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Questlove: GIF the drummer some!

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Electronium: The Future Was Then opens tonight, the latest project for musician, entrepreneur, and author Questlove. We know he's got more things going on now than we can keep track of, but we had illustrator Nathan Gelgud take a look at his memoir Mo' Meta Bluesto see how he got started.

When he was a boy, Quest's parents put some musical instruments under the Christmas tree. He picked a favorite immediately.

The band that we've come to know and love (and watch nightly), tried out a few names before it settled on The Roots.


They were Radio Activity...

They were also Black to the Future (our favorite)...

Copping to their nerdiness for a bit, they were The Square Roots.


Then they got hip and dropped the square.

Quest met bandmate Black Thought in high school, where their musical rivals were another Philly group who'd soon gain some fame.


Young Quest loved Prince’s parentally forbidden 1999 so much that every time his parents found the contraband and destroyed it, he’d just go back out and buy it again.

Nathan Gelgud is an illustrator who lives in Brooklyn.

Unchaining the Devil

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by Susan Yung

Photo: JC Carbonne



Ballet Preljocaj, the name of Angelin Preljocaj’s company based in Aix-en-Provence, France, pinpoints his stylistic roots. Yet his movement, while maintaining the elegant lines of ballet and an inherent structural grace, is hardly limited to the ancient dance form. Thematically, as well, the French choreographer ranges widely, from classic story to pure form. From November 7 to 9, Preljocaj’s And then, one thousand years of peace will be performed at the BAM Howard Gilman Opera House. The work takes cues from the Book of Revelation (the Apocalypse of St. John) without becoming literal or linear. It shares DNA, but contrasts sharply with the company’s last BAM presentation in 2010, Empty Moves I & II, a pared-down evening of riveting movement experimentation.

Such variety can be an artistic catalyst. “I need to stimulate my creativity to go to the extreme limit of my style,” said Preljocaj in a recent interview. “Let’s say that I have a kind of laboratory work on one hand, for example, in the work of Empty Moves, to the music of John Cage—I also sometimes like to use all that I learn from this laboratory experience and use it for something more narrative. I think it’s like in the field of science. You have the fundamental research on the one hand, and on the other hand, the fundamental research is completely abstract—numbers, mathematics. Then later come things that can maybe help people, like technology and medicine.” The studio becomes a lab to make building blocks that fascinate on their own, or become the solid foundation on which to stack a story.

Photo: JC Carbonne


The many sections comprising one thousand years propel the dance surehandedly. Tender or brazen duets to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata are interleaved with bold ensemble sections (to an evocative soundscape by Laurent Garnier) in which the company’s 21 dancers are often arrayed in orderly lines or grids. “The idea behind this order is that there is something to hide,” said Preljocaj. “The meaning of apocalypse comes from the Greek: ‘apos’ means to take off, and ‘calypse’ is the veil. The idea of apocalypse is to reveal something which is behind the illusion, behind something very organized, very structured.” The concept could apply to a number of large institutions, be they religious, political, or social. 


While Preljocaj has shown his skill with purely formal constructs, he duly embraces the highly theatrical aspects of performance. Objects become metaphors for larger concepts, in addition to being neat visual and/or aural twists, such as lengths of chain that plummet to the stage. “In the apocalypse, the Devil is suposed to be unchained, and there is a moment he becomes free from his chains. I use the idea of the chains as a kind of metaphor for that,” Preljocaj explained. “Also, sometimes I mix certain ideas, like the chains... In the Book of the Apocalypse, they say that from the sky will come the thunder and the deluge. For me, I imagine this falling of chains really like thunder coming into our world. Also, sometimes certain words or phrases come down with this very soft radicality in our souls, like chains falling from the sky.” Flags of different nations feature prominently in the finale, as do a pair of wooly lambs.

Photo: JC Carbonne

Preljocaj’s work was also seen this fall at New York City Ballet in a shorter-length premiere. He noted, “I like to work with different companies; it’s a source of inspiration for me. All the different companies are really like tribes, with their own traditions.”

His accomplished company/tribe to be sure has its own legacy, growing richer and more diverse each year since its founding in 1984. Prior to Empty Moves, Ballet Preljocaj had performed at BAM several times, each visit memorable in its own way: Romeo & Juliet (1998), whose fascist-state setting underscored the desperate situation of the young lovers; Helikopter and Rite of Spring (2002), a two-part evening showing the choreographer’s sure hand with dance both hypnotically abstract and searingly narrative; and Near Life Experience (2004), which pushed him to the theatrical end of the spectrum while touching on universal themes. And then, one thousand years of peace is yet another intriguing dance-theater chapter in Preljocaj’s growing history at BAM.
Reprinted from Oct 2013 BAMbill.

BAM Blog Questionnaire: Lindsey Jones and Sarah Stanley of Dance Heginbotham

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by Lauren Morrow


Sarah Stanley on the tension grid (photo: Stephanie Berger)

Dance Heginbotham makes its BAM debut this week with Dark Theater. In this BBQ, I spoke with dancers Lindsey Jones and Sarah Stanley about working with John Heginbotham, their favorite Fort Greene eats, and what they’ll be wearing to the BAM Halloween Happy Hour at the BAM Fisher on Thur, Oct 31.

How has the Dark Theater experience been different from that of other works John has created for the company?

Lindsey Jones:Dark Theater is site-specific to the Fisher and uses the complete black box architecture as a stage for the work. The stage is in the center of the audience, below, and also above! There are so many contrasting layers to this piece, and John is allowing numerous sources and inspirations to manifest in Dark Theater.

Sarah Stanley: This is only my second project with John, but it feels like there is more fantasy in Dark Theater than his other work. He has created a very specific world in the BAM Fisher, really taking advantage of the flexibility of the space, and it is made all the more surreal by Maile Okamura's amazing costumes. 

Sarah, you dance on the tension grid in this show. What was your initial reaction when you were told this, and how do you feel about it now?

I was very excited about the grid when I heard about it.  I like climbing around on things, and it feels like a kind of playground sometimes. I have really enjoyed creeping around up there and interacting with the other dancers from a different plane, stretching the performance space.

Lindsey Jones
What's your favorite thing so far about performing at BAM?

LJ: My favorite part about performing at BAM... is performing at BAM! It's such an incredible feeling to be a part of the Next Wave Festival with all the other amazing artists!

SS: Definitely the roof terrace at BAM Fisher!  It's beautiful up there. 

Which artist do you admire from a field other than your own?

LJ: I love watching the films of Japanese animator, Hayao Miyazaki. The worlds he creates are so whimsical and full of surprise!

SS: I admire a lot of artists, but ever since this year's VMAs I have been especially impressed with Lady Gaga and the flavor and energy she brings to pop culture. She is ballsy in the best way.

What's the biggest risk you've taken?

SS: I don't know what the biggest risk I have taken is, but one of the biggest has to have been my decision to become a dancer.

LJ: Yes, just being a dancer has innate risks. Everyday there are great physical risks in rehearsals and performances, as well as emotional risks and financial risks. Somehow the satisfaction of dancing and performing always prevails over these risks for me.

Do you have any favorite Fort Greene restaurants that you look forward to when rehearsing in the area/performing at BAM?

LJ: I do love The General Greene!

SS: Mullane's. We’ve hung out there a few times after rehearsal. I love their fried pickles.

What ritual or superstition do you have on performance days?


LJ: My rituals look like a long, somewhat delicately timed, to-do list. Mostly as long as I can take class and have ample time to pluck my eyebrows and floss my teeth before hopping on stage, I'm good to go!

SS: I don't really have any rituals. I just like to listen to good music and get funky. 

The show is taking place over Halloween. What do you plan on being this year?

LJ: A backpack.

SS: Marceline the Vampire Queen!

Dracula’s Biting Appeal

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TR Warszawa and Teatr Narodowy's Nosferatu. Photo: Stefan Okolowicz


Excerpts from an essay by Clemens Ruthner

“This is the textbook of vampirism, but the journalist Bram Stoker has turned it into a typewriter ad,” wrote the Austrian Alfred Kubin, himself a master of uncanny art, in a letter full of contempt in 1915. He has not been the only critic since who tried to desecrate the tomb of the Anglo-Irish author. However, this has done little damage to the undead popularity of the literary work in question: Dracula (1897), apart from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) probably the most successful undead monster of world literature; a novel that has never been out of print in its more than 110 years on the book market.

Its ingredients are simple and fairly tradtional: the Transylvanian nobleman Dracula first threatens the bourgeois British business traveler Jonathan Harker, and later the wife-to-be of the latter, Mina, until the vampire is eventually hunted down by male bonding. What is really new about this vampire villain from the depths of eastern Europe is that he does not only assault women, but covers all of Britain with a veritable undead D-day invasion: a (latently racist) horror scenario as a consequence of Darwin’s “survival of the fittest.” Whatever you may think about the political correctness of vampire tales, Dracula is pretty much written in the spirit of the English fin de siècle, insofar as the novel foreshadows the military confrontation with Germany and the multi-ethnic state of Austria-Hungary in World War One.

[...] In 1732 the Austrian army surgeon John Flückinger documented the most famous case of Medvedja, a village south of Belgrade, where vampires became almost an epidemic. The “Heiduck Jowiza,” for instance, reports to the authorities “that his daughter by the name of Stano(ica) went to bed 15 days ago, being fresh and healthy, however, around midnight she woke up screaming, shivering and frightened, saying that she had been throttled by a Heyduck’s son who had been dead for nine weeks, after which event she finally died on the third day.” This story and others can be found in Viennese archives and in the excellent text readers by Klaus Hamberger (Mortuus non mordet, 1991) and Dieter Sturm/Klaus Volker (Von denen Vampiren und Menschensaugern, 1988), respectively.

TR Warszawa and Teatr Narodowy's Nosferatu. Photo: Stefan Okolowicz


At the time, Serbia obviously was a sort of (colonized) Empire of the Evil for the imperial center in Vienna. And much as in cases of “possession” by “evil spirits” in Africa, what appears in the vampire belief are precarious social dynamics rather than the hereafter. The Hungarian historian Gábor Klaniczay suggests a certain contemporary substrate from which the Serbian undead “grew”: the aftermath of the Turkish wars, i.e. the religious conflict between Islam, Catholic, and Orthodox churches at the time, a kind of culture war between “liberated” Slavs and their new Austrian management, and last but not least, unrecognized epidemics, as it was noted already by Gerard Van Swieten, personal physician to Maria Theresa. In their scapegoat function to explain the unexplained, the vampires for awhile replaced witchcraft, which had already been banned by early Enlightenment.

[...] It is undisputed that Stoker’s demonic vampire count had a great historic role model about whom many academic and amateur authors have written and speculated extensively: the cruel Wallachian prince Vlad III Dracula (1431–76), a fierce Christian warrior against the Turks, who soon received his nickname Tsepesh (“the Impaler”) because he had the cruel hobby of putting his opponents—prisoners of war, Transylvanian merchants and rebellious nobles, tens of thousands allegedly—on stakes where they died painfully. Contemporary pamphlets show him at a banquet, surrounded by almost a forest of impaled people. For the Romanians, nevertheless, he remains one of the great heroes of their cultural memory; the Communist dictator Nicolae Ceaucescu, for instance, had a monument built for Dracula in the ancient capital city of Tirgoviste on the occasion of the 500th anniversary of his death in 1976.

[...] A best-selling dramatized version of Dracula in London was exported promptly to New York’s Broadway, where an unknown actor took over the title part with a heavy Hungarian accent: Bela Lugosi, the man who in Tod Browning’s film version of 1931 made the black cape finally a trademark and was buried in it himself. Ever since, the biting and impaling business has moved more and more from textual to cinematographic cemeteries in the aftermath of F.W. Murnau’s legendary Nosferatu film from 1922—a German rip-off that led to a copyright lawsuit with Stoker’s widow. 

In any disguise, the vampire is not only an attractive villain, but also a willing victim. The reflection-free monster stands ready to absorb almost every interpretation into itself, as the German literary scholar Hans Richard Brittnacher has shown: “The vampire appears sometimes as the emblem of a disenfranchised and vengeful aristocracy, sometimes as the symbol of femininity, sometimes as that of an excessive Don Juanism, at times it is identified with Stalinism, at others with the Franco regime and at still others with the Jesuits, then again it is bureaucracy, venereal disease or the fear of newer scientific discoveries such as hypnosis and magnetism which find their likeness in the image of the vampire. Precisely this elasticity prohibits a simple interpretation” (Aesthetics of Horror, 1991).

Printed with permission.

Who's Biting Whom? Jaws and An Enemy of the People

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By Nathan Gelgud

Set your DVRs! Jaws 2 and Jaws 3 are on cable this weekend (channel 161 on Sunday), and you're probably in the mood for them because you just watched Jaws. We know you just watched Jaws because you just bought tickets for An Enemy of the People at BAM and you're doing your homework.

Oh, did you miss class that day? Let us catch you up.

While the most obvious literary predecessor of Jaws, the movie about the great white shark, is Moby-Dick, the book about the great white whale, another acknowledged influence on Spielberg's masterpiece is Ibsen's 1882 play


"Student rush tickets are available!"

A little Googling and the similarities practically jump out of the water and bite your legs off, threatening the local economy:

  • In Enemy, a seaside town has contaminated hot springs, the town's cash cow.
  • In Jaws, a seaside town has a beach, primary source of tourist dollars, contaminated by a shark.
  • In Jaws, Roy Scheider kicks up a fuss about the killer shark but the mayor won't close the beaches, so Scheider has to go rogue.
  • When the doctor who discovers the contamination in Enemy tries to hip everybody to the problem, he loses his job.

Most importantly, they both feature chalkboards:

Robert Shaw, shark expert and noted illustrator, in Jaws
Stefan Stern in An Enemy of the People
In his book on JawsNigel Andrews even underlines the importance of the cast's literary background, guys "who could see that Jaws was part An Enemy of the People, part Moby Dick, part The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

Hey, come to think of it, BAM is offering a production of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner next month, and an adaptation of Moby Dick author Herman Melville's Billy Buddin February. And later this month the play Waterwill deal with ecological themes as they relate to the stuff that sharks swim in and hot springs bubble with.

We should have considered a package deal for people working on their thesis on the intersection of pop culture, contemporary theater, and classic American literature as they relate to the economic ramifications of climate change and pollution. The Next Wave Post-Grad special. Maybe next year.

Surreal Theater

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by Jessica Goldschmidt

Ah, Dada. How you never cease to thrill with your wild and crazy aesthetic antics. And how you manage to endlessly inspire new artists, like John Heginbotham, the inventive Mark Morris protégé and creator of this week’s Next Wave Festival Fishman Space presentation, Dark Theater.


Heginbotham’s work takes its inspiration from the 1924 ballet Relâche, which was, as Frances Picabia's inflammatory magazine 391 proclaimed, an “instantaneous ballet with two acts, one cinematograhic intermission, and the tail of Francis Picabia's dog." Envisioned by the Picabia, a French artist closely alligned with Dada and Surrealism, and with a score by Erik Satie, Relâche was performed in Paris by the notably zany, predominantly Swedish Ballets Suédois. Even the title of the ballet was a good old surreal joke: relâche is the word the French use on show posters to indicate “closed” or “canceled.”

According to this informative article from Performa, the Ballets Suédois was an anti-establishment multi-disciplinary performance company founded in 1920 by director Rolf de Maré, a devotee of Cubism before it sold for millions of dollars and a major bankroller for many of the most influential (and broke) Parisian Dadaists.



De Maré was determined to translate visceral, vibrant paintings by contemporary artists for the stage through his ballets. They often bore little to no resemblance to classic ballet forms, instead using dramatic costumes and set pieces to achieve an overwhelming effect. This rendering of Fernand Léger’s set and costume designs for the Ballets Suédois’ La création du monde (a 20-minute piece about the creation of the world often cited as the first jazz ballet) gives an idea of the general aesthetic.

Rendering of Fernand Léger’s set and costume designs for La création du monde, 1923 (from Performa)

We here at BAM first got excited about Heginbotham’s surrealist inspirations after stumbling upon the “cinematographic intermission” for Relâche, entitled (fittingly) "Entr’Acte."



The film was created by director René Clair, with cameo appearances by Satie, Picabia, Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, the principal dancer of the ballet  Jean Börlin, and de Maré himself.

The first 90 seconds or so show Satie and Picabia firing a canon straight at the audience, and were shown with live orchestra music before the ballet curtain had even risen. The next 20-ish minutes played (as the name suggests) between the acts, and were created to sync with Satie’s music, thus apparently becoming one of the earliest examples of music to film synchronicity.

Watch the whole thing if you can. Images and motifs will be popping up this week in Heginbotham's work at the BAM Fisher—from the delirious ballet dancer shot from below, to the film’s gloriously upside-down rooftops, ridiculous coffin sequences, and chess games between Duchamp and Man Ray.

Dark Theater runs through Nov 2 at the Fishman Space (BAM Fisher).

An Enemy of the People Primer: The Coming Insurrection

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By Jessica Goldschmidt

Thomas Ostermeier’s An Enemy of the People takes some liberties with Ibsen. David Bowie songs, chalkboard walls, empty hipster aesthetics… and a new ending.

Well, maybe not new. But different.

Ibsen’s 1882 play closes with an impassioned speech by his beleaguered hero about the supremacy of the individual over the tyranny of the majority. Ostermeier’s play replaces this monologue almost entirely with text from The Coming Insurrection, a polemic put out by The Invisible Committee in 2007. You can read about the tract’s background and context (and how unfortunately useful it seems to have proven for Glenn Beck) at the informative Wikipedia page. Or, if you’re feeling the need to shake up your perspective on pretty much everything, give the whole text a read for free. (It’s lengthy, but fascinating.)

But if you’re strapped for time and looking for a little insight, we offer a smattering of quotes, and invite you to peruse them and use them to think through Ostermeier’s (and Ibsen’s) work, which runs through this weekend at the BAM Harvey.
ON THE SELF:
"I AM WHAT I AM." My body belongs to me. I am me, you are you, and something’s wrong ... The more I want to be me, the more I feel an emptiness. The more I express myself, the more I am drained. The more I run after myself, the more tired I get.
ON WORK:
The horror of work is less in the work itself than in the methodical ravaging, for centuries, of all that isn’t work: the familiarities of one’s neighborhood and trade, of one’s village, of struggle, of kinship, our attachment to places, to beings, to the seasons, to ways of doing and speaking.
… Here lies the present paradox: work has totally triumphed over all other ways of existing, at the very moment when workers have become superfluous.
ON THE “METROPOLIS”:
… The metropolis is this simultaneous death of city and country. … It is a current that would like to drag everything along in its hopeless mobility, to mobilize each and every one of us. Where information pummels us like some kind of hostile force. Where the only thing left to do is run. Where it becomes hard to wait, even for the umpteenth subway train.

ON, ESSENTIALLY, BROOKLYN:
A graphic designer wearing a handmade sweater is drinking a fruity cocktail with some friends on the terrace of an “ethnic” café. They’re chatty and cordial, they joke around a bit, they make sure not to be too loud or too quiet, they smile at each other, a little blissfully: we are so civilized. Afterwards, some of them will go work in the neighborhood community garden, while others will dabble in pottery, some Zen Buddhism, or in the making of an animated film. They find communion in the smug feeling that they constitute a new humanity, wiser and more refined than the previous one. And they are right.
Photo: Arno Declair

ON ENVIRONMENTALISM:
What has congealed as an environment is a relationship to the world based on management, which is to say, on estrangement … We have become neighbors in a planetary co-op owners’ board meeting. It’s difficult to imagine a more complete hell.
… It goes like this: they hired our parents to destroy this world, now they’d like to put us to work rebuilding it, and—to top it all off—at a profit. … It’s sustainability! Alternative solutions, that’s it too! The health of the planet demands it! No doubt about it anymore, it’s a green scene; the environment will be the crux of the political economy of the 21st century. A new volley of “industrial solutions” comes with each new catastrophic possibility.
… As long as there is Man and Environment, the police will be there between them.
ON SOCIAL STRUCTURES:
Don’t back away from what is political in friendship.
… Form communes. Communes come into being when people find each other, get on with each other, and decide on a common path … It’s the joy of an encounter that survives its expected end. It’s what makes us say “we,” and makes that an event.
… As for deciding on actions, the principle could be as follows: each person should do their own reconnaissance, the information would then be put together, and the decision will occur to us rather than being made by us. The circulation of knowledge cancels hierarchy; it equalizes by raising up. Proliferating horizontal communication is also the best form of coordination among different communes, the best way to put an end to hegemony.
Just goes to show some ideas never become obsolete.

By the Books: Kate Weare’s Dark Lark

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by Jessica Goldschmidt

NBA coach and 11-time champion Phil Jackson assigns reading material to his players to maximize performance, enhance personal development, and give them something to do instead of hitting gentleman’s clubs until the wee hours before game nights.

For possibly more dramaturgical reasons, inaugural BAM Fisher artist-in-residence Kate Weare does the same. Weare assigned her dancers relevant reading material during the creation process of her newest work, Dark Lark—though because the show is a meditation on sexual fantasy and the stage as a space for social self-creation, the texts Weare landed on are probably much more scintillating than anything Phil Jackson would have chosen to inspire his Lakers.

Below you’ll find a short compilation of Kate Weare’s non-required reading, with selected quotes to get you thinking about the politics and cathartic promise of desire, the nuances of role play, and the therapeutic potential of sexual fantasy.






1. Mating in Captivity by Esther Perel
Traditionally, the therapeutic culture has favored the spoken word over the expressiveness of the body. Yet sexuality and emotional intimacy are two separate languages. I would like to restore the body to its rightful prominent place in discussion about couples and eroticism. The body often contains emotional truths that words can too easily gloss over. The very dynamics that are a source of conflict in a relationship—particularly those pertaining to power, control, dependency, and vulnerability—often become desirable when experienced through the body and eroticized. Sex becomes both a way to illuminate conflicts and confusion around intimacy and desire and a way to begin to heal these destructive splits. Each partner’s body, imprinted as it is with the individual’s history and culture’s admonitions, becomes a text to be read by all of us together.
2. Arousal by Michael J Bader
Domination fantasies frequently involve attempts to circumvent the chilling effects of guilt and worry on sexual desire. Such fantasies are prevalent among both men and women, and obviously entail two roles in such scenarios, the "top" and the "bottom."… There are many variations on the theme of a woman arranging a fantasy in which she can let go of her inhibitions about being too strong. Though the manifest script often puts her in a passive position, the underlying unconscious message is that she is guilty about being too much for a weak, limited, or inadequate man.



3. The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing
‘It’s a pleasure,’ said Anna. ‘But do you know something? I discovered while you were away that for a lot of people you and I are practically interchangeable.’

‘You’ve only just understood that?’ said Molly, triumphant as always when Anna came up with—as far as she was concerned—facts that were self-evident.

In this relationship a balance had been struck early on: Molly was altogether more worldly-wise than Anna who, for her part, had a superiority of talent.

Anna held her own private views. Now she smiled, admitting that she had been very slow. 
‘When we’re so different in every way,’ said Molly, ‘it’s odd. I suppose because we both live the same kind of life—not getting married and so on. That’s all they see.’

‘Free women,’ said Anna, wryly. She added, with an anger new to Molly, so that she earned another quick scrutinizing glance from her friend: ‘They still define us in terms of relationships with men, even the best of them.’

4. The article “Love on the March: Reflections on the gay community’s political progress—and its future” by Alex Ross

“The trickiest component of gay-male culture is the role of women in its midst. Feminist critics have long detected misogynist mockery in drag acts and in gay men’s howling response to melodramatic scenes that were not intended to be funny, such as Joan Crawford’s verbal annihilation of her aloof, ingrate daughter in “Mildred Pierce.” Halperin, like many before him, sees a more complex identification at work. Crawford maintains a flawlessly high pitch as she gyrates between “feminine glamour” and “feminine abjection,” and the typical gay male viewer may feel at home at both extremes: so many gay kids work at presenting a perfected surface to the world, and so many are hounded by the fear that some grotesque exposure will tear it down.  
At the same time, the plunge into abjection can be liberating—“the politics of emotion,” Halperin calls it, of “losing it,” of “righteous, triumphant fury.” (That young man at the Jack in the Box, despite his frat-boy affect, had a Joan Crawford quality.) Furthermore, as the feminist theorist Judith Butler has argued, these extravagant diva turns, and, more particularly, the drag acts that perpetuate them, reveal the artificiality of conventional gender roles, the “hyperbolic status of the norm itself.” As Halperin puts it, “every identity is a role or an act.” It’s just that straight-male performance is granted instant authenticity. Super Bowl Sunday, seen from a certain angle, is a pageant as intricate and contrived as the annual invasion of the drag queens on Fire Island.”
Dark Lark runs Nov 6—9 at BAM Fisher.

In Context: Dark Lark

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Photo by Keira Heu-Jwyn Chang
Dark Lark runs at the BAM Fisher through November 9. Context is everything, so get even closer to Kate Weare's titillating production with this curated selection of articles, videos, and original blog pieces related to the show. For those of you who've already seen it, help us keep the conversation going by telling us what you thought below.


From BAM


Video
“Behind the Scenes: Kate Weare Company" (BAM)
“[Our BAM Fisher residency] has given us the space and freedom to take risks we normally wouldn’t be able to take,” says Weare.

Article
“By the Books: Kate Weare’s Dark Lark (BAM blog)
Domination fantasies. Languages of sex. Read up on what Weare’s dancers have been reading.


Around the Web


Website
Kate Weare Company
Learn more about Weare and company at her website.

Video
New York Dance Up Close: Dark Lark (Dance-Enthusiast.com)
Weare discusses sexual fantasy, whips and chains, and other aspects of Dark Lark.

Video
Excerpt from Kate Weare’s Garden(YouTube)
Weare dances in this measured quartet, featuring hypnotic unison movement.

Interview with Kurt Perschke (Vimeo)
The sculptor and Dark Lark set designer talks about his whimsical red ball project.

Audio
“Frozen Lullaby for Marie Vic” by Chris Lancaster (Bandcamp)
Cello and electronics create shimmering textures in this track from the Dark Lark composer.

Video
Excerpt from Bridge of Sighs (YouTube)
Bodies collide in this intense excerpt from Weare’s 2008 work.

Video
Kate Weare Discusses Music and Choreography (YouTube)
“Sound is powerful, such a basic seducer of the mind and heart,” says Weare. “You can’t refuse it.”

Worthwhile Words


Kate Weare on dancing:
At the moment, I’m very interested in ideas that have a tinge of violence in them. I’m drawn to percussive movement, like precise rhythmic movements of ethnic forms like Balinese and kung fu. I like tango because of the dynamism under the surface.
That tinge of violence often emerges in kind of an erotic situation. […] I’m fascinated by what happens when women feel more empowered, how the game shifts when women are not assumed to be the weaker players. (Read more.)

Now Your Turn...


So what's your verdict? Thoughts on sexual fantasy as a metaphor for creative expression? Once you've seen the show, tell us what you thought in the comments below.

Apocalypse 101

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by Rhea Daniels

Photo: Jack Vartoogian


For his 21-dancer apocalyptic extravaganza, And then, one thousand years of peace, Angelin Preljocaj takes his choreography to the end of the world. Not satisfied to tell your standard Armageddon tale, Preljocaj drew inspiration directly from the Revelation of St. John the Divine.

Biblical scholar Elaine Pagels describes the work’s final volume as “the weirdest book of the Bible.” As she says: “There are no stories in it or ethical teachings… it’s not what one expects of biblical books on the whole. Basically it’s visions—it’s dreams and nightmares.”

Written approximately 60 years after the death of Jesus, St. John claimed that the visions of war and disaster foretelling the end of the world came to him when he was in an ecstatic state, when the heavens opened up to him and the voice of God spoke to him.

It has been suggested by biblical scholars and historians that the scenes of destruction that John describes are events that would occur shortly after his writing in the first century—things that he could well have predicted without the help of a revelatory vision from God. Going by this explanation, the Apocalypse happened in the First century. The imagery is so adaptable, yet so visceral, that according to many modern artistic interpretations not only has the apocalypse already happened, it is happening and is going to happen.


Pagels' lecture on interpreting the Revelation of St. John and other revelatory texts can be read here.

The gory violence, wholly otherworldly imagery, and easily adaptable symbolism of this Revelation have provided endless inspiration for artists since its writing.

Probably the most famous of the symbols from St. John’s Revelation are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse from Revelation Chapter 6. The symbolic meaning of each horse differs slightly across the many representations, but most often one finds that the white horse represents conquest, the red horse war, the black horse famine or pestilence, and the pale horse—often ridden by a skeletal figure—means death is coming.

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, ca. 1497–98
Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528)
Woodcut (Metropolitan Museum of Art)
One of the great expressions of the theme is the 1921 silent movie, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which launched Rudolph Valentino into stardom. The “Four Horsemen” in the film arrive metaphorically through the ravages of WWI. It was one of the top grossing silent movies of all time.



The movie was re-made (to less acclaim) in 1962 by Vincente Minelli; this time the apocalypse was translated to WWII.



The idea of the Revelation as primarily a wartime text has pervaded throughout its artistic manifestations. Preljocaj talks about how he was inspired to take on the theme of apocalypse for And then, one thousand years of peace, which was originally a collaboration between his company and the Bolshoi Ballet:
“Then suddenly I had this idea, instinctively, to re-read the Apocalypse of St. John. I was thinking, wow, it is a very nice thing, because there is a lot of metaphor, a lot of images, very powerful. In the beginning I didn't really understand why I had this intuition, but after awhile, as you said, he (St. John) was talking about the seven Revelations. Isn't it true that the two nations collaborating on this project, France and Russia, both had a very violent history and powerful revolutions in their histories. The French with their 1789 revolution and in Russia the 1913 Bolshevik revolution. In both cases it was really violent; not soft revolutions.”


At the end of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia is The Last Battle, Lewis’ version of the Book of Revelation for children.


St. John’s revelation has also been used as the inspiration for expressions of artistic fantasy. Dragons are real in the book of Revelation, they just haven’t arrived on Earth yet. St. John spoke of a seven-headed beast that comes to Earth at the time of the Apocalypse. The beast is sometimes ridden by Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth. (She’ll go by "the just whore of Babylon" for short.) It's a typical representation of the natural enemy.

La Bête de la Mer (Tapisserie de l'Apocalypse)—The Beast of the Sea (Tapestry of the Apocalypse)
See more illustrations of the seven-headed dragon.



John had a vision of Angels carrying bowls filled with the wrath of God. The Angel pours the wrath onto the ground and causes catastrophe on Earth. They look friendly enough, but could these be Preljocaj’s angels of doom and disaster?


In John’s vision one of the angels said, “There shall be time no longer.” This foreboding phrase was the inscription on the score of Olivier Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time, which he composed when he Messiaen was a French POW in 1941 when he composed the piece. The end of the world must have felt very present for the musicians in the WWII prison camp. The piece was composed based on the notes that could be played on the camp’s broken instruments. Watch a visual art/performance tribute to the work by the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center.

Contemporary artists keep finding chilling ways of interpreting the Revelation of St. John for our times. Johnny Cash’s soul-stirring When the Man Comes Around is more than just a great tune about the end of the world. Cash makes direct references to the language of the King James Version of St. John’s Revelation. He gets in the horses, the beast, the throne, and the angels.

It’s not all doom in Revelation. A hopeful end of the world vision comes when John describes being invited into heaven and coming face-to-face with a divine throne. African-American artist James Hampton created The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millennium General Assembly as a product of his own apocalyptic vision similar to that of St. John. Hampton appointed himself "Director, Special Projects for the State of Eternity." Created over 14 years, it was constructed out of gold and silver foil, cardboard, broken light bulbs, furniture, flower vases, and jelly jars, and a dozen 500-watt bulbs.

The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millennium General Assembly by James Hampton
 (Smithsonian)
The lamb is mentioned dozens of times in the book of Revelation. Next to the throne, John saw an injured or slain lamb “who was to open the seals to the future.” The most common interpretation of the lamb is that it represents Jesus and often, it is often used by artists to depict a Christ-like sacrifice. Modern artists used the sheep as a metaphor for anyone who “takes the bullet” for the greater good.

Sometimes the lamb is the symbol for hope that has to be healed in order for the earth to be renewed. Do you remember The Silence of the Lambs?

King of New York—Remembering Lou Reed at BAM

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by Susan Yung
Lou Reed during Songs for 'Drella (1989).
Photo: BAM Hamm Archives

"Ordered sound is music," Lou Reed said in his last video interview, at Rollingstone.com. Reed, who died recently at 71, had a way of reducing complex thoughts and feelings to their essence, as he did so eloquently in his songs. In The New Yorker, Patti Smith remembers him as "a complicated man." Lou, whose name was both a cheer and a loving jeer, has been tagged as "the poet of New York," and by David Bowie as no less than "the king of New York." He was famous for never sugarcoating, neither his lyrics nor in interviews. "He was curious, sometimes suspicious, a voracious reader, and a sonic explorer," Smith wrote.

In three productions at BAM—Songs for 'Drella, Time Rocker, and POEtry—Reed expanded on his core body of rock music, from the Velvet Underground through solo projects, that had gained him a huge following. Songs for 'Drella (1989) reunited Reed with fellow VU co-founder John Cale, and was a paean to Andy Warhol, who had died two years earlier. Even in such a short span, Reed's frank perspective found its way into his fond, sometimes sardonic lyrics in tribute to the wigged artist. It was a powerful, intimate song-cycle performed movingly by Cale and Reed—part-time conspirators, but mostly wry observers, of Warhol's Factory.



Time Rocker (1997) and POEtry (2001) were grand-scale theatrical collaborations at BAM with director Robert Wilson, inspired by literature—respectively, by HG Wells'Time Machine and the writings of Edgar Allan Poe. Like many providential joint projects, at the outset the pairing seemed unlikely—Reed's growling, metal riffs versus Wilson's dream-like visions, by turns slapstick or static—but their styles complemented one another, ramping up and down in volume or dynamic to achieve moments of bliss. Reed included some heavy duty rock anthems, including Time Rocker's "Future Farmers of America," but showed his tender side in beautifully haunting songs such as "Talking Book" and "Turning Time Around." His humor emerged in "The Balloon," sung by Klaus Schreiber in POEtry:


His uncompromising side emerged in tech rehearsals. Carl Wurzbach, longtime sound engineer in the Opera House who worked on all of Reed's BAM productions, recounts that during POEtry, Wilson would spend the days working on his famously sublime lighting, and Reed would take the evenings to hone the sound, which was complicated by the fact that the mixing console being used was the visiting Thalia Theater's, and ran on 220 volts, which caused a hum. Wurzbach recounts the process:
We finally reached the land of hum-free the day before the dress rehearsal. We were so happy and proud of ourselves to have beaten the dragon. Now we could focus on getting the band and the mix just right.

The evening of that last rehearsal Lou asked for the show to be louder. We pushed the faders up. Lou listened, and then asked for still more level. We pushed the faders up again. To our blossoming horror, Lou asked for still more again. We all looked at one another in disbelief... We pushed the fader yet again. Lou seemed pleased with this level, but he was a singular majority.

We played the dress rehearsal at those settings only to have Lou come by the console to ask if we could 'go to 11.' I don't know if ask is quite the accurate word.
Lou Reed, standing, 5th from left, at the 25th Next Wave Festival celebration in 1998. Others include Merce Cunningham, Bill T. Jones, Mark Morris, Pina Bausch, and, at far right, BAM's Harvey Lichtenstein (seated) and Joseph V. Melillo (standing). 
Photo by Joanne Savio, courtesy BAM Hamm Archives.
He performed a short set at a 1999 farewell gala for BAM's outgoing president and executive producer, Harvey Lichtenstein, including the song "Small Town" from 'Drella. The photo above was taken at a gathering marking the Next Wave's 25th Anniversary, which included BAM artists Pina Bausch, Merce Cunningham, Bill T. Jones, John Kelly, and Mark Morris.

In 2008, Reed married Laurie Anderson, another longtime BAM artist. Patti Smith notes of Laurie, "She was his mirror; in her eyes you can see his kindness, sincerity, and empathy." In a moving piece in this week's Rolling Stone, Anderson says, "When you marry your best friend of many years, there should be another name for it." They were seen constantly around the city and at BAM—a sort of royal couple of the avant-garde—often in the audience, taking in the work of other artists.

Reed was an avid photographer, coming off of a recent European trip. He came up with an app called Lou Zoom that made using contacts on phone simpler, and easier for weakening eyes. Even though he was a private person, he shared his musical finds on Sirius (playlists here). Laurie Anderson says that when he passed away, his hands were still moving through a tai chi passage, a form to which he was devoted, and which no doubt helped keep him fighting trim. He never stopped innovating and discovering, leaving us his diamond-like lyrics with which to remember him by.
My time is your time when you're in love
and time is what you never have enough of
You can't see or hold it, it's exactly like love.


(From "Turning Time Around,"Time Rocker)

Water, Great Connector

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by Rob Weinert-Kendt

Photo: Simon Kane
Theater is found not only in words and action but also in space—in the way humans move through it and occupy it, the way our physical environment brings us together and keeps us apart. As our contemporary lives have become more isolated and modular—awash in cheap, disposable conveniences and screens everywhere, delivering bits of information, connecting us less to each other than to the means of communication themselves—theater artists attuned to these changes have plenty of fresh material.

Britain’s Filter Theatre seems particularly alert to the way we live now. In shows like Faster and Silence, as well as in freewheeling adaptations of classics, the company has employed a pared-down, seam-showing aesthetic. As co-artistic director Ferdy Roberts describes it, “The idea is that the rehearsal room ends up onstage.”

That’s certainly true of the look and feel of Filter’s intimate but wide-ranging work Water, which debuted at London’s Lyric Hammersmith in 2007, was revived in 2011 at the Tricycle Theatre, and comes to the BAM Harvey from November 13 to 17. A transatlantic mystery with climate change as a thematic backdrop, Water has characters staring into laptops, moving hurriedly through desolate airports, speaking through disembodied microphones, or, if they’re feeling particularly forward, addressing us directly with a slide presentation on the molecular structure of H2O. The world around may be warming, but the world of Water feels distinctly chilly.

“This piece’s preoccupation is the fluidity and loneliness of our modern lives,” says director David Farr, an associate director at the Royal Shakespeare Company, who worked with Filter to devise the piece. “And the show’s strangely minimal, stripped quality accentuates this melancholic solitude. We intended this. In other shows the same aesthetic can feel really rather gregarious, almost wild, but here it serves a different function. It’s a sad show, no question. But we throw in other countervailing moods too. There’s humor, mischief, and even a little anarchy. And suspense. I love suspense.”

Photo: Simon Kane
Though it addresses global concerns, Water—as with all the troupe’s work—was born from more personal sources. In a joint email, co-artistic directors Roberts and Ollie Dimsdale trace the germ of the idea to “a simple exchange...about vivid personal childhood memories connected to the power of water,” among themselves and their co-artistic director, Tim Phillips. It was Phillips, in particular, whose recollections provided one of the show’s key inspirations.

“Tim remembered being taken out by his dad on a boat when he was a boy, lying on the floor of the boat while his dad told him about the stars and constellations in the night sky,” said Dimsdale and Roberts.

This filial bonding over the natural world bloomed into the show’s central fictional relationship between a pioneering British marine biologist, Peter Johnson, and his estranged son Graham. Peter’s clarion warnings about the dangers of climate change reverberate through the play on many levels. One character, Claudia, is a well-meaning political aide for the British government who hopes to broker a deal on climate change at an international conference, while her sometime lover Phil is a deep-sea cave diver intent on breaking the world’s depth record. If the larger concept of legacy, of the sort of world we’ll leave to our children, ripples naturally out of the Peter and Graham story, it is in Phil’s daredevil stunts that Water“explores the human desire to push further and further, sometimes overreaching ourselves,” as Dimsdale and Roberts put it—another link to the global-warming theme.

Lest Water sound like a heavy environmentalist treatise, Roberts and Dimsdale were quick to note, “From very early on in the devising process, we were keen not to be overly didactic or polemical in the piece. We certainly didn’t want to preach. It was always our intention to make the issues resonate deeply on a personal scale. The anxieties and dangers for the characters are far more dramatic than the raw science behind global warming. Even the impassioned scientific lecture delivered by Peter Johnson in the early 80s of the play is loaded with profound personal resonance for him.”

For Farr, Water’s personal stories of isolation and disconnection led quite naturally to its being “a political narrative about connection, about the threat of climate change and the need to connect to understand and address it. This needed to be delicate; we are not scientists, nor do we claim to be. But we went there and we are proud we did.”

Rob Weinert-Kendt is senior editor at
American Theatre magazine, and writes regularly for The New York Times and Time Out New York.

Art Shading Into Theater—Alexandre Singh interviewed by Steve Cosson

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Flora Sans, Sanna Elon Vrij, Sanne den Besten, Gerty Van de Perre, Amir Vahidi, Philip Edgerley. Photo: Sanne Peper 


Alexandre Singh's
The Humanscomes to the BAM Fisher on Nov. 13. Singh, best-known as a visual artist, has taken on no less than the creation of the universe in this theatrical production, based on Aristophanes. He spoke with Steve Cosson, who directed ETHEL's Documerica earlier in the Next Wave Festival, as well as last year's production of Paris Commune by The Civilians.
 
Steve Cosson: What can you do in theater that you’ve never done before? 
Alexandre Singh: This isn’t by any means unique to theater, but this is the longest project I’ve worked on in terms of research and development. Definitely the most fully developed in terms of the script, visual elements, the work with the actors, the chorus, the costumes, the dance. Everything. It was such a pleasure to really be able to flesh out an entire world, and to do so with such talented and imaginative collaborators.

SC: In creating this show were there any aspects of theatrical norms that you were consciously avoiding or working against?
AS: I can’t really say that I’m familiar enough with contemporary theater to know what its norms might be. Not that I’ve chosen to be deliberately naive about it. I couldn’t tell you for that matter what the norms in visual art are either. Sad to say: I spend almost all my time squirrelled away, scratching out my own work. But there are a few what I might term "stylistic" choices that I’ve come across and that I did avoid in this play. I’m not a fan of video projection in theater. I wouldn’t rule it out, per se, but I think it’s quite difficult to reconcile with the materiality of the world on stage. I also much prefer live music and foley to prerecorded sound for much the same reason. What attracts me to theater—and this may seem surprising given the apparent exuberance of The Humans—is its potential to be simple and direct.

SC: Do you consider The Humans to be theater? Or performance? Or is that distinction important to you?
AS: They’re just such broad terms. With regards to The Humans: it’s theater—because, well—it’s a play. Certainly there’s dance and music there as well as certain strong visual ideas that are present throughout. But all of those things are woven into what is at its heart: a quite orthodox piece of theater. Of course when you sit down on any given night to watch it: that’s "a performance."

SC: In a work of performance the audience’s participation is typically a more controlled experience than in the visual arts. In a gallery, they decide how long they choose to spend with a work of art, whereas in theater there’s an agreement to stick around for a set amount of time. As you’ve now made work for both worlds, did you find that this change in the relationship between the work and the audience fundamentally change how you worked as an artist?
AS: Actually no, I don’t believe so. They’re simply different genres with different frameworks. I wouldn’t make a bust without thinking about how it would operate in the world. Nor for that matter write a story, nor conceive of an opera without considering the structures inherent to them. There are however problematics in theater that I find rather intriguing. And those are not those related to time or audience, or to what people so often seem to think are qualities unique to theater. Anyone who’s related a story in a bar implicitly understands rhythm, attention, and storytelling. Instead, it's the rather banal issues, for example: how a prop looks from far away? Does it read? Is it graphic enough? If you bring an object onstage, how do you then get it off? Was it worth going to all that trouble for a quick sight gag? That’s a fundamental difference between the economy of the play on the page and the play on the stage. When you write the play, it’s a puzzle of characters, scenes, and themes that need to be somehow put together. When you direct the play, it’s a puzzle of set changes, costumes, props, entrances, and exits that have to be navigated. And then somehow you have to reconcile these two things together.

SC: Was this the first time you worked with stage actors and designers? What did you learn from them? What do you think they learned from you?
AS: I worked with actors before making installations that resembled radio plays (The School for Objects Criticized, 2010; The Dialogues of the Objects, 2011). But never on a live action work, or at least not one with human beings walking about on a stage. Much the same goes for the level of my collaboration with the designers, musicians, and choreographer that I worked with. I couldn’t begin to relate the amount of things I’ve learned, and am still learning from all of them. An enormous amount. And I really couldn’t answer for them as to what they learned, if anything. But I hazard that it wasn’t perhaps so different an experience to working with any other theater director. I mean—they’re all a little idiosyncratic, aren’t they?

SC: I’m curious to hear about your experience entering into collaboration. At the risk of making a generalization, I find that theater/performance that’s more closely aligned with the visual arts tends towards the expression of a singular vision and aesthetic—Robert Wilson or Richard Foreman—whereas work that’s at the "theater" end of the spectrum tends towards a synthesis of multiple visions, to the degree that in theater we often praise the director’s work for being "invisible." Where would you put your work on The Humans on this spectrum?
AS: I don’t really know if I can answer the question. I just don’t know enough about how other people work to know what’s considered collaborative and what’s not. I’m sure every director considers him or herself completely open and collaborative while at the same time being described by their entire team as quite the jumped-up little tyrant.

SC: Did you have expectations for how you would work with your collaborators that changed as you developed the show?
AS: Actually, no. I don’t think it was radically different to how I thought it might work. Some people are more flexible than others; everyone has their particular approach. You have your own, then you have to find a way to make it work. Of course there’s negotiation. But you know, clearly we’re all working towards the same goal: trying to make the best play we can.

Photo: Sanne Peper
SC: As you’re also the writer of The Humans, do you think of it as a play? Or as a text for performance? Again, does that distinction matter?
AS: Well, I do sincerely believe that the distinction doesn’t matter. There’s perhaps an implication that a theater play might be produced in the future by other directors, whereas a text for performance is unique to a given time and place. Of course Aristophanes never could have imagined anyone else staging his own work. He was writing for a single event, a single performance in time and space. But that doesn’t make his work any more performance and less theater.

SC: One thing that’s often said in the theater world is that film is a visual medium but theater is primarily about language. Which means, I think, that the spoken word is at the center of the multiple disciplines embedded in theater. As a visual artist, I wonder how you feel about that statement? Do you consider an element of The Humans to be central be that the visual the text or whatever?
AS: Well, I should mention first of all that I don’t really think of myself as a visual artist. Not that I think that proviso is so important either. But it might explain my response!

I don’t agree with the assertion that film is a primarily visual medium or theater a textual one. Nor do I consider at all valid the adage that film is the director’s medium and theater the playwright’s. Both mediums are open to a spectrum of artistic, professional, and economic approaches. But why should one have to choose? After all, can’t a work be visually complex and textually rich at the same time? You prioritize the work of any one department over the others at the peril of the play itself.

SC: Another version of this question is—in the theater the text typically comes first in the form of a play. How did The Humans develop? Did the language generate the visual? Or vice versa? Or was it an evenly balanced two-way street?
AS: I think you hit the nail on the head with the analogy of a two-way street. I imagine that anyone who’s writing what they’ll direct is inevitably considering the staging and visual aspects as they craft the text. I was also lucky enough to already be in dialogue with different members of the creative team during that process. So their suggestions and ideas fed directly into the very story itself. But the text itself is never a fixed thing. It’s protean. It changes through production, through the actor’s choices, the global decisions made in response to rhythm and audience. Every canonical text was conceived for and developed throughout its first productions (perhaps Seneca apart).

What’s unique to and stimulating about theater is its living quality. The text is never really finished. The actor has never absolutely nailed down his character. In every performance they’re constantly discovering new things about the role. In the same way, the playwright is always seeing things on the stage he’d not considered before and adapting the text to them. That is something that is clearly different to cinema where the finished film is almost always locked in stone. And I think it’s a difference worth celebrating. Then again, that said, until a film is distributed, it is also mutable. And its script is more of a guide than a blueprint. So perhaps I've exaggerated the differences.

BAM Blog Questionnaire: Philip Hulford of Hofesh Shechter Company

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Hofesh Shechter Company in Sun. Photo: Gabriele Zucca
Hofesh Schechter Company's exuberant Sun takes the Opera House stage from Nov 14—16. Philip Hulford, rehearsal assistant and dancer originally from Bolivia and now based in the UK, answered a BBQ in the busy days leading up to opening night. Thanks, Philip!

Which artist do you admire from a field other than your own?
Andy Serkis—he is brilliant physically and theatrically. Humble, smart guy, I would love to have the opportunity to work with him.

What's the biggest risk you've taken?
Hmmm, probably the decision to start dancing. Before I even considered dance I was skateboarding, snowboarding, playing video games, and I don't know what I expected from the future!

When I was 17 I decided I needed to get away. I did a Christian kind of bible course with a charity called "Youth With a Mission" in Colorado. During one of the teachings I was completely unfocused and struggled to be present in the class. I was away with my thoughts. One recurring thought I had was to move, specifically to study some dance. I don't know, I just sensed it was the next step... little did I know what a trip God would take me on! Completely random thoughts, but I believed it was the right step to make.

Philip Hulford
I contacted my dad in the UK who found me a course in a local college with classes ranging from ballet to street jazz, tap dancing, and musical theater. My contemporary dance teacher told me after a year at the college to audition for London Contemporary Dance School, so I did, got in, and started the next school year. Worked very hard and was so dedicated. Hofesh happened to land a teaching job a couple days a week teaching my school year and that's how we met.

I struggled and fought my way through his classes, lapping up the experience, but as he puts it, "looked as if he could not dance"! Anyway, I got the hang of it, and that's where Hofesh and I came to work together, I managed to finish my degree while being on tour with Hofesh performing Uprising and In your rooms. Amazing and life opening experience, well worth the risk of diving into the unknown!

What food are you looking forward to eating while in Brooklyn?
Burgers and Levain cookies—what else!!

What ritual or superstition do you have on performance days?
I try to do a few minutes of meditation to calm my mind, focusing on the task ahead but also checking if I am being "fake" in my upcoming performance. I don't want to give what I am not. I want to be real and engaged with myself and the work; if my day-to-day life is not proving constant in my efforts to trust God and love people, then my performance loses weight. Then I do very silly movements and warm up physically, make myself sweat a bit, then calm down before the show!

What is your favorite thing about performing at BAM?
I get to see my best friend and his wife! Brooklyn is also a very cool place to be, trendy, arty, and full of weird people that are different and I love that!

Producer's Note: Kidding On The Square and Tai Allen at BAMcafé Live

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by Darrell McNeill

A nod to masterful performances from American Candy, Jeannie Hopper’s Liquid Sound Lounge live music crew, and The Irrepressibles since the last dispatch.

Last week brought two divergent but well-noted performers to the Lepercq stage: indie rocker Jenny Owen Youngs and soul-jazz poet Mala Waldron. Youngs and her trio charged the stage with giddy, danceable, sudsy anthems, while pianist, singer, and poet Waldron soothed the crowd with plaintive and thoughtful pieces.


This weekend marks the return of popular working-class party band, Kidding on the Square on Friday, November 15, a group for whom there is never enough cowbell. Irreverent, goofy funk and self-effacing wit is the KOTS stock in trade, with a mission to bring the uninhibited to the dance floor. On Saturday, November 16, poet/singer Tai Allen brings a star-studded cast of musicians to pay tribute to quintessential jazz singer and tunesmith Oscar Brown, Jr. Tai is a fixture on the underground music scene and his take on this musical legend will be nothing short of inspirational.

Hope to see you in the café this weekend…

Darrell McNeill is the Associate Producer of Music Programming at BAM.  


Beauty, Ever Ephemeral

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by Brian Scott Lipton



Beauty and the Beast may be a tale as old as time, but that hasn’t stopped artists from finding their own ways of telling the story of the shy, beautiful girl who falls in love with the ugly monster who is really a prince. Now, Lemieux Pilon 4D Art co-founders Michel Lemieux and Victor Pilon are delivering their own take. La Belle et la Bête, at the BAM Howard Gilman Opera House November 21 to 23, blends elements of the classic 18th-century fairy tale with 21st-century technology.

Enchanted by Jean Cocteau’s classic 1946 film, the pair decided to dig deeper into the story’s history. “We first read the version written for children by Mme. De Beaumont in the 1750s. It’s very popular in France,” says Lemieux. “Then we found out that it was based on a short adult novel by Mme. de Villeneuve, written 15 years earlier. It was to prepare women to marry a rich but ugly man. All of these bedtime stories our parents tell us, they became our myths. And there’s always a moral. They’re designed to tell us how to live and often tell us the tragic destiny of ourselves.”

Using plot details from both versions, Lemieux and Pilon, whose production of La Tempête was seen at BAM in 2006, crafted their own story. “Our beast is not an ugly old man, but a man who was in love and abandoned by that love. He’s kind of sexy but disfigured,” says Lemieux. “The beauty is a woman from today; she’s a young, intelligent, visual artist, who has issues dealing with the death of her mother. Like the beast, she’s kind of hurt herself. The fact is we all have some sort of drama in our lives. So we have these two characters who are broken, meet against all odds, and fall in love. And that leads to the questions we want to explore: Is it still possible to fall in love without the idea of conventional beauty? Can we look beyond appearances in a world where images are so important? Is it possible to go deeper and see what’s inside another person?”


Those issues also extend to the third major character in the piece, called La Dame, a fairy who fell in love with the Prince and then put the spell on him when he rejected her. However, she has stuck around the castle to take care of him—and is not happy when La Belle shows up. “She wants to be the beauty in the house, even though she’s 60,” says Lemieux. “She still loves the prince for who he is inside. So, it becomes a triangle, but not in a conventional sense.”

What makes this version particularly unusual, however, is that only those three characters are played by onstage actors, while everyone else in the tale—including Belle’s sister—is embodied by projections with whom the stars interact. Indeed, while projection technology plays a major role in all aspects of this production, it is not the raison d’être.

“We do use technology, but we do it so we can more freely talk about human issues,” says Lemieux. “In watching theater, adults can be very critical. But when you create something magical, adults open themselves to this world of wonder. Even it’s just for the first 30 seconds, this little door opens in the mind—the door that was opened when they were children. And they immediately become less critical. And then we can talk to them in ways other than through their intellect. We can talk to their souls.”

As Pilon admits, doing a show in this fashion can be a great challenge to the actors onstage. “They don’t see the projections, so it takes a lot of time to integrate their work with the projections,” he says. “But it’s worth it, because we know you don’t touch people with just technology. You touch them with actors who believe in these projections.”

“Many of the scenes are like being in a painting,” says Lemieux. “Victor takes photographs from around the world—especially a lot of Romantic architecture—and they work their way into the projections. All of the technology is quite magical, to be sure. I say our show is like a jewel box, but it’s the actors who are the jewels.”

Since it premiered in Canada in 2010, the production has toured internationally and in the US. “It’s always exciting to us to see how different audiences react from place to place,” says Pilon. Still, Lemieux notes that most audiences share one common reaction. “A lot of people tell us they become so absorbed in the story that they feel like they’re in a dream and that they only wake up when they realize the show has ended.”

Brian Scott Lipton was editor-in-chief of TheaterMania.com and currently covers theater for IN New York, Where, Edgeonthenet.com, TDF Stages, and Cititour.com.

5 Questions for Beth Morrison and Paola Prestini

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By Robert Wood

Beth Morrison
Paola Prestini
Beth Morrison, creative producer and executive director of Beth Morrison Projects, and Paola Prestini, executive and artistic director of VisionIntoArt, are co-creative producers of 21c Liederabend, op.3, a two-night reimagining of the art-song recital, coming to BAM November 22 and 23. 

1. What inspired the original 21c Liederabend idea?

Beth Morrison: I received two degrees in classical vocal training from conservatories, and the Liederabend was always a beloved monthly event at which the singers got together to sing for each other, their friends, and the public. It was about focusing on communication through song. I loved these nights. When you leave conservatory, the Liederabend ceases to exist in the professional world. I wanted to bring this form into the 21st century and make it wholly of today and of the now. To do that, we needed all living composers that were writing for the voice, and we needed to create a multimedia context for our visual world. Paola and I came together to figure out how to do that, and we are now in our third incarnation (op.3) and so happy to bring the Liederabend to BAM.

Paulo Prestini: This was Beth's baby, and I’m thrilled to have been on board since Op. 1! With the inclusion of my company, VisionIntoArt, we delved into a multimedia realm that Beth and I thought would amplify and further contextualize the Liederabend as a vibrant and important expression in today's time.

2. What are the most important art-song traditions that you see perpetuated in 21c Liederabend? And any that have been intentionally left behind?

Beth: The most important is the human voice. The need to communicate through words and music. We begin our Liederabend in a traditional way, with piano and voice, but we quickly move forward from there and explode it out to a much bigger ensemble, one that involves contemporary instruments like the electric guitar and synthesizer. I don’t feel as though anything has been left behind, because we are building on the form—honoring it, loving it, and evolving it.

Paula: We look for diversity and unique voices when programming, and I feel that we've covered the spectrum! Composers today are writing in so many diverse styles, and many of them are represented at 21c. The voice is indeed the through line, and even there, the voice types range from pop to operatic to folk.



3. Both of you are often associated with what has been called “indie classical” music, for better or worse. Where do you stand? What does “indie” mean to you?

Beth: Oh boy, this is a can of worms.  It means many things to many people. The composers who I work with don’t like the term if it refers to a style but do like it if it only refers to the DIY movement that has evolved. To me, though, I still think of it as a term that is very musically inclusive (in a good way). It refers to classical writing that takes influences from jazz, rock, pop, musicals, world music, etc., and forms a synthesis. Each composer’s voice creates a different synthesis that is unique to them. But there are no more rules. I guess in the end that is what indie means to me—breaking rules for the good.

Paola: I think the typical connotation is that it is a blend of rock, pop, and classical, often with a healthy dose of minimalism. But now, I feel the term has been more broadly used to represent the independent movement which has pervaded the classical industry. It is an exciting moment for new music. Our future is largely in our hands, and we are more responsible [for developing it] than ever. It is empowering and exciting.

4.  Most people associate the art-song tradition with the West, but 21c Liederabend op.3 includes the amazing Zimbabwean group Netsayi and Black Pressure, among others. How do they fit into your idea of what 21st-century art song is? 

Beth: We are living in a global world and Netsayi is a trained composer who uses her band as one of her mediums. It’s perfect.

Paola: They fit right in! Our idea is that the writing should be unique, and no matter what style, the criteria is that we be moved by the music and that there be deep process and virtuosity in the compositional approach. Netsayi definitely represents this: she mixes rhythms and forms from her native Zimbabwe, orchestrates them for her band and traditional instruments such as Zimbabwean marimbas and mbiras with western instruments such as the violin and cello. We also felt it was important to embrace a more international approach to the art song with the opportunity of bringing 21c to BAM.

5.  What are you both listening to right now, arty or otherwise?  

Beth: I am always listening to 30 Seconds to Mars, as I am obsessed with them. They are an arty alternative rock band that I get a lot of inspiration from. I also spent time this week with Nico Muhly’s Principles of Uncertainty (an amazing song cycle for countertenor that we did on our first Liederabend in 2009) and also Philip Glass’ Satyagraha, which is a frequent playlist for me. In addition to that, I’ve been listening through much of the Liederabend repertoire (which is awesome!!).

Paola: Right now I am listening to Einstein on the Beach and Vijay Iyer, alongside Arcade Fire's new album. I've also been watching a lot of videos of Heiner Goebbels and Vocal Theater Carmina Sovenica in preparation for writing for children's choirs!

5 Questions for Janine Thériault of La Belle et la Bête

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In Lemieux Pilon 4D Art's La Belle et la Bête, the actors interact with stunning projected imagery in a retelling of the age-old Beauty and the Beast story. We chatted with Janine Thériault who plays La Belle about her role and what it's like to perform with "virtuals."

1. How would you describe your character and in what ways do you identify with her?
This version of Belle (along with the play as a whole) is a contemporary take on the more archetypal fairytale version—so, although she is still very much the "Bringer of Light, Life, and Love" in the story, there are necessarily more shadows, uncertainties, and ambiguities in her. She's a very youthful person, with all that entails—including a decidedly impetuousness streak. She's also an artist in her own right, and has built much of her existence around her work. She's definitely a glass-half-full person. I certainly identify with her determination to see beauty, light, and wonder in life, and the struggle that this insistence can sometimes be. Her desire to use her art to bring this light is definitely something we share, what I aspire to do with my own [art]...

2. In the play you interact mostly with projections. Were the projections part of rehearsals from the beginning or were they added later?

Much later! Because my first show with this production was on tour, the stage and all the equipment had been sent ahead far in advance by ship, and I only got onto the stage with the projections in tech week! Thankfully for me, our intrepid assistant director knows the minutia of the virtuals inside out, and had me as prepared for what I'd be encountering onstage as I could be. But this late introduction gave me moments of being taken away by the magic of the show in that week—something that doesn't always happen in tech!



3. This is a unique experience for an actor, could you talk about some of the challenges of this production?

I'm afraid I can't go into many of the challenges without giving up our tricks, but yes, the virtual images make for a very technically demanding show for everyone, on or off-stage. It's akin to working with a green screen, but even more precise because we have an audience in the room with us, and we interact very intimately with the virtuals. But the mother of all the actors' challenges is that there's never anything to see! That's the question we most often get, and people are always shocked to hear we on stage never see the projections. So the spell we're trying to cast for an audience, of proximity, of intimacy, and of interaction, requires a unique combination of externally-prescribed precision and big imagination.

4. Do you think it has had an impact on the way you act with real-life actors?
It's made me very thankful to have them! Actually, I'd like to think that it's made a better listener out of me. When I'm working with the virtuals the only sense I can use to interact with them is hearing. It certainly makes you more attuned to any audible nuance when it's all you have to establish a rapport with.

5. What might you do on your off day during your BAM run?
What won't I do?! It's been far too long since I've been in NY and I have an impossible wish list of things to do—but seeing old school friends, eating at my favorite French bistro in Soho, and taking the walk through Central Park to the Met are at the top of my list. And I hope very much for my last night in town to be an all-nighter!

La Belle et la Bêteruns Nov 21—23 at the BAM Howard Gilman Opera House.

Record Your Rime: A BAM Poetry Project

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Admit it. You've always dreamed of being a swarthy sailor who sports a crossbow, gambles with death, and gets mistaken for the devil.

In celebration of Tony Award nominee Fiona Shaw's upcoming performances of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s epic account of bird-related misadventures on the high seas, we're partnering with the Poetry Foundation's Record-a-Poem project to collect your interpretations of (an excerpt from) Coleridge’s classic rhyme.

Don’t worry, sailor: this can all be done from the comfort of your own scurvy-free home. All we need is your lovely voice and your saltiest take on one of the great poems of the English language.

Deadline for submissions is December 1, 2013 at midnight.

In a few weeks, we’ll edit together a single crowd-sourced reading featuring as many of your voices as possible and post to the blog. And if you participate through Soundcloud, your entire reading will be preserved as part of Record-a-Poem for poetry posterity.

Two Ways to Participate: 

By Email
  1. Record yourself reading the excerpt below. Don't be afraid to get creative! (Smartphone apps like Voice Memo are easiest. Just try to keep your phone 8-10 inches from your face).  
  2. Save file as "LastName FirstName Rime" (Example: Doe John Rime.m4a)
  3. Email your clip to rime@BAM.org. Be sure to include where you're from and your age (optional) if you'd like to be credited later on.
By Soundcloud
  1. Record yourself reading the excerpt below. Don't be afraid to get creative! (Smartphone apps like Voice Memo are easiest. Or download the Soundcloud app and record it directly to the site. Just try to keep your mic 8-10 inches from your face).  
  2. Join (or log into) Soundcloud.com.
  3. Join the Record-a-Poem Group on Soundcloud.
  4. Upload your file.
  5. Name your file RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER by COLERIDGE read by YOURNAME.
  6. Tag your poem with "poem", "poetry", and "Coleridge".
  7. Click "More Options," click "Downloads" to enable downloading, and save.
  8. Click "Go to your sound" and add the file to the Record-a-Poem Group.
  9. Fill out this form to register your entry.
To set you up: you’re a sailor, whose ship has been blown off course. You might have been saved, but you’re bad with birds and shot the magic albatross that was making the winds blow. To the chagrin of your crew, you're stuck again. (Read the entire poem here).



From Part II of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
By Samuel Coleridge Taylor

. . . 

By Gustave Doré
All in a hot and copper sky, 
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was wither'd at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

Read the entire poem here.

Looking for Moses(es)

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by Marina Harss

Photo: Julieta Cervantes


“Nobody knows what Moses looked like. That’s part of the fascination,” the choreographer Reggie
Wilson says with a laugh, discussing some of the ideas behind his new work, Moses(es), which will have its New York premiere at the BAM Harvey on Dec 4. The biblical story of the Exodus has been in the back of Wilson’s mind for years—who hasn’t heard about the burning bush and the crossing of the Red Sea?—but it acquired new layers of complexity when he traveled to Jerusalem in 2010 for a residency sponsored by the Foundation for Jewish Culture (now the American Academy in Jerusalem). Once there, he met Avigdor Shinan—a Moses scholar at Hebrew University who happens to be the uncle of one of his dancers, Anna Schon.

It was Shinan who coined the word “Moses(es),” evoking the many faces of the man who delivered
the Israelites from slavery. “Show me your Moses and I’ll tell you who you are,” Professor Shinan tells his students at the beginning of each semester, laying out a variety of images. Such reflections on the multifaceted nature of myth dovetailed with Wilson’s reading of Zora Neale Hurston’s Moses, Man of the Mountain, a retelling of the Moses story as a Southern American folk tale. Among other things, Hurston’s book is an allegory of slavery and liberation in America. In his usual non-linear way, Wilson has pried this narrative apart, examining it from all angles.

How do other Moses figures, like Harriet Tubman and Martin Luther King, relate back to Old Testament notions of leadership? What does it mean to lead? Or to follow, for that matter? (These last
questions are of particular interest to a choreographer, whose work revolves around leading a group of dancers, but also requires him to follow the vagaries of his own mind.) And what is freedom? At a recent rehearsal, Wilson read out a short passage from Hurston’s book: “He had found out that no man may make another free. Freedom was internal.” This segued into a conversation with the dancers about the meaning of artistic and interpretative freedom, in relation to their performance. “Allow yourselves more freedom,” he quietly urged them. The tired dancers went back to working on a passage that, on the surface, had very little to do with Moses: it involved walking, throwing, and catching—each dancer exhibiting a slightly different timing—as well as turning jumps with one leg swinging in front. Wilson’s musical selections are equally difficult to pin down; they include klezmer, calypso, house music, songs recorded at a South African Zionist church, and the dancers’ own voices.

Photo: Julieta Cervantes
Like Hurston, who wrote novels and plays and undertook ethnographic studies but also performed and directed theater, Wilson’s work exists at the meeting point between research, reflection, and performance. “I’m actually going out and doing field research and trying to convert that research into performance,” he says. For this reason his work has many points of entry and develops gradually, over a period of years, through a process of accumulation and selection. The Good Dance—dakar/brooklyn, performed at BAM in 2009, arose out of a Guggenheim fellowship that took Wilson to Senegal and Ghana in 2002 to explore new ways of moving and thinking.

That research led him to a collaboration with the Dakar-based choreographer Andréya Ouamba. In Moses(es), his partner is the dramaturg Susan Manning, a professor at Northwestern who has helped Wilson to organize information gleaned from residencies in Israel, Egypt, and Turkey. His research has dipped into areas as disparate as racial identity in Egypt, the mystical tradition known as Zar, and fractal geometry, to which he was introduced by the book African Fractals, by Ron Eglash. This extensive material has been organized into memos for the dancers to read and discuss. “There’s a lot of stuff,” Wilson says, “I encouraged people to move in the direction they were attracted to.”

These are only a few of the questions that led to Moses(es), but don’t expect to see answers laid out literally in the work. As in the process that led to The Good Dance, the raw material of the research is de-contextualized, subjected to an alchemical transformation—from information to form, movement, feeling. The logic is indirect, poetic. As Wilson puts it, “the things that start off from a hyper-literal place become abstracted through the process of juxtaposition.” Or, in the words of his costume designer Naoko Nagata— who created designs inspired not by the Bible but by a cookie jar Wilson remembers from childhood—“the piece may have nothing to do with Moses.”

Reprinted from the BAMbill.

Marina Harss is a freelance dance and culture writer and translator in New York. Her dance blog,
Random Thoughts on Dance, is at marinaharss.com.
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