By contrast, Friedman's entrepreneurial credentials left an indelible mark in countries such as Russia and Argentina, to mention but two. Although his hands didn't get stained with the blood of the victims who were on the wrong side of his ideas, he aggressively pursued a "slash and burn" agenda which in the end gave us Tiannamen Square.

This is not to say that Steve Jobs was a saint whilst Milton was an evil person. They both set out to make money, as much and as quick as possible. In Friedman's case you could even say that there was an altruistic and internationalist streak as he went beyond the geographical borders of his native USA to try to export his ideas to the rest of the world. That his thesis was based on an almost total annihilation of the state was his ruthless and selfish "Mr Hyde" persona lurking in the background. As for Jobs, there have long been accusations of poor working conditions in some of his overseas factories, with one in China being dubbed "i-Nightmare".

However, it is the dilemma of export/import of ideas that first made reflect on both men and the influence they cast and continue to cast on our contemporary society. More specifically, it's the type of capitalism spoused by Friedman that made me think of Cuba.

At the moment my beloved island finds itself on a crossroads. One side points at more government control with the sad, possible outcome of insurgency in the long-term, the other path indicates openness and laxity. The problem with the latter is at what price? If history is anything to judge by, Russia, China and Poland are living testimonies of what happens when former totalitarian states want to experiment with the free market and Friedman's economic electroshock. The result is less democracy and more individualism. My option would be more openness and more opportunities for the many "Steve Jobs" we have in Cuba. This was the man, lest we forget, who made corporations respectable at a time when Nike, McDonald's, Shell and many others were taking a knock from the anti-globalisation and anti-poverty movement. Yet, whilst people railed against sweatshops, they kept texting away on their brand-new iPhones.

Markets cannot be left alone to run our economy any more than we can expect a child not to make a mess if we leave them alone with a set of watercolours and brushes. Milton Friedman and his Chicago School gang were wrong in that respect, in my opinion. What we can actively do with our economy is encourage individuals to grow more daring, to unlock their creative potential and to challenge themselves in a way that will bring some kind of benefit to society; whether their motives are still profit-making or not. Even if you still get renegades like yours truly who's never owned an Apple product in his life.

© 2011

Next Post: “Living in a Bilingual World (The One About Endangered Languages”, to be published on Wednesday 19th October at 11:59pm (GMT)

Vertical Road (Review)

"I died from minerality and became vegetable;
And from vegetativeness I died and became animal,
I died from animality and became man.
Then why fear disappearance through death?
Next time I shall die
Bringing forth wings and feathers like angels;
After that, soaring higher than angels -
What you cannot imagine,
I shall be that."

Rumi (Persian poet and philosopher)

It could have gone so wrong for Akram Khan's latest work, 'Vertical Road'. With its nod to Sufi traditions, its lack of script but abundance of isolated ideas, Khan's new choreography could have come across as an alienating and pretentious piece of pseudo-art. Instead, though, the innovative director has created yet another masterpiece which will definitely take its place next to his very own magnum opuses 'Sacred Monsters' (featuring ballerina Sylvie Guillem) and 'zero degrees' (a collaboration with fellow performer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, sculptor Antony Gormley and musician Nitin Sawhney).

Coincidentally, it's Sawhney's score that underlines this, at times delicate and at times disturbing, piece (second clip below). A Jesus-lookalike dancer, Salah El Brogy, stands behind a large screen on one side of the stage. On the other side seven dancers reach out to this god-like presence. Are they on a quest to find their spirituality? Is El Brogy their collective past? For the next hour or so the performers go from one extreme to the other, from convulsive, jerky movements to more lyrical and poetic ones, thus, bringing a much needed vulnerability to a choreography that has a visceral and raw outlook.

According to Akram Khan (first clip below), the inspiration for 'Vertical Road' came from his own questioning about the need for spirituality in today's world. Hence the upwards movements representing the quest towards a more unembodied approach to our lives, whilst the horizontal motions stand for our lives as we know them. But that's as far as any coherent theory about this work goes. The piece has a life of its own. I would dare to say that in the same way Pollock allowed his brushes to do the talking for him in his abstract works (all that spilling paid off in the end, methinks), Khan uses his eight dancers' energy and strength to explore issues such as collective past, violence and love.

The music is loud, raw and brutal and, mixed with an almost bare stage, complements perfectly the spiritual message Khan is intent on conveying. Yet, inside this musical onslaught theres is a discernible frailty. I wasn't surprised when (spoiler alert!!!) the screen is ripped at the end.

When I read Rumi's poem in the programme before the show I prepared myself for an abstract piece where the place spirituality occupies in the world nowadays would be given a metaphorical interpretation by Khan's eight dancers. At the end of the show I realised that the person 'performing' the figure of speech was Akram himself. In my opinion he was explaining what his mission as an artist was. 'Vertical Road' was his way of saying "Next time I shall die (...)What you cannot imagine, I shall be that."

© 2010

Next Post: 'Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum', to be published on Thursday 11th November at 11:59pm (GMT)

Insane in the Brain (Review)

There are instances of artistic audacity that would bewilder even the strongest advocate for culture and creativity. For instance, what do you when you are presented with a piece based on a novel written by one of the most famous counter-cultural figures in US literature? Or when said book spawns a successful Broadway adaptation starring Kirk Douglas and Gene Wilder? Or when the play is then turned into a multi-award-winning movie, including best picture, best director and best actor?

And yet this is what the Swedish company 'Bounce' did with 'Insane in the Brain', a choreography based on "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". This is a title that one associates more with Jack Nicholson's free-spirited McMurphy going to war against the strict rule imposed by Louise Fletcher's Nurse Ratched than with streetdance.

Using the same psychiatric hospital setting, the hip-hop company's piece depicts the grim environment in which inmates are kept. As it happens in the novel, play and film, they are all under the rule of the cold and sadistic nurse Mildred Ratched. One day, a new patient, Randall Patrick McMurphy is transferred from a criminal unit to the mental institution since there is uncertainty about his diagnosis. From the beginning, when introductions are made, both guards and hospital residents are aware that the new arrival poses a challenge to Nurse Ratched's omnipotent governance. What follows after is a battle where human rights, society's miopia and misconceptions about mental illness all have leading roles.

Bounce is a rather unusual streetdance company in that their dramatic range works as well as their dance skills. To say that they are amazing performers would be mild to the extreme. The level of creativity, vision and risk-taking are formidable. And although there are references in the piece that are not suitable for a family-orientated matinee (oral sex, the 'f' word gratuitously used, a love-making scene that lasted far too long), the mix of different media and the bold approach to street dance are brilliant.

But there's another knock-on effect brought unwittingly by 'Insane in the Brain' (a title borrowed from the Cypress Hill track that is included in the show): maybe this is hip-hop's 'Philipic' moment. In the same way that Demosthenes raged against Philip of Macedon (hence the name) in the 4th century B.C., streetdance has been steadily and consistently raising its voice against the establishment. 'Insane in the Brain' is just the latest instalment of a trend that has seen the popular urban genre move away from its origins in 70s New York and adopt a more experimental and challenging style. In the last few years we've had Zoo Nation's 'Into the Hoods' (inspired by 'Little Red Riding Hood') showing off its street credo to full houses in the West End. Last December my wife and I took our children, not to a traditional Christmas pantomime of the 'He's behind you!' variety, but to Boy Blue Entertainment's 'Pied Piper' (based on the 'Pied Piper of Hamelin') at the Barbican. Again, the company performed to a sell-out crowd. What the two aforementioned shows have in common is that they have delved into the world of fairy tales, a literary style that one might not see at first as a match for the display of strength, speed and dexterity that hip-hop demands. And if we step away from dance for just a nanosecond and go into music, the fairy tale genre also features in urban music. In MC Solaar's 2001 album 'Cinquième As' the song 'La Belle et le Bad Boy' is a reworking of 'Beauty and the Beast', the only difference is that 'la Bête' is a criminal and the 'beauty' gets killed in the end as a consequence of following him ('Des projectiles partent quand une BM freine/Quand elle tombe, il a les larmes aux yeux/Deux balles de 22. Vingt deux ans adieu/Le contexte est plus fort que le concept/Son mec s'est jette dans les flammes il faut qu'il se lave avec'). More Bonnie and Clyde than Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve but you get the gist: hip-hop has raised its game.

Moreover, the stories from which Zoo Nation, Boy Blue Entertainment and Bounce have drawn their inspiration - whether they be fairy tales or counter-culture masterpieces - mirror streetdance's position in the performing arts world. Like Little Red, hip-hop has had to brave its way through the woods in order to arrive at, share and enjoy the spotlight with all the other dance styles. 'Insane in the Brain' could very well be depicting urban dance in the form of McMurphy rebelling against the narrow-mindedness of officials who tend to look down on streetdance as a lower category of bodily motion.

Bounce has created a truly spectacular show where each routine seems to outsmart the previous one. The beginning of the show depicting the symptoms of split personality condition is highly imaginative. The nightime bed choreography reminded me of the start of Pink Floyd's 'Money' in terms of synchronisation and harmony. The electro-shock sequence, set to System of a Down's 'P.L.U.C.K', conveys the pain and horror of a practice that was considered normal until a few decades ago. And while we're on the music, the tracks selected for the piece show how versatile this company is. They don't restrict themselves to just hip-hop melodies. From Mongo Santamaria's 'Watermelon Man' to Astor Piazzola's 'Libertango', Bounce shows an extraordinary ability to incorporate different rhythms into its routine .

The mad energy of 'Insane in the Brain' is a good example of how streetdance can be edgy and enterprising at the same time. Being deliriously bonkers never felt so good.

© 2010

Note: I've uploaded three clips so that you can experience Bounce's creative power to the max. The first one is a promotional video by Sadler's Wells Theatre prior to the premiere of 'Insane in the Brain' in 2008. The second and third ones are extracts from the piece. I hope you enjoy them.

Next Post: 'Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum', to be published on Thursday 15th July at 11:59pm (GMT)

Danza Contemporánea de Cuba (Review)

According to the Cuban choreographer, Santiago Alfonso, 'when Cubans dance, they do it in the same cheeky and insolent way in which they live'. Small wonder, then, that I used that quote last summer to welcome visitors to my space. It sums up pretty accurately our passion for dancing.

And this is not just translated into predictable genres like salsa, cha cha cha or mambo for instance. But as demonstrated by the recent performances of Danza Contemporánea de Cuba (Cuba's Contemporary Dance Company) at Sadler's Wells, it is also transposed into more experimental and difficult styles. CDC's two nights at Sadler's Wells were a golden opportunity for dance lovers to become acquainted with the work of a company that has a reputation as a trailblazer.

The genesis for this notoriety can be traced back to the long vision of choreographers like Ramiro Guerra and Eduardo Rivero. The former introduced the Graham technique in Cuba as well as conducting extensive research into Cuba's rich African folklore and linking it to dance. The latter choreographed two of CDC's most famous works: Sulkary and Okantomí. The result is a company that is not afraid to be adventurous and the beneficiary of this daring approach last Saturday was a knowledgeable audience who rewarded the performers at the end of the show with the applause they thoroughly deserved.

Casi-Casa, a piece by Swedish choreographer Mats Ek, explored the dynamics within a house. The beginning reminded me of Bob Geldof's character Pink, in the movie 'Pink Floyd The Wall', more specifically the scene where he invites a groupie to his trailer and remains motionless, plonked in front of the telly as the first notes of 'One of My Turns' are playing. In CDC's case, though, there was no room-wrecking, only a similarly alienated dancer whose face was lit up by the constant glare of the television set he'd been watching. The tempo and pace of this first piece were slow and measured. The dancers' movements smooth and almost gymnastic. Each turn was carefully performed like a peacock showing off its feathers. I was also glad to see the whole of the stage being used. There are dance companies that think that the only dancing you do is supposed to take place at the front. There was, too, a brilliant combination of grotesque and romantic elements: a couple arguing over - apparently - house arrangements and ending up with a burned baby (cue nervous laughs in the audience and coup de grâce for choreographer); dancers going bananas with Hoovers; a duet (man and woman) utilising a door as yet another phrase in their amorous interaction; a trio (all men) blending tenderly with each other until one of them decides to withdraw leaving behind scornful glances.

As a small nod to that part of the audience who were, maybe, expecting a slice of more 'authentic' Cuban dance (whatever that means), Mambo 3XX1, choreographed by George Cespedes, provided a free-style feast of bottom-wriggling, chest-flaunting and pelvis-thrusting. But underneath that veneer of mambo-suffused explosion and tropical heat, there lay one of the most thought-provoking narratives I've seen for a long time. The first 8-10 minutes presented seven lines of three dancers each who, in military-style, executed a mambo routine a couple of beats slower than the traditional rhythm. Any Afro-Cuban or Cuban popular dance tutor would have queried this novel way of performing a genre that is renowned for its syncopated beat. In contrast with Casi-Casa, the movements were sharp, angular and short. In addition, the steps and (hilarious) missteps were carried out robotically. The dancers' faces said it all, they were full of boredom, apathy and resignation. The release arrived in the second part of the choreography when the performers changed their black and white uniforms for ordinary clothes and indulged in free-style dancing. To me the message conveyed was about nations (or a nation, Cuba, as I interpreted it) getting stuck in a rut and not allowing its younger members the freedom to express themselves.

My only criticism is that the company did not bring more work from its extensive and rich repertoire to this UK tour (other than Folia and that piece was not part of the programme I watched last Saturday). I strongly believe that had CDC decided to pull out a piece like the aforementioned 'Sulkary' from its magical hat, or the Phillip Glass-sountracked 'Cuida De No Caer', then dance reviewers like Jenny Gilbert in The Independent would have had no reason to assume that, 'Danza Contemporanea de Cuba is surely misguided in looking to Europe and its glum conceptualist ways. Rather than hanker to be Rambert or NDT, it should stick with its own USP.'

Memo to Jenny: Danza Abierta, Danza Retazos and Danza Contemporánea de Cuba, three examples amongst some other Cuban contemporary dance companies that combine tradition with avantgarde successfully. Or as Santiago Alfonso would have it, cheekiness with insolence.

My thanks to Havana Cultura and especially Krista Booker for their support.

Photo taken from Como No





Next Post: 'Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music', to be published on Sunday 28th March at 10am (GMT)

Yesterday by the Jasmin Vardimon Company (Review)

Of all the art forms, I believe dance to be the most ephemeral. Although plays equally depend on a stage to come alive, there's usually a manuscript that ensures lasting legacy, otherwise how would we know about Shakespeare and Molière? Paintings are created and displayed in museums or arts centres around the world. Photographs are framed and hung for the amusement of many an aficionado. But dance is evanescent. I'm not talking about pieces for television or cinema, or choreographies that are filmed at a particular venue and then shown on the box. I'm referring to the pure, unadulterated experience of watching dance in a theatre. Just any kind of dance: contemporary, African or African-derived, experimental, classic ballet. To me, the instant the curtain falls, all I'm left with is the memory of the soloist's technique, or the togetherness displayed by the supporting cast.

This fleeting aspect of dance's make-up should not, however, be taken as a sign of failure. A good choreographer's observational experience will influence his or her audience, sometimes leaving them marked by a particular piece. And that was the case with Jasmin Vardimon when I recently saw her insightful work 'Yesterday' at The Place in Euston, London. Jasmin used her latest choreography to look back on her company's ten-year career. Along the way she revisited characters from previous pieces, which resulted in a tour de force where amazing duets and dazzling solos combined with video and animation to regale the spectator a passionate, physical and intellligent story.

Although it was the first time I had seen the Jasmin Vardimon Company - and it won't be the last one, I hope - the retrospective element did not floor me. On the contrary, dance has a peculiar way of exercising collective memory; thus, some of the themes explored by 'Yesterday' were familiar: the woman who self-harms, the über-patriotic Englishman, the couple whose burning house symbolises the collapse of their domestic bliss. These are topics that are addressed in both a dramatic and humorous way.

Jasmin grew up in Israel and for many years trained as a gymnast. It was only by chance that she was spotted by a ballet teacher and from then on her love affair with dance started. Having being conscripted for two years' compulsory military service, she trained as a psychological interviewer. This task allowed her to develop a very observant nature which has served her well in developing her own work. As she herself has stated: '... the fascinatign reality of this job was that it exposed me to an incredible wealth of human stories and personal histories; harrowing, haunting, jubilant - a melting pot of real human experiences.'

That these experiences have informed her work well is beyond dispute. However, if we take into account the debate going on in the dance world in the UK nowadays about women's role in this art form, the future presents many hurdles for the likes of Jasmin Vardimon were they to get the recognition they rightly deserve. This situation reached its apogee recently when Dance Umbrella, Britain's flagship dance festival, hosted a debate entitled, rather ominously, 'Where Are All the Women?'. It was a sell-out.

It is a strange situation, though, because dance's profile in the UK has grown considerably in the last few years. And at the time of writing this review, one of the more popular programmes on telly on Saturday evening is BBC1's 'So You Think You Can Dance'. But look closely and the male names will start jumping at you like wild salmon leaping out of a river. Matthew Bourne (and his innovative all-male 'Swan Lake'), Russell Maliphant and his extensive, experimental collaborations, Mark Baldwin and his highly influential Ballet Rambert; these are some of the figures leading the way currently in the UK'S dance sphere. The main reason for their success is not just their quality, for they have it aplently, but also the type of work they produce: bombastic, bona fide box-office-hit and large-scale.

In contrast, female choreographers such as Jasmin Vardimon focus more on personal life stories, with a lower profile and a more emotionally-driven agenda. Is this a gender issue? Maybe, there are some indicators I can see: physicality (men are more willing to rip off their clothes to show off their six-packs), marketability (men are better at promoting themselves to choreographers), ratio (with more women than men taking up dance as a career it doesn't take a genius to figure out who will reap better results in the long-term) and opportunism (many of the trailblazers of the early 20th century were women, but it was men who took over and cashed in on the success of their female counterparts' experimental styles). There are many more indicators of which I can think, but these will suffice for now. Also, I am not passing any judgement on the ones I mentioned before.

The Jasmin Vardimon Company, however, goes some way to redress this imbalance. 'Yesterday' had a very proportionate amount of brawn and brain and you'll notice that when you watch the clip below. Its lack of central narrative was, in the words of the choreographer, the biggest challenge. And yet, as Jasmin stated:'... in turn, this allowed a freedom in itself. In 'Yesterday', the location is my memory'.

And mine. And yours.

To find out more about the Jasmin Vardimon Company's current UK tour, click here.



Next Post: 'Living in a Bilingual World', to be published on Thursday 11th February at 11:59pm (GMT)

Ballet Rambert (Dance Review)

One of the aspects of dance that appeals to me the most is the opportunity it gives its practitioners to transform themselves into any object or person they want to be by merely using their bodies. Whilst this is also true of theatre on certain occasions, it is in dance and its emphasis on physical expression sans mots where one can best appreciate the body as a talking tool.

And Ballet Rambert is to me an apposite example.

Unlike my previous post about the famous troupe where I felt that the performance by Britain's 'premier contemporary dance company' (according to the programme notes) was under par, the matinee I attended with my wife and our two children a couple of weeks ago had everything you wanted from a dance spectacle, and still a bit more.

'Hush', the opening choregraphy of a two-piece programe, focused on a family of six: mum, dad and their four children during their night routine. The title hails from a famous lullaby that was included in a collaborative record by Bobby Mc Ferrin and the Japanese cellist Yo-yo Ma. The choreographer, Christopher Bruce, who was in charge of Ballet Rambert for eight years, sought inspiration for this piece on the album sleeve notes: 'Hush is a musical celebration of life - from youth to old age. While in so many ways this album speaks to children, it is equally true that perhaps its central goal, to use Bobby's (McFerrin) phrase is "to release the child in the adult"'. And it was this philosohy that underpinned the choreography. From the parents' struggle to juggle their responsibilities with their own 'me/us-time', to the children's nocturnal activies, this was a soul-warming piece. My favourite moment was the duet (at first, then turned into a trio) performed by the two brothers who were intent on catching a fly that had mysteriously sneaked into their bedroom. Bobby and Yo-Yo's infectious take on 'The Flight of the Bumblebee', had the audience enraptured whilst the skills and dexterity displayed by the two dancers on stage had us all on the edge of our seats, sweating profusely in admiration. After the two brothers chase the minuscule intruder for a long time they eventually give up, only for their younger sister to steal from behind them, jump up and bang! swallow the fly up in one gulp. Magical stuff indeed.

If 'Hush' rang true with many a parent in the audience (during the interval we all exchanged that kind of look that shouts out more than we can ever express with words) then the frantic razzmatazz that was 'A Linha Curva' (A Curved Line) was a welcome sight for those, like me, for whom sometimes dance is just about the pleasure of moving one's body until the last drop of sweat has been extracted. Twenty-eight dancers (including mum, dad and children from the first piece) filled up the stage at Sadlers Wells to give a fantastic demonstration of what happens when an Israeli choreographer travels to Brazil, comes back to work with a UK-based company and employs a Dutch quartet to play percussion. And if that is also a reflection of the multicultural city in which I live, I'm sure it was unintended, but I cannot have been the only member in the sell-out crowd who felt proud to live in such a wonderful city like London.

Twenty-eight rippling torsos, fifty-six muscled legs, twenty-eight rotating pelvises and twenty-eight mini-micro, little, lychra unisex pants in an assortment of bright colours with black gauzy tops. That was 'A Linha Curva'. It was the closest you could get to a version of the Rio carnival in the month of May bang in the middle of London. Shaking, stomping, jumping, swirling, pirouetting. This piece had it all. What was the 'message' behind it? None. Correction, there was a message. Dance is life, and life is to be lived, so, let's live our life, together and in full view, preferable whilst wearing hotpants. If 'Hush' left parents in the foyer winking at each other metaphorically, 'A Linha Curva' had us all line-dancing in our heads long after the curtains had come down.

I will leave you with two clips. The first one is the aforementioned piece, 'A Linha Curva'. The second one is Bobby McFerrin and Yo-Yo Ma singing 'Hush'. I could not find a good clip of the actual choreography but I'm sure the music will still leave you in the same high spirits as the dance piece left me. Many thanks. Enjoy.



Next post: 'Song for a Summer Sunday Morning' to be published on Sunday 7th June at 10am (GMT)

Copyright 2009

Ballet Rambert on Tour: The Torturers Impress But the Victim Underperforms

'What cannot be said can be sung, and what cannot be sung can be danced.'

Martha Graham, American choreographer

Ballet Rambert was founded on the basis of a dynamic triangle: its body of dancers would create choreographers who would then be introduced to the more outstanding composers and designers of their time. This triumvirate was at the heart of their theatrical outlook and it still dazzles today.

Alas, that was not the case this time around.

Last Saturday 15th November I took my seat at the Sadler's Wells Theatre in Islington, north London, expecting to be swept away by the same bravura performance which has characterised my previous exposures to Ballet Rambert.

The programme consisted of two pieces, 'Swansong', Christopher Bruce's timeless 1987 classic and a new choregraphy, 'Eternal Light', a post-modernistic Requiem for the 21st century. Before each piece, though, Mark Baldwin, Rambert's current artistic director, took it upon himself to give us a little insight into the company's modus operandi. This was very welcomed as he had a group of contemporary dancer and classical ballet performers demonstrate to the attending public (including many children and youngsters) the main differences between both disciplines. It was only when his light-hearted and humourous approach permeated the seriousness of the first piece that I foresaw the disaster looming ahead.

'Swansong' is a three-men choreography that deals with torture, although it could also be taken as an allegory for any type of abuse or bullying. The first time I saw this piece was on video, my wife had an old copy of one of the first performances ever and I remember getting butterflies in my stomach as the choreography built towards its tragic finale.

On Saturday the torturers danced magnificently. Their sadistic homo-eroticism towards the hapless victim was believable and it was further punctuated by the repetition of tap dance steps which they then got the prisoner to replicate against his will. Their bent hands, supple limbs, stuck out backsides and sinuous figures seemed to mock the status quo, possibly because it was the status quo that had conferred upon them the right to behave (or misbehave) in such a sadistic way. The interaction between torturers and prisoner brought to mind pictures of 'A Clockwork Orange', the movie I have never been able to watch in its entirety in one sitting. Other images and thoughts that flashed through my mind were linked to Abu Ghraib, the Nazis, Pinochet's junta and Cuba's very own Villa Marista, a jail for mainly political prisoners in Havana, because it's not only in the US-controlled area of Guantanamo where innocents are castigated unjustly. Excesses do happen on the other side of the fence. The dancer performing the victim was not bad but he was not outstanding either. His solos were, in my opinion, devoid of vim and vigour and that ultimately affected the piece as a whole. It is not good to compare performers but it was only a year ago that I saw the same piece with a different dancer in the victim's role and I could not hold back the tears during the finale.

After a short break it was the turn for 'Eternal Light'.This was a piece based on, according to Mark Baldwin, the choreographer, Remembrance Day and hope. And you could hardly fault him for trying to convey the symbolism of these two powerful ideas. It started ever so promising. Eryck Brahmania soloed in front of the corps de ballet, who remained on the floor. His movements were slow and lethargic. After a few minutes he joined the rest of the dance choir. Suddenly a curtains crawled up whilst letting a tenuous green light in. The whole body of dancers moved at the same time in what seemed to be some sort of Oriental dance or martial art. So far, so promising. But then it all went downhill.

Set to a score that incorporated a choir singing in English and Latin and two soloists (one male, one female), 'Eternal Light' did not appear on the bill with the tag 'Underachiever' attached to it. And in my opinion that was the main cause for its ultimate undoing. Too much (self) indulgence. With its quasi-religious Christian imagery and marvellous music, the piece raised my expectations too high and failed to deliver them. There were a few moments of consolation, but too scant to mention: a duet here, a solo there, but overall, Eternal Light was a razzmatazz of disparate pieces that did not connect very well.

Thus, on analysing this last piece I can only think of paraphrasing Martha Graham's words: 'What cannot be said can be sung, and what cannot be sung can be danced, although sometimes it's better if the latter is avoided.'

Note: The soundtrack of the clip below is one of the ten movements of the aforementioned choreography 'Eternal Light'.

Copyright 2008

Meditations on our 'Contemporary Society' according to Akram Khan (Metamorphosis for Ten Performers)

'I feel we live in a society that is evolving at great speed, and it is because of this momentum of shifting that we still call it a ‘contemporary society’. All traditions were once contemporary; it is just a matter of time when something is regarded as old or part of a tradition.'

With this introductory note in the programme Akram Khan unleashes a barrage of fidgety, energetic and inspiring dance moves onto the unsuspecting public in attendance at Sadlers' Wells to watch his latest choreographic work, Bahok.



A departure lounge is the setting for all the chaos that ensues. Amidst notices like ‘Delayed’ and ‘Rescheduled’, the performers (or would that be passengers?) map swiftly across the vast stage the main theme the piece addresses: globalised isolation.

Akram Khan has been here before. In his 2005 work ‘Zero Degrees’ which he performed alongside the Belgian choreographer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, the target was identity and the lack of it thereof. His follow-up, ‘Sacred Monsters’, saw him breaking down barriers (literally) with the magnificent dancer Sylvie Guillem in the pursuit of a common language (and we are not thinking linguistics here). Bahok, on the other hard, combines guest artists from the National Ballet of China and performers from Spain, South Korea, Slovakia, India and South Africa. United Colours of Benetton? You bet. The result is a prism through which themes like intolerance, despair, bitterness, elation, hope and optimism are explored in both theatrical and danceable forms.

If we think of each performer on the night as a small entity in themselves and not just as yet another group of dancers, we arrive, then, at the conclusion that they are human crotchets, dissimilar parts of a bigger whimsical notion, one that becomes the final product: HOPE. This is the word that flashes up on the screen as the show wraps up and it is the word that leaves everyone in the auditorium clapping to the dancers’ dextrous versatility.

Akram Khan patterns the choreography in the same way a grammar teacher prepares a lesson. Whereas the former will go for up and slow tempos the latter will go for rising and falling intonation standards. Khan's is a piece full of the slithering interplay between performers, with some of them bickering with one another and others falling into freestyle ballet dance blithely. These pairings, of which there are various combinations, act like a dynamic device, speeding the piece up or slowing it down.



Ultimately it is Akram Khan’s mastery of the unsaid that works wonders. The piece does not seek to explain or tell why and how our ‘contemporary society’ became this way. Yet, Bahok implicates all of us, observant audience, in its doing.

In another part of the programme, Khan writes: ‘The stage is usually the place where I can reveal not only an image from my head, but also what I feel is missing or needed in the contemporary society around me, but somehow I believe it is not about me preaching to others of what is missing in their lives but mostly what is missing in my own… so the whole approach to my work is about acquiring new knowledge by reviewing the old knowledge that the new does not have.’

Wise words and ones that make me already look forward to his next piece.

Copyright 2008

... as the mother of a brown boy... (Lamento Fortissimo)

We are telling a story. All stories are preciou. All stories are unique and there are universal truths to be shared in her story and the story of her brown boy (...) Above all we are telling the simple story of a mother's loss. The pain of a mother's loss is not affected by the circumstances. Loss is loss.

David Carey and Christine Niering

If you are still talking about a play a couple of hours after you have left the theatre then you know that the mise en scène was good. If you wake up the next morning and the first comment you make to your partner whilst having breakfast is related to the stage production you both saw the evening before, then you know that the piece was excellent. If you are still talking, let alone thinking about the play almost a week after, then the only words that come to mind are: sublime, exquisite, thought-provoking, mature and many others.
... as the mother of a brown boy... is one of those plays.

On 6 October 2005, Mischa Niering took part in a failed raid of Tiffany in Sloane Square in west London. Driving away from the scene on a scooter, he got caught up in a high-speed police chase and was killed. The police were later found guilty of taking insufficient safety measures during the pursuit. Niering was 19 years old.

As a consequence, Mischa's friends at the Chickenshed company (where he was once a member) developed an hour-long play that tackled some of the issues surrounding his death. The title of the play came from conversations with his mother. The heading to most of her answers was: ... as the mother of a brown boy...

The production is an ambitious project. Using white, big boxes as the only props the thirteen actors and actresses on stage use their own bodies as devices with which to propel the audience into the vortex of the conflict. Spoken words are rare, other than voice-overs. A staff member from Chicken Shed provides assistance to deaf people or people hard of hearing using sign language. A screen up above at the back of the stage, where the words from the text roll up continuously, does a similar service This frees the performers to tell the story with what I usually call an actor's raw material: their faces, their limbs, their eyes. Their eyes. Their Eyes. THEIR EYES. One of the elements that most caught my attention was the sudden changes the performers underwent from elation to despair, from defiance to meekness and how their eyes responded to that challenge so well.

The tale is a familiar one these days. Mischa, a mixed-race boy comes from a broken home; his black teenage father leaves him when he is very little, but his mother does her utmost to provide him with a modest but respectable upbringing. He does become a high achiever in school, only to go off the rails later on when he mixes with the wrong crowd. From then onwards, Mischa finds himself more and more isolated until his untimely demise. His life becomes intertwined with the white boxes that surround him and the cast, sometimes supporting him and pulling him through the most adverse situations, sometimes choking him. These white, lifeless props symbolise what Mischa's world has come to signify, a young man boxed in by race, deprivation, deficient education, housing and felony.

... as the mother of a brown boy... poses more questions than it answers. Correction. It does not answer any questions. And I liked that. Currently there are so many issues stemming from young people stabbing other young people in the streets of London that I would not have welcomed a play seeking to give a definite answer to a dilemma that has blighted so many communities, mainly the black community. What atmoabb does do is present issues in nuanced tones. Mischa is no angel and neither is he portrayed like that. But to the statement: 'The risk assessment was not conducted properly', voiced by the coroner in charge of the case, Mischa's mother can't help but ask aloud: 'And who conducted a risk assessment on my son's life when he was failing?' Tough question. No easy answers.

Unlike many of the other cases that have come to the public attention in recent weeks this play does not deal with young person on young person crime. It tackles a different issue, which, not for being dissimilar, has an easier solution. That of authority and the use of it. Are the police immune? And who are they accountable to? Jean Charles de Menezes' murder in 2005 in broad daylight in a botched terrorist raid, revealed the Metropolitan Police for what it is, a body that will stop to nothing to enforce the law. But what if the enforcement is wrongly handled? Who will pay for the error?

The play does not seek to expiate Mischa's faults. But questioning the procedures that led to Mischa's death is not, in my view, 'political correctness gone mad' but an attempt to 1) acknowledge that mistakes were made in the pursuit of the scooter Mischa was riding, 2) make the police understand this and make them pledge that they will take steps to amend this and similar problems, 3) raise awareness of human rights as per the European Convention on Human Rights and 4) address the issue as to why so many young people, mainly black boys, are falling prey to a life of crime.

Last Sunday, 8th June, the black actor Lennie James penned an open letter to the knife-carriers in the newspaper The Observer. My first thought on reading the document was whether this man I have so long admired for his thespian professionalism was not preaching to the converted. My second thought on reflecting on the readership of this particular newspaper was whether he was not, inadvertently, mind, pandering to the fears of the chattering classes who see these issues as 'the other side's problems'. Don't get me wrong. I know many a middle-class, middle-aged, white folk who go to the inner cities to share the workload and do so sincerely. But the feeling I get more often than not is that many of these people actually enjoy this moral tourism, partly because it assuages their post-colonial guilt and partly because they commute to these places, which means that they don't have to endure the living conditions most of the local residents have to put up with. Am I right or wrong in feeling like this?

Moreover, could something have been done to prevent Mischa from losing his life? The play points in different directions, the absent father, the wrong crowd, the young mother with a second child, the lack of support from the school, the racism Mischa encounters. Are these influential or determining factors? And which one(s), if any, is(are) the one(s) we need to focus on the most?

144 hours after I watched atmoabb I am still touched by the professionalism of the cast (amateurs? no way!), the light effects, the stunning music and the multimedia stagecraft. A panel discussion after the play brought a much needed lively debate on some of the issues I've highlighted above. And it was the last speaker of the night, a man who advises the police and the mayor of London on racial issues, whose words still reverberate in my mind after four days. He talked about the community's role in safeguarding our achievements and in keeping the police and other government bodies in check (he was referring to the new 'stop and search' laws in particular). Furthermore, he said very clearly that we all had responsibility for what happened in our doorsteps, because it takes a village to raise a child. To that gentleman, I say that with this review I am already contributing to that child's upbringing and I am proud of that.

... as the mother of a brown boy... is on tour now, for more information, please click here

Copyright 2008

Carnaval de Cuba

It had rained in the morning and I was expecting a washout in the afternoon. I was, in fact, psyching myself up to perform in a torrential downpour. Fortunately, that didn't happen. The only downpour came from the wonderful atmosphere of camaderie and goodwill present throughout the whole event. Linda Petty and Guillermo Davis, the brains behind the Carnival Comparsa, managed to gather some of the most outstanding and colourful performers around (including yours truly) to represent with a few master strokes the diversity of dance hues Cuban culture has. Inside the tent the hurly-burly of dancers coming and going brought back memories of my time as a performer with the Conjunto Folclórico de la Universidad de la Habana and I have to admit that the nostalgia got the better of me. It's been some time since I had the opportunity to share the stage with such a marvellous group of performers.

At around 5.15pm we started making our way around the park, stopping occasionally to show off our dance skills to the enthusiastic audience who had gathered at Southwark Park. As I was performing Oggun, my grin was seriously restricted, to my own chagrin, I must admit. There were loads of Cubans around and as we approached the stage more familiar faces could be seen doing the call and response so characteristic of Comparsas: "Ahora que vivo en Cuba libre, ahora que vivo en Cuba libre, a cantar la Internacional... And the people swirled and spun, and they drank and got drunk. You could be forgiven for thinking that you'd just strolled into a barrio in Centro Habana or Habana Vieja. I felt euphoric and I can safely say that the vibe was pretty much the same around me.

And yet...

And yet...

And... yet...

Outside the tent now and more down to what a Cuban Festival is and more importantly to the perception of Cuba in the UK. Why is it that Cuba is equalled only to 'salsa'? I'm not in disagreement with the notion that salsa, New York labelling aside, is a pure Cuban phenomenon. The main ingredients come from Cuban son and even the word 'salsa' was coined first by Ñico Saquito back when my Grandma was still chasing chickens in Güines as a knee-high grasshopper. But there's more to Cuba than just 'salsa'. A few years ago I visited the Barbican where there was a special celebration for the forty years of the Cuban revolution (Boy, El tiempo pasa y nos vamos poniendo viejos) and I was surprised to see Edesio Alejandro amongst the musicians on stage. Pleasantly surprised, I hasten to add. His music is the flipside of the coin of our cultural make-up as a nation, But you wouldn't know it from the acts that normally make it to the bill of so-called Cuban events. Nothing wrong with these acts, by the way. Cuban hip-hop has earned its place amongst the main performers of the genre and our dance music, call it son, guaracha or changüi, have been the main staples of our culture througout many decades. But we also have brilliant singer-songwriters, Silvio Rodríguez, Santiaguito Feliú and Gerardo Alfonso to name but a few. We boast some of the better pianists in the Americas, Chucho Valdés and Frank Fernández come to mind and we have good pop bands that have made inroads into genres that were considered no-go areas before or that were not considered at all, Afro-pop anyone? Síntesis and Mezcla are good examples of this. So, in the same way that Glastonbury has its chill-out tent and its dance tent, I would like someone to come up with a tent for Liuba María Hevia or Sara González.

Now, now, I know I'm dreaming and I'm just waiting for someone to snap me awake. At the end of the day, it comes to money and whilst financial matters don't get resolved, we will continue to 'bop till we drop' to the sound of our sensuous and energetic Cuban salsa. And you know what? Give it to me like that any day, I'll take it!

Special thanks to Robert Dickinson who very kindly donated the photo that accompanies this post and thanks to Linda and Guillermo who very kindly asked me to take part in the event.


Copyright 2007