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Review 1, 12-4: With Post-Mod Irony on Her Side
De Keersmaeker's Cynical New Solo to Baez
By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2002 The Dance Insider
PARIS -- Just over two
decades ago, as Dance Theater Workshop executive director David
White tells it, a student dancer from New York University, Anne
Teresa De Keersmaeker, strode up to the Fresh Tracks panel at DTW
before beginning her solo "Violin Fase" and warned the judges, "And
don't give me any shit about using Steve Reich." Well, last night
at the Theatre de la Ville - Sarah Bernhardt, less than a week after
its world premiere in Brussels, De Keersmaeker gave the Paris premiere
of only her second solo since "Fase," and I am here to give her
major shit about using, abusing, mocking, not understanding, and
failing to apply her usual intellectual and kinetc rigor to the
music of Joan Baez, in some relation to which she was ostensibly
dancing.
Taking a page from my
Dance Insider colleague Aimee Ts'ao, before getting to and at ATDK's
new "Once," to the music of the fabled 1967 Joan Baez In Concert
album, I should lay my biases on the table. Not only was I weaned
on Joan Baez like many children of the '60s; when I was four, my
mother introduced me to her at my first concert, given by Bob Dylan
at Winterland. Years later, as an adult interviewing her in about
1989, I recounted this story to Joan (she is always Joan to us),
and that fact -- that I had encountered her first when I was four
-- distressed her. In between these two encounters, as a senior
in high school, the first time I was able to cry about the assassinations
of San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk
was at a day-after vigil, when Joan stood on the steps of City Hall
and sung an aching, a capella "Amazing Grace" that expressed all
our grief exactly. (If you're not familiar with Baez, what you need
to know is that her soprano pierces your heart with well-chosen
crescendos.)
The other thing you
need to know about Joan is that while she was embraced by the counter-culture,
she was not just its herald but its songbird, more hippy chick than
Gloria Steinham. With her haunting voice as apt to serve a sad love
song as an anthemic call to action, Baez agitated for the Cause
and the heart. Before she was the darling of the anti-war and civil
rights movements, she was the darling of the Cambridge coffee-house
circuit. Even today in her late fifties, like De Keersmaeker beginning
her forties, Joan is still a flirt.
Perhaps a little because
of her flirtatiousness but mostly because of the fire she brings
to even frigid music like that of Reich, I began last night rooting
for De Keersmaeker, anticipating a dream collaboration between these
personal idols of song and dance. (To read my previous laudatory
words on De Keersmaeker, just enter her name and mine in the search
engine window on our Home page.) Before pattering over to a 'record
player' to symbolically lower the needle on Baez's "in Concert"
album last night, ATDK, in dark blue slit dress and tee-shirt, her
hair in a short pony-tail, gave us a preview, in silence, of some
of the phraseology that would follow. There were the disjointed
weight shifts and sudden shoulder shrugs, scans of the audience
and lingering high lifts of the leg, and the slightly off-balance
freezes, but there were also new twists drawn form the 'ugly dance'
bag. Ape-like, De Keersmaeker squatted on her haunches. Like some
spoof of an unmotivated child, she slouched her back and sunk her
chin into her chest.
Because this was De
Keersmaeker, in my book she had a lot of lee-way in which direction
she chose to approach this music. As the dance was entirely to Baez,
except for a brief Bob Dylan cameo and interludes of silence, and
as the connection to the music was hyped extensively before the
show, I think it was fair to expect that there be some relation
to the music. It didn't need to be literal. It didn't even need
to be adulatory. But it had to treat the music directly in some
manner, even if that manner be satirical or otherwise ironic.
But De Keersmaeker didn't
really make a choice, relying mostly on vocabulary we've seen before,
from her or, more specifically, Trisha Brown -- plenty of isolations
and release. So where she did make a choice, be it narrative or
mocking, the gestures seemed hackneyed. For example, in Dylan's
"Don't Think Twice," Joan sings: "I once loved a woman/a child I'm
told/I gave her my heart/she wanted my soul." And De Keersmaeker
makes a gesture of grabbing a soul from another's body, curling
her elbow and clenching her fist. To the same song, she holds up
first one then another finger. (Don't think twice.) To the lullaby
"Hush Little Baby," rather patly, she mimes the diamond ring, the
billy goat, the dog named Rover, all the other things mama gives
baby and, of course, cradling the baby itself. On the other hand,
to a Portuguese song, she waves a hand and rocks her head looking
knowingly at the audience, in the universal gesture for "Yada yada
yada." This isn't satire; it's just cheap, lazy mocking.
Appallingly, for two
of Baez's most-requested anthems -- "We Shall Overcome" and "Battle
Hymn of the Republic" -- ATDK has Baez's singing roughly faded out,
and replaces it with her own. She might have been going for some
effect here; in performing both of these songs, Baez usually invites
the audience to join in, and in such cases might even fade herself
out. But the effect was lost with just De Keersmaeker tooting out
the lyrics. With her dance to "We Shall Overcome," she may have
been going for another effect: As she sings the lyrics, her neck
and then head slump. But if the message here is that we are not
overcoming, De Keersmaeker totally misses the essence of Joan and
her music, which is not to induce wallowing but to empower us.
But with the climactic
"With God on Our Side," a Dylan tune famously sung by Baez, Aaron
Neville, and others, De Keersmaeker reaches the peak of her ridicule.
Having basically ignored narrative (except for some elementary mime)
for the entire evening -- a legitimate choice -- she's suddenly
listening to the lyrics. Joan is faded out again, to be replaced
by Dylan and then De Keersmaeker singing, the lyrics which have
rolled across the screen all evening joined by war footage. Then,
before you can say "make love not war," another Belgian dancer has
popped her top and I've blown mine.
Pour quoi? you ask.
As I left the theater and walked up the Boulevard Sebastapol, I
passed a bookshop where, before the performance, I'd picked up a
copy of "Belles Algeriennes de Geiser." It's a collection of what
look to have been postcards of Algerian women, from photos taken
by the house of Jean Geiser between 1848 and 1923. The intent, says
the book jacket, is to show the jewelry and costumes worn by women
of the era...but some of them show a little more. I have a curiosity
for all things Algerian, particularly during the period when the
country was run by the French, but I also wanted to check my own
and the book's intent, so before purchasing it, I contacted a dancer
friend from that part of the world, just to see if the book struck
her as exploitative.
I think what makes me
indignant about Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker's "Once" is that these
songs and this troubador are part of MY culture. So I feel more
than a little like what an Asian person watching a revival of one
of Ruth St. Denis's 'Orientalist' exercises must feel: My culture
is not there for you to exploit. It has meaning, and it is not there
so that you can create a meaningless heedless dance. I don't say
that my culture is off-limits to someone outside of it, but I do
say that if she's going to parlay with it, she's got to treat the
source with respect. She should be free to forge her own response,
be it loyal or oppositional, adulatory or ironic. But she's got
to know the material first. Even if I didn't feel so proprietary
regarding Joan Baez, I think my investment as a believer in the
work of Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker would have left me disappointed
that the intellectual and kinetic rigor she usually applies to her
work is so absent here. What we witnessed last night was a classroom
improvisation as insulting to its musical source as to the previous
record of the choreographer who signed her name to the work.
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