Saturday, January 29, 2011

Dancing to Your Own Music

When an email arrived from the theater dance and performance studies programfrom the University at California at Berkeley announcing a lecture “about “Doing Dance Criticism,” I decided to go.

I thought the lecture would be a healthy experiment.  With a half hour before the program was to begin, I landed a parking spot and walked through Sather Gate and located Room 315 in Wheeler Hall, which was already filled with people.  There I found the famous quartet of dance criticism composed of:


Sarah Kaufman referred to her experience checking in at the airport and asked, “Why do people recoil from physical contact and prefer a quick, but questionable technology,” contrasting the pat-down to the x-ray scan, perhaps thinking of the theme of her next dance article. Wendy Lesser responded to Kaufman’s question and offered, “The scan is faster.” As a recipient of two hip replacements, which requires Lesser to undergo pat downs all over the world, she said that the scan procedure means that people can keep a closer eye on their computers rolling down the security assembly line.

But what about dance criticism? There were a variety of thoughts ranging from the notion that dance on stage, or to what the panel referred to as “concert dance” represents an accumulation of inputs from everyone who touches a performance. The age-old question posed by the poet, W.B. Yeats, “How can we tell the dancer from the dance?” was described in the same way that the poet did—we really can’t. Another panelist said that the ability to write well in evocative terms, crafting language to describe the physical experience of dance, was a big plus.  The last speaker held by his motto, “We don’t make the scene; the scene makes us.”

One of the critics let the cat out of the bag and voiced a concern for the future of dance criticism. As newspapers shrink and arts publications die, Rockwell acknowledged that bloggers on the Internet have challenged the relevance of dance criticism.  He said, “We’re in transition to a new business model that may eventually allow some people to earn a living.” He also hinted that the Internet may evolve into a pay-as-you-go model.

Segal also acknowledged changing business models, recognizing that new TV sets now offer access to the Internet. As a result, he said, the “difference between cable and web sites will become blurred” and offer dance websites a viable future.

However,  the critics did not mention the impact of TV programs like “So You Think You Can Dance,” or “Dancing With the Stars,” in bringing dance to new public audiences, until that question was posed from the floor. Then everyone pitched in about articles they’d written on the subject. Some offered that the programs were “vulgar,” others were more positive in recognizing that dance-savvy judges offered the public an opportunity to become “dance literate.” Another critic wondered why the public needed to know about what steps composed the “Paso Robles,” for example, when they could simply discern “the movement,” which sounded like a Marie Antoinette “let them eat cake” attitude if there ever was one.

My take-aways? I learned that the world of dance, like every other place, is being seriously impacted by technology. I also felt that these four dance critics may be falling behind the public as You-Tube, the Internet, and TV programs legitimize forms such as B-Boy and Hip-Hop and bring dance to a new audience. Do these audiences have an interest in a  criticism that can expand beyond the world of concert dance? 

Maybe the panelists are dancing to their own music...

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Manduhai Across the Router

On weekends I Skype you,
wash sheets I bought when you lived here,
fall down on the bed.

There's no coffee in the house.
I remember my dream where ribs of darkness
decayed into a sandstorm of lightbulbs.

Nothing about coffee.
Fire, glass, and alcohol were part of it.
The Borromeo String Quartet scanned

Handel from laptops on music stands.
The iPhone glowed blue
with our songs.

I pressed Shuffle
but they fell flat,

a Genghis Khan
shooting from the hip
and the World Wide Web,

a Spice Trail across
routers with worm holes.
Later from the estuary

I emailed memories
scented in lavendar, rosemary,
and the back of your neck.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Manduhai the Wise

In the Year of the Tiger
when people could not sleep in their tents,

or birds in their nests,
I, Manduhai, Mongolian queen,

did not lift the tent flap of the man
whom people thought to share my bed,

but carried the spirit pole of my ancestors,
Dayan Khan, a cripple whose

bones were massaged with camel's milk
warmed in a silver bowl. I rescued the boy,

strapped him to my horse in a basket,
raised him on the battlefield

to be Great Khan, heir of Genghis.
Girls threw offerings of milk in the air.

Later when the steppes became mud,
we stepped through mud together,

and when it was cold,
we warmed out hands by the same fire.

With him, my waters gave birth to eight sons
and together we covered Mongolia

with the hooves of our mares.
From the Tuul River to the Orkhon,

we were two shafts of one cart
drawn by a white camel.

And when I could no longer
bear armor,

his memory was silk
on my heart and limbs.