Headwaters Theatre

DanceWatch: Dear March, come in!

Oregon's dance month marches in like a lion, and a tango, and some ballet, and some butoh, and some funk, and bootleggers, and more

Dear March – Come in –
How glad I am –
I hoped for you before –
Put down your Hat –
You must have walked –
How out of Breath you are –
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest –
Did you leave Nature well –
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me –
I have so much to tell –


This is the first stanza of Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come in –, a poem that describes the month of March like an old friend who has finally arrived, long awaited, but will soon leave because April is knocking at the door. Spring has arrived! The poem seems to express that time is fleeting, patience is a virtue, and we should enjoy things and life while they last. Our Portland winter hasn’t been as challenging as some, but it’s definitely been dark, and I am so glad to see the light again and feel the warmth of the sun on my face.

To me there is such an obvious connection between nature and dance. The body is nature. We are born of the earth, sustained by it, and return to it when we die.  Like nature, dance is also fleeting and lives in the moment. Dance and dancers, like seasons, grow and change, bloom, age, are affected by their environments, and flourishes when they are loved. 

March’s dance offerings are an interesting combination of the political and personal, the historical and imagined, and nature and connectivity, with a bit of comedy and religion sprinkled in. Enjoy!


DANCES AND DANCE EVENTS IN MARCH


Week 1: March 1-8

Marta Savigliano, Tango and the Political Economy of Passion
Presented by the Reed College Comparative Race and Ethnicity Studies Colloquium Series and moderated by Reed College Dance Professor Victoria Fortuna
Noon March 4 
Reed College, Vollum College Center, Room: 120, 3203 S.E. Woodstock Blvd., Portland

Offering both an insider and outsider point of view, Marta Savigliano – an Argentine political theorist and dance professor at the University of California at Riverside –, discusses her book Tango and the Political Economy of Passion (1995); a text on tango’s national and global politics that received the Congress of Research on Dance Award for Outstanding Book 1993-1996.
The event is free, and all are welcome. Lunch will be served, so please RSVP to cwilcox@reed.edu so that the right amount of food can be provided. 

Continues…

Aika & Rose: So far, sounds good

Amanda Spring, a band world mainstay, preps a musical theater debut.

aika_rose

Amanda Spring, Shana Lindbeck, Sara Hernandez and Tai Carmen.

In the beginning, Amanda Spring’s haunting voice simply lilts “ah’s” over a ukelele. The drum clicks gradually up to speed as a clarinet calls and a trumpet answers. Now the uke swishes into a samba stung by dissonant jazz chords, suddenly Brazilian. But as the horns lift in unison over funky wah-wah keyboard, you can almost picture ’70’s flyover footage of a majestic mountain range. A military snare muscles in, building speed and intensity, breaking at the groan of the lone clarinet, which lays the medley to rest with a quieting sigh.

These guys are good…and that’s just the overture.

Aika & Rose will premiere at Headwaters Theatre this Thursday, starring composer/singer Amanda Spring and co-writer/singer Tai Carmen. Spring’s a newbie to theater, but a well-established local musicmaker perhaps best known as the girl from Point Juncture Washington and Ioa (which, as any eyerolling music nerd will tell you, are not places, they’re bands).

Back in the day when being a girl in a band was still considered a noteworthy talking point or even a gimmick [writer leans back in rocking chair, spits tobacco], Spring’s unparalleled drumming and singing silenced all doubt. Her contributions to the bands’ aesthetics were memorable, too, like detailed spraypaint stencils of cats and dogs and hand-customized t-shirts. In Point Juncture, Spring’s penchants blended in with the rest of her active, creative, instrument-swapping quintet. But by the time she created Ioa, her inaugural solo project, certain hallmarks had surfaced as her own.

Spring sets her melodies to elliptical, mathy polyrhythms. Her voice sounds like a pan flute patch synth: smooth yet hollow, punching in and out with no noticeable buildups or breaths. Her timing between beats is impeccable. She’s the ghost in the machine…and the machine itself. Lyrically, Spring favors impassioned stances in complete sentences. Ioa lets dead-serious melodic essays about veganism, empathy, and interpersonal connection permeate its swirling, elaborate pop-scape—a sonic and ideological breach of convention.

If plainspoken preaching is the vinegar in Spring’s musical flytrap, stories and sonic surprises are the honey. Aika & Rose, a “supernatural star-crossed teen lesbian love story” seems poised to split the difference. But let’s rejoin the practice in progress:

Spring, playing teen lesbian suitor Rose, plucks the air to “ring” the invisible doorbell of her beloved Aika’s house. She’s met by Aika’s mother Momoko (The Angry Orts’ Sara Hernandez) and entreats her for permission to enter. Momoko forcefully denies her, superstitious that she’ll inflict the home with bad luck. “…but I won’t take no!” sings Rose, cuing an avalanche of drum fill and a blast of rock music. Teen, indeed.

“Yeah, let’s leave that part hanging out there,” she nods. “…as an ‘Acting Moment, TM’.”

These weekends cap off a year of Sundays that Spring spent crafting Aika, enlisting writing partner Tai Carmen and a 7-piece band (Will Hattman, Ben Barnett, Neal Wright, Victor Nash, Ed and Paul Bubl, and Ayal Alves). Eventually, Carmen and Spring took roles as the title teens and added three other cast members (Hernandez, Shana Lindbeck of Orchestra Pacifico Tropicale, and Jaime Lee Currier). “I bribed them with food,” Spring claims.

With its Asian motifs, Aika & Rose was a shoo-in at Headwaters Theatre, Portland’s butoh stronghold; moreover, Spring and Headwaters’ impresario Mizu Desierto have a lot in common. Both women woodshed their work at spacious outposts; Desierto’s got Prior Day Farm in St. Johns; Spring and partner Victor Nash built their studio and practice space, Desination Universe, in a freestanding barn at the outskirts of Johnson Creek. Both artists buck their disciplines’ usual genre restrictions; each has built up a creative network eager to pile onto her projects. Mere food wouldn’t lure seven musicians to Johnson Creek every Sunday. Make no mistake, that took talent.

At Fertile Ground Festival, Action/Adventure Theatre, Hand2Mouth and more, new musicals abound. Portland’s oversaturated bandscape continues to spill over into musical theater, even as mainstream culture (namely Glee) newly champions the form. In the last year, comic small-stage musicals like Roadhouse, Troll II, The Waterman, and Oh F–k Oh Sh– It’s Love have ruled the genre, and have kept their content light, which doubles as a built-in buffer against audience expectations. Mess it up? Laugh it off.

Aika & Rose, on the other hand, feels closer to Ashley Hollingshead’s Today! and Tomorrow! series. It’s more ambitious than the comedies, more idealistic, more mystical, more exotic, and more earnest. This creates higher stakes. If any technical efforts falter, these mood(s) could be ruined. But as long as they hold, the emotional payoff may be great.

Will that door open for Rose? She’s on the threshold, she’s rung the bell, and she “won’t take no.”

____

A. L. Adams also writes the monthly column Art Walkin’  for  The Portland Mercury, and is  former arts editor of Portland Monthly Magazine. Read more from Adams: Oregon ArtsWatch | The Portland Mercury
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Mizu Desierto explains American ME

The Portland choreographer gives us some context for her forthcoming butoh/mallrat mashup.

Man. Just when you think you know your local butoh master, she posts a picture that announces her latest source of artistic inspiration: America’s pop culture. Think strip malls, beauty pageants, music videos and wall bangs. Beers, babes, and bravado. But most importantly, think America’s unique brand of INDIVIDUALISM, with all of its incumbent advantages and drawbacks.

This is the theme of Mizu Desierto’s American ME, which opens on Friday, Dec. 6, at the Headwaters Theatre. There’ll be five performances through Dec. 14, featuring on different nights such guest artists as Linda Austin, Kajanne Pepper, Meshi Chavez, and Emily Stone.

Mizu_AmericanME

No move is too surprising from Desierto, who doesn’t just survive outside her element—she thrives. Starting out as a typical white midwesterner, she gradually discovered the Japanese dance form butoh and eventually devoted her life to its study. She even took a Japanese name that came to her in a dream (it means “water in the desert”). For a while, butoh’s conventions consumed her work. Dancers wore ghostly white body paint, made angular gestures and rolled-back eyes, and froze in prolonged poses of stillness wrought by deeply interior meditation.

[Note: Butoh tradition doesn’t go back as far as many in Japan; the form was conceived post-WWII. It borrows some aesthetic (whiteface, some gesture) from Kabuki and other older forms, but rejects their traditional yen for composure in favor of life-and-death viscerality and near-naked vulnerability.]

In recent years, Desierto decided to make a form of butoh more her own, a brand more “Portland organic,” if you will. She acquired Prior Day Farm and began improvising and choreographing themes of domesticity and permaculture. She even derived great inspiration from her chicken coop, regularly observing and mimicking the birds. (Around this time, I profiled Desierto in Portland Monthly; it’s a decent read). Butoh, which encourages dancers to make peace with their life cycle from birth to peak to decrepitude to death, was an appropriate fit for a farm. And perhaps that’s why Desierto, who prefers more of a stretch, moved on to reconcile a starker contrast. I asked Desierto what she thought she was up to (young lady) with this wild new work that marries Japanese self-sacrifice to American self-celebration. And more specifically…

Q: What in the world are you doing in this photo? I’m going to make a wild guess that you’re devising interpretive dance moves based on all-American southern rockers, heshers, and party animals; am I right?

A: Well, in the particular photo you are asking about, from the American ME Party Boy Series, we are pretty much just rockin’ out, drinkin’ Coors and smokin’ Camels. You know, celebratin’ our freedom and stuff like that. However, we did make some interestin’ interpretive-stylin’ moves at a few fine specimens of female walkin’ by that afternoon. … Is that pretty much what you mean?

Q: The last time we had a big long chat about one of your projects, you were taking inspiration from observing chickens. Where are you getting your latest source material?

A: Why, America of course! and ME! Or rather the culture of American ME.

As you know, I have been inspired by the teachings of butoh for nearly 20 years … and I have been following this interest of “What is American Butoh” for the last seven or more years.  I am not Japanese and I was not alive in 1959, so I’ve often struggled with the idea of claiming this contemporary performance expression as my own.  In truth, in its original expression, it is not me. It can’t be. I am of a different time and place. At the same time, I like to think that the original emanation of this surreal dance-theater fusion was meant for me and for the American Me – as a way to understand and transform my own time, culture, beauty, and craziness.

In this present multi-media, multi-disciplinary work, a lot of other influences are present. Butoh is there, for sure, but so is physical theatre, contemporary dance and performance, voice, song, live sound and a live film installation. From the inception of this project, I knew that I wanted to work within an ensemble-based creative process and work with peers who were equally dedicated to the intersecting crafts of dance and theater, music and film. I also knew implicitly that I wanted to give time for a longer period of creative research and development, without a strong pressure to produce immediately.

What we found began to happen over the course of time, and shared practice was a dynamic intimacy of collective trust and expression at the edge of some provocative current American themes … class, race, gender, religion, sexual preference, government, family, and the overall breakdown of the American Dream that we were all born into.

So I suppose the latest source material and interest has a lot to do with the ensemble and what they bring from their own personal histories and identifications. It has a lot to do with spending 3-6 hours in the studio a week with some amazing performers, over a period of two years, and allowing the cultural memes of our conscious and unconscious associations with America to reveal themselves. In addition, I think that the original impulse to create this work came from spending a lot of time traveling around the world when I was younger and particularly during the G.W. Bush era. I had to grapple a lot with my own cultural craziness at that time and this work gives us all room to celebrate it, make fun of it and hopefully destroy some parts of it.

AmericanMEposterWEB

Q: Who’s dancing this piece with you, and what are a few particularly American experiences that they each bring to the work?

The other performers are Stephanie Lanckton, Douglas Allen, & Nathan H.G. – I think one of the more vulnerable and also humorous parts of the show was developed around Doug’s experiences as a gay man in America. We are essentially making fun of some of the religious right’s ideas around purification rituals of gay people to clean away their sin and restore them to heteronormative states. A lot of the other American experiences we are working with are coming more from a shared story – of growing up here under the constant propaganda of beauty and success standards for both genders, the ceaseless bombardment of seductive consumption campaigns (of everything from cheeseburgers to pharmaceuticals), the post- 9/11 politics of the Bush administration and the uprising of religion within the sphere of the government.

A lot of the material that came out of us was a way for us to open and express our own personal relationships with cultural values around competition, self-absorption, power, money, indulgence and freedom. Of course, none of these things are black or white. We each became immersed in the complexity and contradiction of our individual and collective identities. For example, if you take the simple concept of freedom – we played with both its beauty and its perversions. Throughout history, people have usurped the ideal of freedom to get away with horrendous acts (either to themselves or to others) and at the same time it is, at its best, at the very foundation of who we are as Americans and what is also so great about us.

Q: How would you define the American character in contrast to the Japanese one…or if that’s too broad, American contemp dance values/character as opposed to the values/character of butoh?

A: America vs. Japan: Americans generally like things BIG. They like them NOW. They want instant gratification with a lot of big fireworks and explosions around it all. In Japan, there is an appreciation for empty space, small details, slowness and simplicity. There seems to be much less focus on the individual and more on the care of everyone. (This is from an outsider’s perspective, but these are the things that I noticed when spending time there). In terms of the cultivation of personalities–the Japanese tend to value more restraint, more listening and more respect in general for the world around them.

In terms of contemporary dance values, I think there are often a lot of shared values. However, the expression of the face as used in butoh is closer to theater than most contemporary dance. In general I would say that there is a theatricality in butoh that is often not found in a lot of contemporary dance (which is often more interested in very pedestrian expression). Because of this, I sometimes feel that the work I am doing is closer to theater than dance. And in this particular work we actually use a lot of text and even some song–so perhaps that distinction is getting blurrier and blurrier for me….

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A. L. Adams also writes the monthly column Art Walkin’  for  The Portland Mercury, and is  former arts editor of Portland Monthly Magazine. Read more from Adams: Oregon ArtsWatch | The Portland Mercury

Support Oregon ArtsWatch!