DCDanceBlog

This morning’s New York Times had an editorial about a composer, Steve Reich, who’s celebrating his 70th anniversary around now. Apparently he’s one of the seminal figures in modern music and they wrote very highly of him–of course I haven’t heard of him, but now I’m very curious. But what caught my eye was the phrase, among other praises of his skills, that he has an “unerring instinct for beauty everywhere in his work.” I thought that was pretty amazing and beautiful in itself. To me, art is still about beauty, always about beauty, even if it’s a different form of beauty, even if it’s showing the audience a type of beauty they never imagined.

This is basically a footnote in my unending rant against modern art that discards the idea of beauty being important, that focuses only on being as different as possible or “challenging” people’s idea of what art is. It’s funny, because audiences–average people–get it. They get when something is “challenging” but boring and ugly, for example, and to not take their sensibilities into account is, I think, pretty condescending. But it seems normal with modern art to discard the idea that the audience should somehow enjoy or be touched by the performance or presentation.

Yesterday at rehearsal, Lotta and I were trying to figure out how we’re planning to work with music, and what kind of music we want for our piece. This opened, of course, a whole can of worms because there are so many issues and questions that come with a discussion about music. At this point we’re envisioning our piece being made up of a number of sections that may be related on a grand scale, but that really should be able to stand on their own. Which brought up the question of how well different pieces of music go with each other–ie, if we have solo piano for one piece, could we then have heavy metal for another and african music for a third? These are just examples, but obviously there are huge issues and limitations to using interesting music. It’s funny–it really illustrates to me, again, how creating a dance performance piece is about so much more than just dance. It’s a visual art, it’s an aural art…Unfortunately Lotta and I are not composers or musicians, so we didn’t resolve these questions, only wound up with more. So there’s the issue of what kind of music, how it fits with the other pieces, and then of course the point that once we have music we like, how to work within its limits in terms of its length, rhythm, style, etc.The (perhaps) inevitable outcome of this discussion was the point, made by Lotta, that if we use electronic music, many or most of these questions would be resolved. The sound would not necessarily have a rhythm we’d have to conform to, it could probably end essentially when we want it to, and it won’t necessarily convey a particular vibe or tone. The problem is, I massively hate electronic music. Hate pretty much everything about it–the fact that it’s not music as far as I’m concerned, is often downright ugly (to my ears), and seems often pointless in terms of its relationship to the dance. I’m definitely ok with what I think of as “found sound”–ie, the sound of rain, or traffic, or whispering–but that to me is in a different category than electronic music.

Lotta had a number of interesting points about it, though: she felt that composed, melodic music often is totally finished and doesn’t necessarily need or work well with another element–dance–while electronic unmelodic music can act as a partner with the dance, the two halves creating a whole. And she stressed that it creates a wide space in which the dancer can act, without a lot of limitations, instead of having to worry all the time about counts–which can be a real drag.

I can respect those points, but I still can’t get my mind around adding an element that essentially is there just to take up space. Is the only reason to have electronic music just to add sound of some sort? I guess I feel that I want to create something beautiful in a dance piece–not necessarily pretty per se, but beautiful, and I do think there’s a difference–so why would I begin with something that is sort of ugly, or has no personality at all? I know some electronic music is well crafted and amazing, but I’m not in a place to sort out the wheat from the chaff. Also, I feel like melodic music and dance are perfect partners for each other, and that interesting–and beautiful, in its own way–music can easily inspire and give meaning to a dance. But I understand Lotta’s point about not wanting to get trapped by counts and the music’s upswings and downswings. Is there a way to work with melodic music without becoming trapped by it, without it dictating everything? That’s what I’m wondering.

I was at the Metro DC Dance awards a couple nights ago…it was pretty great, in a way. The last time I’d been to the awards show was three years ago, shortly after I’d first arrived in DC and thus I knew almost no one. So the other night was an interesting contrast, seeing folks I’ve worked with, taken class with or from, and watched perform. So great to see that the city really does have a dance community that’s actually fairly cohesive. It was also interesting, though, to see the various genres of dance and to realize that there actually aren’t that many folks who are working on the type of dance that I’m interested in, that is somehow saying something and yet is fully authentic, not pushing an idea but hoping that it comes across.

It’s funny, Lotta and I got into a discussion about this at the reception after the show–one of many debates in our ongoing efforts to figure out what we like about dance and what we’re trying to do. Lotta has such great perspectives that I always respect, but she is a bit of a dance snob, I think (Lotta, would you agree?). And frankly, I think she has reason to be b/c she has great taste and has seen a lot of high quality dance in Europe, where their standards in terms of themes and ideas are much higher than ours. Anyway, though, I can respect her opinions, but it also brings out the reactionary in me, where I get a knee jerk reaction away from that highbrow, intellectual and abstract view of dance. So, talking about the performances at the show earlier, she praised Ed Tyler’s work as really the only one that night that was truly honest and real and truly evoked something in her. And of course I knew what she meant. I loved Ed’s piece too–the lighting was great, the music terrific, and the performances were simple and yet strong, and certainly honest, if that means anything. But frankly, I also really loved Step Afrika’s performance too. I had a major visceral reaction to the step movements (I love all of that stuff–step, tap–anything creating an audible rhythm through the dancers’ bodies). Their performers were terrific and compelling, the live music impressive…It was great dance too, but in a different way from Ed’s. More physical, more about purely dance, rather than mood, atmosphere, emotion. Me, I’m a huge huge fan of mood and emotion, of course, but I think it’s 100% possible to be totally effective by just highlighting good movement. It doesn’t always have to have a deeper point, right?

One other thing about the awards: why did it seem to be always the same 5 groups/performances nominated for the main 5 or 6 awards? That struck me as kind of strange. Surely there were a few other good performances in 2005-06, no? But I don’t know how the process works…I saw a piece a few weeks ago by an Israeli woman visiting here and working w/ Meisha Bosma. It was great, fun and funny and very fresh. But presumably she’ll be going back to Israel at some point. So if someone nominated her piece, how would the official members of the selection committee figure out if she was worthy of winning, if they hadn’t seen it originally?

The last thing I want to say is how struck I was by how all the striving in the dance world–I guess in the art world in general. I was feeling a little self conscious at the show at first, thinking that maybe I seemed like an imposter. I haven’t done that much, yet, in terms of creating or performing dance in the area, and was feeling like maybe I didn’t really belong there. But then I started thinking of the people around me who I knew, people who love dance too and feel strongly that they have something to contribute, yet might not be where they want to be–haven’t yet found their groove, haven’t figured out how to express what’s inside them, aren’t yet sure what they have to say but feel like there is something there that should get out. It’s really nice, actually, a process of trying to become fully ourselves, in a way.