Battery Dance Festival: Three Programs – Part 1

[Note – it was my intention to review the three nights of the Battery Dance Festival performances I saw in one review. But the length would have been prohibitive. So they’re being split up by performance date, and much of my introductory comments will be repeated for each program in case a viewer focuses only on one of the evenings. I apologize, but I saw no other reasonable way to do it.]

Battery Dance Festival – Part 1
Robert F. Wagner, Jr. Park
New York, New York

August 14, 2022
Unconquered Warriors(The Dancing Wheels Company); Huasteca Suite & Let Down (world premiere) (Ballet Nepantla); Cain (world premiere) and Diagonal (Linotip);Nanibu (NYC Premiere) (Gaudanse); Just Above the Surface (excerpt) (Peridance Contemporary Dance Company; Vanaver Caravan Retrospective (Vanaver Caravan)

Jerry Hochman

The Battery Dance Festival is New York City’s longest-running free public dance festival. Each year, the Festival draws a combined audience of over 12,000 in-person and over 35,000 virtual viewers. The annual festival has introduced New York area audiences, and more than a few island visitors, to over 350 dance companies in its 40 year history. Since it’s been around so long and is by now universally recognizable to anyone in the New York area and beyond, it’s no wonder that somehow I’ve managed to avoid it.

I intended to remedy this void this summer, but various issues arose which again made it virtually impossible for me to attend this year’s 41st annual incarnation. But, as things turned out, it was virtually possible for me to see some of the programs virtually, since each of the eight programs was to be livestreamed.

So although I don’t have the ambiance that would have come with attending the performances live – sunsets over New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, summer heat and humidity (though this year, except for one rain delay, the weather was ideal; naturally since I couldn’t be there live) – I selected three of the eight programs to watch via YouTube, so at least I could see a sample of the dances presented. I selected those programs I did for no reason other than that something on each program’s roster, which was different for each evening, intrigued me. Otherwise, I had little advance knowledge of only a few of the presenting companies or the dances, many of which were world premieres.

Given the nature of the programming, which includes a world-wide plethora of companies and choreographic works of varying quality and experience levels, I won’t be considering the programs in order of presentation. Rather, the reviews will focus first on those pieces that I found particularly intriguing and want to highlight, which happen in all three programs to be the final pieces, and then go back and comment on the other dances I saw in order. That’s not to be interpreted negatively against the other companies and dancers on the program in any way.

First a general observation. Assuming that the programs I watched are typical of Battery Dance Festival offerings in any given year, then my expectation that the pieces presented would represent an amalgam of emerging companies or choreographers is mostly wrong. To the extent one might consider most of them to be “emerging,” it’s only because they may be unfamiliar. Generally the choreography and dancers are of a high caliber, and the dances look as polished, if not more so, than many similar programs presented in other venues. There may be little in the way of star power, of dancers or companies, but that absence is not missed.

And credit should be given to the Battery Dance officers and staff who regularly put all this together, including specifically Gabrielle Niederhoffer, the Battery Dance Festival Manager, who I understand selected the participating companies.

The Vanaver Caravan – “Vanaver Caravan Retrospective” from “Pastures of Plenty: Tribute to Woody Guthrie”

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the Vanaver Caravan’s first performance. I’d read about the group previously, especially in connection with the preservation of work by American Modern Dance pioneers, but had not previously seen them and had no idea of the scope of their work. A quick look at the company’s website shows that it has a worldwide interest in worldwide folk dance, and, from its base in New Paltz, NY (the Hudson Valley), travels nationally and internationally fostering a sense of commonality and worldwide community.

The company was founded by Bill Vanaver, a musician, and Livia Drapkin Vanaver, a dancer, who met in New York, joined forces, and created what has become an institution.

This particular program is a carved out from a larger program titled “Pastures of Plenty: Tribute to Woody Guthrie,” and all but two of the dances presented are danced to Guthrie’s music. Guthrie, of course, is an American singer-songwriter and one of the most significant figures in American folk music, his most famous song being “This Land is Your Land.” His voice was of the common people, workers, and the oppressed.

The six songs performed here (plus another directed to and largely performed by the audience) have a sense of Appalachia, and of happiness and pride that overwhelms impoverishment, as well as a social-consciousness / political bent, and the dances that (primarily) Livia Vanaver choreographed are foot-stomping, knee-slapping little celebratory delights. There’s a common sense here of freeform and simplicity, but in fact the dances are polished recreations of what may have originally been spontaneous motivations.

The songs to which the dances were performed are, in order: “Hard Travellin’,” “Union Maid,” “Hangman’s Reel” (choreographed by Sandy Silva to traditional Quebecois music), “Newspaper Man” (to music by Guthrie’s fiend and equally well-known Pete Seeger), “Peace-Pin Boogie,” and “Temperance Reel” (to traditional music). It’s tempting to lump all of them under one umbrella since they do share a certain commonality of spirit and background, but each is distinctive, with different form, length, and number of performers. That being said, separating them out for individual analysis isn’t helpful. Suffice it to say that the dances I found most fun were the first and last, and “Union Maid,” a solo. The joy-inspiring dancers were Brandon Baker, Ariana Brisport (who performed the Union Maid solo), Isabel Cottingham, Brian Lawton, Rafal Pustelny, Sophia Roberts, and Miranda Wilde Way. And the program was immeasurably enhanced by the live musical accompaniment: Music Director Bill Vanaver on banjo and vocals, Livia Drapkin Vanaver for vocals and supplemental dancing, Jim Barbaro on guitar, Mark Murphy on bass, and Chelsea Needham on the fiddle.

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In order of presentation:

The Dancing Wheels Company: Unconquered Warriors

Dances created for companies that integrate disabled and not disabled dancers are not unusual in this area. I’ve seen several of them over the years. Those native to the New York area include Heidi Latsky Dance and Infinity Dance Theater (and I’m sure there are more I haven’t seen), and recent years have brought other such national and international companies (including Axis Dance Company from Oakland, CA, and Sweden’s Skånes Dansteater). The Dancing Wheels Company, founded by Founding Artistic Director Mary Verdi-Fletcher, who performs from a wheelchair, outdoes all of these in longevity. Based in Cleveland, Ohio, the company has been in existence for over 40 years, long before the notion that “any body can dance” became a common mantra.

As worthy of appreciation as many of these dances (and definitely the dancers) are, I don’t recall the choreography being particular meaningful besides displaying that persons with disabilities can move beyond changing their physical positions on a stage, maneuvering their wheelchairs at breakneck speed and occupying a variety of physical positions. I’m sure, given its history, that Dancing Wheels Company includes dances in its repertory that go beyond that and present dances that are meaningful and well as physically integrated and accommodating, but I didn’t find Unconquered Warriors to be one of them.

The piece, choreographed by the late Nai-Ni Chen, is reportedly based on a Chinese legend called “the magical wheel of the wind and fire,” and employs kung-fu fans and martial arts elements. I did see the fans, and considerable upper body movement (primarily arms) that could be seen as simulating martial arts movement. But I was unable to discern any particular narrative, however thinly or abstractly it may have been presented.

That being said, this isn’t a crucial point. To music (“Mirrors” and “Voices” by Glen Velez) the dance moves dramatically from one side of the stage to another, and upstage to downstage, and diagonally, and breaks into subgroups in interesting and varied formations that make it enjoyable to watch. And there are multiple moments where abled dancers balance on a wheelchair, or even on the person in the wheelchair, at times more than one at a time, while the seated dancer moves the wheelchair forward. And at one point one of the women (Verdi-Fletcher) is lifted up and out of her wheelchair and held in the air by another, but shortly thereafter is reseated..

But one observation is concerning. There are six dancers, and four wheelchairs. As the dancers take their positions, two women and one man propel their wheelchairs forward with their arms, while another male dancer pushes the wheelchair from behind and only sits in it after it’s moved into position. Later, after the dance begins, the other man – the one who moved his wheelchair forward while sitting in it, gets up from the chair and subsequently dances as if he suffers from no physical disability at all. Of the two wheelchair-bound women, they remain that way throughout the dance. One, Verdi-Fletcher, is obviously unable to leave her wheelchair unassisted; the other may or may not be.

I can see that demonstrating that being confined to a wheelchair doesn’t always mean what one thinks it means, and that whether one is or isn’t disabled doesn’t matter, but in a way what happened here undermines the notion that the dance is, among other things, a demonstration of the successful integration of physically abled and disabled dancers. Instead, the stage interplay is translated as “appearances are deceptive,” and the focus instead is on who among the performers really is or isn’t disabled. I wonder if that’s helpful to the overall company mission.  The dancers included McKenzie Beaverson, Matthew Bowman, Cody Krause, Sara Lawrence-Sucato, Celina Speck, and Verdi-Fletcher.

Ballet Nepantla: Huasteca Suite & Let Down (world premiere)

According to the program description, “Through a fusion of Mexican folk and contemporary dance, Ballet Nepantla explores the “in-between” spaces of trans-historical cultures, and communicates the narrative of living in the middle of physical and metaphorical spaces.” That kind of description, to me, sounds both pretentious and opaque. But given the name of the company, it makes sense. “Nepantla,” translated, means “in the middle of it” or “middle,” and also as a concept of “in-between-ness.” It’s a Nahuati term. [Nahuati is a language spoken the Nahuas, a group of indigenous people of Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. According to my usual extensive research (ie., Wikipedia), the Aztecs, and perhaps the Toltecs as well, were descended from the Nahua. Once again, it astonishing how much one doesn’t know that one doesn’t know.] The word evolved by the Aztecs during the Spanish conquests in the 16th Century to describe how it felt to be “in-between” the two cultures, and has evolved over time into a complex term with multiple meanings relating to culture clash and finding common ground, as well as a political tool for social change. Be that as it may, this is not an unfamiliar concept in dance.

Founded in 2017 by Andrea Guajardo and Martin Rodriguez, for the purposes of the dances presented here the first part of that description is sufficient (a fusion of Mexican folklore and contemporary dance). That’s exactly what Ballet Nepantla presented.

The company opened its presentation with Huasteca Suite, a set of three Mexican folk dances: “Caballito,” “El Caiman,” and “Malagueña.” The first was choreographed by Rodriguez, the last by Rodriguez and Anthony Bocconi, and no choreographer is indicated for “El Caiman.” They’re folkloric dances that resemble those of other cultures but have evolved as stereotypically Mexican. The first features three men dancing in tandem horizontally, executing fast-paced footwork that has a remote kinship with Spanish dance, and their costumes could have been borrowed from “typical” costumes in the American Southwest (though more likely the direction was the other way) and “El Caiman” is a dance demonstration of lassoing technique that incorporates a form of jump-rope. “Malagueña” is more well-known, and more joyful. The three men from the first dance are joined by three ladies, who dance either separately or paired, and each lady frequently holds her stereotypically folkloric skirt up sideways by its edge, forming a fan shape as they move. It’s upbeat and highly enjoyable. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a listing of the dancers.

Let Down is another matter. This is a contemporary duet for two women, and it’s superb. Choreographed by Guajardo, who was raised in South Texas, and performed by her and another, the piece is described in the program note as “the story of a lost love that confronts gender normative dancing, while providing representation for queer females in dance.” That’s more information that a viewer needed to know. Suffice it to say that the passionate but ultimate futility of the relationship is agonizingly expressed through the choreography, abetted by the obvious emotional content (not explicit) that the dancers provide. To a song by Flor de Toloache, which is sung partly in Spanish but mostly in English, the lyrics tell of one woman letting another down – which I understand to mean that the anticipated relationship between the two women was, for reasons out of their control, not happening, and one feels that she let the other down. The two dancers do excellent work here; as choreographed and performed, the dance is an extended wail: poignant, angry, and ultimately hopeless.

Linotip: Cain (world premiere) & Diagonals

I’m at a loss to figure out what choreographer Arcadie Rusu is trying to say in Cain. And it’s frustrating, because it’s so apparent that Rusu is trying to say something.

Rusu is a choreographer, movement director, dancer and manager at Linotip Independent Choreography Centre in Bucharest, Romania. It has no company dancers of its own that I was able to determine. Essentially, Linotip is a choreographic think tank.

Over the years, Rusu has become a highly respected choreographer, and has won many awards and earned considerable recognition. And the choreography for Cain is certainly interesting, and the dancers executing it (Zaki A’Jani, Jill Linkowski, and Razvan Stoian) were all recruited from Battery Dance. The problem with it is that there’s more here than the standard operating Cain and Abel story, it’s not clear what that is, and it’s not clear who the dancers are supposed to represent.

Having three dancers – more specifically one woman – in the dance creates obvious problems. The standard story is between Cain and Abel, and maybe God. So who’s the woman? I suppose she could have represented their mother, Eve, or their sister (who subsequently marries Cain). She could also have represented God, but at the outset of the piece she’s the one who places the “sacrifice” (we don’t know whether it’s Cain’s or Abel’s or both) in a bowl onto the stage floor, so that’s unlikely. Her identity is critical, but even more critical is determining which of the men is Cain, and which Abel – or indeed if one is Cain and one Adam. If this sounds confusing, it’s because it is.

The piece begins with the three dancers, Linkowski in the middle, marching single file onto the stage, stopping while Linkowski places that bowl on the stage floor, and then continuing to form a verticle line. The dance then becomes more active. Linkowsky spreads herself side to side between the others, then the others move similarly, and then the group breaks up into generally individual expressions of anger and outrage, by the men – including thrusting gestures indicating a desire to eliminate the other one, but these motions continue throughout the dance. Linkowski’s character, however, is a not aggressive. Although at times she moves forcefully, most of the time she’s manipulated by one or the other or both of the men. Indeed, she’s portrayed as something of a victim here, but of whom or what isn’t clear. Perhaps the dance is something of a prequel, and she represents Cain’s sacrifice, a firstborn sheep. Eventually, with no clear resolution, each of the three dancers falls to the floor, apparently dead. But, if one of the men is Cain, why is he portrayed as dead rather than wandering?

You see my problem? My guess is that A’Jani is meant to be Cain, because, perhaps because he’s physically taller and more powerful-looking than Stoian. But my understanding of the characters stops there. Be that as it may, all three performers danced brilliantly, even if I didn’t know exactly what they were doing or who they were.

The choreography is highly physical, and quite vicious-looking, but there are moments of quiet for reasons that aren’t clear, and the connection of both men to Linkowski’s character can be seen as at times tender and concerning, as if they were trying to keep her out of the fray. So even though it’s largely aggressive and angular, the choreography isn’t monochromatic.

According to the program note, the duet Diagonal “is inspired by Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși, one of the most influential sculptors of the 20th-century; a moment captured in the performance from his period in the Parisian atelier, where the artist lived, created and loved.”

Unless one considers dancers moving in space, meaning or not, as moving sculptures, and somehow relates what Rusu has choreographed in that sense, I don’t see the connection. Rather, at least on the surface, it’s another relationship dance, a theme I’ve seen dozens of times before although the effort here, together with the execution, puts it in a different league. Diagonal is a beautifully crafted work, danced with extraordinary passion, and compassion, by two Romanian dancers, Teodora Velescu & Attila Bordas.

But the dance is so well structured and executed, and so apparently deeply personal, that maybe Diagonal works on another level as well, as representative of an artist’s (Brâncuși’s) struggle to create. In that sense, perhaps, the dance Rusu has created, to complementary music by Alexandru Suciu, is a dance of metaphors. Bordas is the artist and Velescu his muse and/or the substance he’s trying to mold (and to some extent, in addition to appearing as a passionate companion, Velescu can also be seen as inspiration for Brâncuși’s famous “Bird in Space” series of sculptures. It’s a stretch, particularly since the dance’s final scene has them drifting apart.

According to the program note, the duet Diagonal “is inspired by Romanian sculptor Constantin Brâncuși, one of the most influential sculptors of the 20th-century; a moment captured in the performance from his period in the Parisian atelier, where the artist lived, created and loved.”

Unless one considers dancers moving in space, meaning or not, as moving sculptures, and somehow relates what Rusu has choreographed in that sense, I don’t see the connection. Rather, at least on the surface, it’s another relationship dance, a theme I’ve seen dozens of times before although the effort here, together with the execution, puts it in a different league. Diagonal is a beautifully crafted work, danced with extraordinary passion, and compassion, by two Romanian dancers, Teodora Velescu & Attila Bordas.

The dance is so well structured and executed, and so apparently deeply personal, that maybe Diagonal works on another level as well, as representative of an artist’s (Brâncuși’s) struggle to create. In that sense, perhaps, the dance Rusu has created, to complementary music by Alexandru Suciu, is a dance of metaphors. Bordas is the artist and Velescu his muse and/or the substance he’s trying to mold (and to some extent, in addition to appearing as a passionate companion, Velescu can also be seen as inspiration for Brâncuși’s famous “Bird in Space” series of sculptures. It’s a stretch, particularly since the dance’s final scene has them drifting apart.

Whatever its meaning may or may not have been, Diagonal is an excellent piece of work. It begins, after tape is applied to the stage to create a square shaped space within the stage space (representing, perhaps, the artist’s creative space, real or representative), with the two dancers largely moving diagonally from one corner of the square to another. But the square isn’t a rigid perimeter. The action, the repeated coming together and breaking apart of a relationship, whatever that relationship is, and the extraordinary amplitude and craving that the two dancers communicate, makes for a very special “relationship dance.”

Gaudanse: Nanibu (NYC Premiere)

Imani Gaudin was born in New Orleans, educated there and in New York, and attended training programs at The Ailey School, Dance Theatre of Harlem, and Juilliard, and has performed in pieces created by a variety of choreographers. This background is a little skimpy, and her non-profit organization’s website (described as a “platform for ardent independent thought leaders”), shows a minimal amount of choreographic experience (there may be more, but they’re not indicated on the site). So, essentially, she appears relatively inexperienced. But Nanibu shows promise.

In the program note, Nanibu is described as investigating “what it means to be royalty through imagery and movement…[using] bird-like movement along with feelings attached to colors to create the idea of a queen.” Surprisingly (at least to me), that’s not a bad description of the piece, a solo choreographed and performed by Gaudin. The apparent subject of “royalty” and “the idea of a queen” are unusual topics for a dance, to say the least. But after seeing the piece, and doing a little research, it’s clear that’s not exactly what Gaudin means.

In the first instance, the music is, with a brief period of agitation, calming, the dance’s atmosphere is quiet, and the dance itself includes primarily lyrical, flowing, decidedly non-aggressive movement, which was a welcome change of pace. But the feelings I sensed were not so much “royalty” in the common sense of the word, but a quiet dignity and yearning. And I did see movement that might be describable as “bird-like,” but in the sense of soaring (or attempting to, or dreaming of) rather than mimicry. Like the rest of it, it’s from the soul. Far more prevalent are indicia of contemplation and of hopeful prayer. And I could see a sense of regality, of nobility, but it’s one of spirit rather than ceremony – until the final image within a haze of hope, where Gaudin’s character slowly raises her body and her arms skyward, and places an invisible crown on her head. Namibu isn’t so much a dance of royalty but of a dream of freedom and what it feels like to be a queen.

I checked the work “nanibu” to discern a meaning, but couldn’t find one. Regardless, and although the dance’s meaning was quite apparent to me, a key to understanding what Gaudin is doing here is in the music: “Slave Ships” by Lupe Fiasco (a pseudonym), described as an American rapper, singer, record producer, and entrepreneur with his own fashion brands. But this composition isn’t rap, or hip-hop, or even vocal, and it’s not by Fiasco. It’s an instrumental: a three and a half minute violin solo described in “genius.com” as “performed by Rosy Timms [an Australian classical and electronic violinist], representing the slave ships that Africans were sent on to go to the United States back in the 17th & 18th centuries” that serves as a bridge connecting the two tracks surrounding it, within a Fiasco concept album about slavery.

So Gaudin’s dance is of freedom, of escape from the shackles of a slave ship, and what it might feel like to be royalty rather than a slave. But it can be more generalized than that, applicable to hopeful dreams of escape from whatever limitations there are, and of what it might feel like to be a human of worth and dignity.

The choreography itself isn’t particularly innovative or intricate, and it barely manages to avoid a sense of needless repetition (though given the dance’s subject, that’s understandable). But it’s an unusual subject executed in a clearly-communicated, respectful, and compassionate way, that’s neither understated nor overplayed, and that’s far more than one might expect from an emerging choreographer.

Peridance Contemporary Dance Company: Just Above the Surface (excerpt)

Peridance Contemporary Dance Company, led by Founder and Artistic Director Igal Perry, is a well-known member of the New York area dance scene since 1983. It’s located in Union Square, performs at several different venues (including internationally), and specializes in what the program note describes as “explosive and innovative” dance. Based on the excerpt presented here from Just Above the Surface, this dance fits neatly into those parameters.

The program note describes the piece as exploring “the electric connection of human interaction—the sensations that pull people together or apart.” While I dislike reviewing only excerpts from a dance, it appears that this is an accurate description. It’s also nothing new.

What makes it different is choreographer Yin Yue’s choreography, called FoCo, which fuses movement from both Chinese folk and contemporary dance. Even excerpted, the dance clearly and seamlessly merges the two into a whole that’s visually coherent. And the accompanying score, a mélange of unidentified electronic music by Michel Banabila, Shifted, Machinefabriek, and Metamorphoses, moves things along almost unobtrusively, with a steady repetitive beat.

But as interesting as it is choreographically (and as impeccably performed as it was), it doesn’t treat its subject in a significantly different way from other dances that explore the same subject. The eight dancers first appear as a group on stage in non-rigid horizontal lines, feet planted on the floor, moving their arms and torsos in unison as if – from the ambient sound –awakening from the hum of crowded nothingness. As a beat kicks in, the mass breaks up, first into a feverish solo. Another joins, then another, some leave, some return, eventually pairing off into individual, apparently non-gender relevant, relationships. When these conclude, the group comes together again in a small moving circle, the lights go down as if signaling the start of another part of the dance, at which point this excerpt ends. Some of the choreography here is quite good and most often unusual, and primarily angular, but, except where the Chinese folk and somewhat martial choreography kicks in, not aggressively so.

The sense of this excerpt is facially emotionless urban anomie, with relationships that come and go within a societal setting. I particularly liked one sequence mid-way through the excerpt in which one pair dances-out their relationship with choreography that’s smoothly aggressive, almost lyrical at times, without clearly indicating what qualities in the relationship it’s relating, while a second pair calmly waltzes, and then the second pair takes over with a lovely, almost lilting, duet; and another series toward the end when one couple breaks from the larger group, connects – again with exceptionally finely honed choreography – and then the two separate and rejoin the group as if nothing had happened.

The stellar group of dancers were Alexandre Barranco, Colin Heininger, Mizuho Kappa, Hannah Newman Pan, Jerard Palazo, Robert Rubama, Joslin Vezeau, and Tara Youngman.

 

Part 2 continues in the subsequent review.

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