Fall for Dance 2024: Chacun a son goût

Fall for Dance 2021
New York City Center
New York, New York

September 18, 21, 24, and 27, 2024

Program 1: Wartime Elegy (Ukraine National Ballet), Piano Songs (Aran Bell), SAMA (Gallim)

Program 2: For Crying Out Loud (excerpts) (Complexions Contemporary Ballet), Ein von Viel (Boston Ballet), Venom (kNoname Artist | Roderick George)

Program 3: Myokine (U.S. Premiere) (Anne Plamondon Productions), The Specter of the Rose (world premiere) (Skylar Brandt and Herman Cornejo), Feeling Good (excerpts) (M.A.D.D. Rhythms)

Program 4: šɛgatəm (world premiere)(Royal Winnipeg Ballet), MotorRover (A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham), Rhapsody in Blue (U.S. Premiere) (CCN/Aterballetto)

Jerry Hochman

Fall for Dance (“FFD”), the series of dance programs that is wildly popular because of its content variety, its low prices, and its inclusion of dancers or dance companies that do not usually appear in such large venues, returned to City Center last month to kick off the dance performance year. The programs this year, FFD’s twenty-first, typify the diverse dances presented, and the diverse audiences that come to see them.

I attended the first four of the five FFD programs, and the three dances on each could hardly be more different from each other. That’s to be expected: FFD casts a wide net, and to a greater extent each year commissions (or co-commissions) new dances specifically intended to be for FFD. Not every dance that the series presents will be greeted the same way by its different audience-subgroups (although audience reaction to everything presented is usually, at a minimum, cordially enthusiastic). So if I find deficiencies in a certain dance, you can bet the farm that plenty of audience-members loved it.

Normally in a series such as this I’d either consider the programs and their contents seriatim, or highlight the finest of the bunch and return to the others thereafter. Here I’ll do a combination of both. Program 4, to my eye, was the best overall program, with CCN/Aterballetto’s take on Rhapsody in Blue the most surprisingly successful (though not without a basis for some criticism). I’ll focus on the dances that comprised that program first. This will be followed by the remaining programs in order of presentation. There are FFD highlights, along with dances I’d prefer to forget, in each of these programs.

Program 4:

Rarely is my reaction to a FFD program consistent throughout the various, and radically different, dances presented on any given program, but that’s what happened with the dances that comprised Program 4. The first is surprisingly touching in its earnest simplicity, the second a marvel of choreography and execution – still (I’d seen and reviewed it at length previously), and the third as boundary-breaking as the score to which it’s choreographed.

I concede that I don’t know much about the Royal Winnipeg Ballet (which calls itself “Canada’s Royal Winnipeg Ballet” for reasons that are not at all clear), other than that it exists and is venued in Winnipeg, Manitoba. That’s my loss. It turns out that RWB is Canada’s oldest ballet company, as well as the oldest continuing operating ballet company in North America, having been formed in 1939. Under the leadership of Artistic Director Andre Lewis since 1996 – who  is scheduled to step down at the end of the ‘24-‘25 season following 50 years as a student, dancer, and director, the Company regularly presents ballet classics (its’24-’25 season begins next month with Giselle); more novel efforts ( it began last year’s season with Angelin Preljocaj’s dark version of Snow White, which, to my knowledge hasn’t yet made its way to the New York area), as well as new ballets created by area artists. It also regularly tours across North America, per its website “demonstrating the boldness and tenacity of the Prairies,” and boasts that its roster includes a hundred dancers and musicians.

RWB also nurtures and welcomes a relationship with the indigenous people of the area, maintaining an Indigenous Advisory Circle and commissioning pieces from pertinent choreographers, one of whom, Cameron sinkʷə Fraser-Monroe, a member of the Tla’amin First Nation, was RWB’s 2023 Choreographer in Residence. Fraser-Monroe created šɛgatəm, which was co- commissioned by City Center and Bard College Center for Indigenous Studies. This performance was its world premiere.

Fraser-Monroe’s subject is simple, and the ballet he created is also. But simplicity can be a virtue, and that’s the case here. These Elders, as a group, are known to the community for their strength and independence, but must also learn to rely on others. šɛgatəm tells that story as exemplified by one Tla’amin Elder, personified by one of the dancers. There’s nothing particularly unique about this life outlook, but Fraser-Monroe makes it look like more than simply relying on neighbors to cook meals or plow snow.

The value of šɛgatəm (which means “to lift someone up”) is not only its subject, meritorious as that might be, but the choreography and the presentation. This is a “little” dance, and Fraser-Monroe and the RWB dancers make the most of it, without overdoing it.

To a pleasant score by Jeremy Dutcher, a classically-trained Canadian Indigenous tenor, composer, and performer, the dance opens with Logan Savard being held aloft by – on the shoulders of – the other six dancers upstage center. Appearing dissatisfied and restless, he soon “falls” to the stage floor, at which point the bulk of the dance begins.

There’s nothing exceptional about the choreography here. But viewed in a certain way, the group action has a relationship to tribal group movement – sometimes stiff-looking and with clear punctuation points, akin to some tribal dances I’ve seen elsewhere – but it’s all executed with a sort of sensitive determination, and with lovely and/or powerful lifts presumably demonstrating mutual reliance. As usual, I paid more attention to the women: Julianna Generoux, Emilie Lewis, and particularly Kyra Soo (who seemed to come from a different dance galaxy), but the group’s three men in addition to Savard (Joshua Hidson, Tumin Keown, and Michel Lavoie) made them, and the rest of the dance, look as good as they, and it, does.

I saw the program’s second piece, MotorRover by Kyle Abraham (in collaboration with his company, A.I.M.) during its world premiere season in April, 2023 at The Joyce Theater. It’s a piece for a pair of men – but to my knowledge has been performed by women as well. I reviewed it then, quite favorably, with the same cast as on this program:  Jamaal Bowman and Donovan Reed.

I won’t repeat everything I wrote previously (if interested, the link is: https://criticaldance.org/the-power-of-persuasion-a-i-m-returns-to-the-joyce/ ); suffice it to say that this piece, danced in silence (and without the “sound cues” that are built into Jerome Robbins’s Moves), is a tour de force for the dancers, and for Abraham.

And then there was CCN/Aterballetto, and its Rhapsody in Blue.

I’ve made no secret of my lack of appreciation for pieces designed with no clear purpose (or in the abstract, in response to the score) other than having the dancers move as quickly as possible, as constantly as possible, for no apparent reason beyond showing that the dancers can learn the choreography, complex or not, and count. These include pieces where the dancers are bound by, and stomp to, the rhythm of, the score. Some might place Aterbaletto’s Rhapsody in Blue in that category. I don’t. It doesn’t fit neatly into any category. But the dance, and the company, are amazing – and, somehow, do justice to George Gershwin’s landmark composition (as to which familiarity is assumed).

It didn’t start out that way. I was ready to give up on this Rhapsody in Blue after the first few minutes, because the dance’s opening was not only unimpressive, but downright dull.

The dance is choreographed by Iratxe Ansa (who hails from the Basque area of Spain) and Igor Bacovich, who have been working together since 2013. This piece premiered only seven months ago, with dancers from CCN/Aterballetto, Italy’s first National Choreographic Centre, established in 2022 and evolving from the historic Aterballetto company. Currently, CCN/Aterballetto comprises sixteen dancers working full seasons.

Apparently, CCN/Aterballetto auditions and/or contracts with dancers annually (although I’m not certain of that). Perhaps as a consequence, its site doesn’t identify its dancers. The FFD program does, but in alphabetical order, so there’s no way to identify specific dancers without spending hours searching individual names.

After the curtain rises, the fourteen listed dancers are seen in some sort of collective scrum upstage, all apparently worshipping or mesmerized by a pure-white, full moon-shape that dominates the upstage wall. The group of dancers just stands there, at times seeming to sway sideways, as if waiting for something to happen. If music was accompanying this, it was so under-the-radar that it was barely audible, and certainly was not the beginning of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.”

[The program mentions a second composer, Bessie Jones, but doesn’t indicate any composition. Jones was an American gospel and folk singer who passed in 1984, at age 82. I located a site that identifies the Jones composition used in the CCN/Aterballetto dance as “Beggin’ the Blues” (1977). I located and played the song (sung by Smith), and I heard nothing like that music in the dance – although its length fits the opening segment. Gershwin’s composition is a lot of things, but blues doesn’t appear to be one of them, and I haven’t read any source that connects the two or attributes Gershwin’s inspiration to “blues.” So if there was musical accompaniment to the opening segment, and this was that accompaniment, I have no idea why the dance’s creators put it there beyond the common word “blue,” or maybe as a second cousin once removed for “jazz.” But take all this with a grain of salt – I claim no expertise in music or music history.]

After what seemed like forever, a pair of dancers splits from the group and begins moving in a brief partnering segment. At some point as the duet appeared to be ending the iconic clarinet glissade that opens Gershwin’s masterpiece began. “Finally,” I wrote on my notes.

Then the real dance begins (with the initial couple continuing to dance). And then the brilliance begins.

I’d have as difficult a time characterizing the movement that followed as I would attempting to describe the multiple themes, the musical kaleidoscope, that is Gershwin’s score. The choreography doesn’t so much mirror these contrasting and variable themes, melodies and rhythms, as it reflects, even enhances, and incorporates them – and, impossibly, provides insight into “seeing the music.” This is not movement for movement’s sake, and it’s not always “comfortable” to watch, but its consistently edifying, and makes the impossible somehow possible. It’s not one style; it’s multiple contemporary imagery (though I saw no ballet), it changes from duets to small groups to larger groups and back again with as much frequency as the score does, and it changes tempo and mood when the composition does – reflected in the different colors that that “moon” displays as the dance progresses. [Scenic design by Fabio Cherstich.] And it succeeds, somewhat miraculously, in taking “Rhapsody in Blue” from its Jazz Age and New York City roots, and makes it a statement of joy for all time and all places.

Does this piece have a kinship to those ceaselessly frenetic, pounding pieces I’ve criticized in the past? Sure. But it’s far more than that. The choreography and the anonymous dancers executing it are not just pulsing, trying to reach “the light,” to escape from a cave, or to pound the stage floor, no matter how well executed. This choreography, and these dancers, are the music. It has no comparison that I’ve seen – the closest, which I thought of as I watched – is Balanchine’s Symphony in Three Movements (although of course the choreography is entirely different). And it’s a fitting salute to Gershwin’s composition, in its 100^th Anniversary Year.

Program 1

Program 1’s opening dance, which was also FFD 2024’s opening dance, was a piece by Alexei Ratmansky that had not been seen here previously. A familiar choreographic quantity to New York audiences, Ratmansky created Wartime Elegy for Pacific Northwest Ballet, where it premiered in September, 2022, seven months after the Russian invasion. It’s dedicated to “The People of Ukraine.”

Per its website, National Ballet of Ukraine (“NBU”) was founded in 1867 and continues to perform at the Taras Shevchenko National Opera House in Kyiv as the war rages on, but I understand that its seasons, and the theater’s capacity, have been severely limited. The company normally boasts a wide-ranging classically-based repertory, and regularly performs in Kyiv and around the world. According to its website, its current tour is “their premiere tour of the United States,” and “its first since the dissolution of the USSR over 30 years ago.”

Wartime Elegy is not to be performed on the tour – at least based on the tour program on NBU’s website. Obviously, however, the company detoured to City Center for this FFD performance.

I don’t consider Wartime Elegy to be one of Ratmansky’s many masterpieces; it’s laden with agony and memory, as is his recent masterpiece for New York City Ballet, Solitude, but isn’t as universal in scope or quite as heart-wrenching. On the other hand, it’s simple, pure, exciting (particularly in its presentation of folk dance), and undeniably heartfelt.

The eight dancers are not identified by role or appearance, so I can’t say who performed what. But the piece is – unofficially – divided into segments. To music composed by Valentyn Silvestrov as well as Ukrainian “village music,” the first segment appears to me to celebrate the company, and the country, in its majesty prior to the Russian invasion (and, presumably, prior to the Russian annexation of Crimea several years earlier). It features sweeping gestures and a sophisticated sense appropriate for its world-class status The second, presumably choreographed to that village music, memorializes Ukrainian folk dance, with additional comic touches that are right up Ratmansky’s alley. The final segment is purely elegiac; danced more slowly and deliberately than the first and with an overall somber ambiance, and clearly mourning, as well as recognizing, what and who have been lost.

The seasoned NBU dancers execute wonderfully in all respects. They included Natalia Matsak, Olga Golytsia, Tetiana Lozova, Anastasiia Shevhenko, Mykyta Sukhorukov, Yaroslav Tkachuk, Sergii Kryvbokon, and Volodymyr Kutuzov, each of whom, except the last, is scheduled to perform the U.S. tour. And Ratmansky himself was in the audience.

NBU is scheduled to return to City Center on October 15 and 16, following stints at the Kennedy Center, Philadelphia, Boston, and several New Jersey venues. Afterward the company will appear at various locations in Florida. Shumka, a Ukrainian folk-dance company, will join them. After a break, the company will return to the U.S. in February to tour venues in the West and Midwest. A portion of proceeds from ticket sales and accompanying merchandise will go to benefit the people of Ukraine.

In Piano Songs, which followed Wartime Elegy, NYCB Principal Tiler Peck has created a fine, if not particularly interesting, solo for American Ballet Theatre Principal Aran Bell, and uses music composed by the venerable Meredith Monk. It’s not the greatest of ballets, but it doesn’t try to be – it’s “just” a piece that focuses on the dancer I described a few years ago as “The Franchise.”

All that Piano Songs is is a collection of music (Monk’s “Ellis Island,” “Paris”, and “Folkdance”) to which Peck has grafted bravura ballet combinations, which Bell executes flawlessly in between trips to the piano presumably for inspiration. The difficulty level, and “wow” level, seemed to increase as the dance progressed, at the end leaving Bell feigning a faint to the floor.

There’s no attempt here to connect the choreography to the music in a thematic sense, but that’s not what the piece is trying to do. Rather, Monk’s music is all beautifully crafted and played background for Bell’s pyrotechnics. Monk, now nearing 82, has been creating for more than six decades. She was heartily welcomed onstage by Peck, Bell, and the audience during the curtain call.  [The program references two pianists, but I only recall one piano. Be that as it may, the listed pianists were Derek Wang and Joel Wenhardt.] The piece is a co-commission by City Center and the Vail Dance Festival (where it premiered this past summer season), which appears to specialize in ballet cross-pollination among stars of different companies, performing pieces created for them, and/ or are not components of their usual repertoire. Based on what I’ve seen here and in the past, this partnerships works.

Program 1 closed with Gallim presenting Andrea Miller’s Sama. The dance premiered in November, 2019 in London, and was presented a month later at Juilliard.

I’ve enjoyed Gallim performances in the past, as well as Artistic Director Miller’s choreography. Indeed, this is another FFD recycling: Sama was presented in May, 2023 during Gallim’s engagement at the Joyce Theater, and in my subsequent review I found it to be an extraordinary, multi-faceted dance, one that delivers the essence of Miller’s choreography throughout, with motion that never seems to end. But this time something – perhaps relative novelty – was no longer there. This time Sama left me numb and unimpressed (although still filled with motion that never seemed to end). I have no reason to believe that the dance has changed, but this time it hit me as all percussion, all “tribal,” and all movement all the time. It’s not – but that’s the way I reacted to it this time.

Miller’s program note is terse, and in a backward sort of way, illuminates what she’s trying to do. She writes: “Forget conventional, oversimplifying or automated rules of reasoning. The body is the chance of being without reducing.” That may sound true, but, choreographically, it’s a recipe for excess. And excess is what I saw on this second view.

Here, to music by Nico Jaar (edited by Miller, Vladimir Zaldwich, and Frederic Despierre), Miller creates something that’s inventive, but that looks automated. To the pounding rhythm, the 14 Gallim dancers essentially pound the stage floor in unison, varying the movement (all in sync) as the dance progresses. This doesn’t carry through the entire dance, and there’s a period in which men (one at first, then others) dance the repeated movement on stilts. With the costume adornment (by Miller), this was the dance’s most fun segment to watch. But my memory this time isn’t of Sama’s variety; it’s the overall sameness. However, judged by the rousing reception it received on its conclusion, I must acknowledge that the audience disagreed.

The Gallim dancers are a superb group – they’d have to be to remember all the synchronized movement in this relatively lengthy dance, and to pound their legs into the stage floor without damaging their feet.

Program 2

The opening dance of Program 2 was another FFD recycling of a dance I’d previously, and recently, seen. For what I understand was its first FFD appearance, Complexions Contemporary Ballet presented excerpts from For Crying Out Loud, with choreography by Dwight Rhoden, the company’s co-founder and co-Artistic Director (with Desmond Richardson). The dance had its world premiere at The Joyce in April, 2023, and although the dance (which used songs by U2 as its score) was an example of Complexions’s “brand” as I’ve defined it, I still found it wanting: too much constant running on and off the stage with no direct relationship to the music other than using it as background. [For those interested, my discussion of that piece is included in the following review:[ https://criticaldance.org/complexions-regardless-of-fear-for-crying-out-loud/ ].

Overall, I considered For Crying Out Loud to be in the mid-level of Rhoden choreography I’d seen.

Normally I don’t appreciate seeing excerpts from a larger work; I want to know what the “whole” is. But here, presenting excerpts from the dance helped. It looks better abbreviated; with less of an obligation to see too much of the same thing. The 18 company dancers (some of whom I’d seen in the piece previously, some not) displayed their usual impressive technique and commitment.

The program’s second piece was one of FFD’s highlights. Although it, too, has been around the block a few times, this was its NY premiere.

Ein von Viel, performed here by Boston Ballet dancers Jeffrey Cirio and Yue Shi (with live piano accompaniment, at the performance I attended, by Sienna Tabron), is choreographed by Sabrina Matthews. It was created while Matthews was a dancer with Alberta Ballet, and premiered with that company in Calgary, Alberta, CA in October, 2001. At that time, the Alberta Ballet’s Artistic Director was Mikko Nissenen, who now directs Boston Ballet. Ein von Viel premiered with Boston Ballet in 2008. He obviously liked it.

During the course of her substantial career, Matthews has choreographed for companies world-wide, and has garnered numerous awards and recognitions. This was my first exposure to her work; it was a wonderful introduction.

Because it’s performed (or was here) by two male dancers, it’s tempting to compare Ein von Viel to MotorRover, discussed above. But it’s very different – and not only because there’s music (the composition of the same name by J.S. Bach, from “Goldberg Variations”). The white costumes with feint designs on them, like squiggles and/or angles (designed by Matthews), might give the impression that Ein von Viel is simple. It’s not. The piece is filled with near continuous movement by one or the other or both men, with a variety that complements Bach’s score. It was superbly executed, and – in the only way it resembles MotorRover – with an attitude. Movements shift back and forth, the interactions between them change, directions (forward, backward, sideways) change at the drop of a note, multiplied by two, and there’s no lack of substantive, cutting edge choreography.

Cirio, who is no stranger to New York audiences, and Shi each executed brilliantly, as did Tabroni. Although I would rather have seen a piece that displays BB’s eclectic repertory, this one proved an admirable choice.

The program concluded with Venom, presented by a company named kNoname Artist | Roderick George. Roderick George is its Artistic Director, choreographer of the piece, and main character in the dance. It premiered this past January.

I have a particularly difficult time with this piece. To the extent it’s “about” anything, it’s about the AIDS epidemic and its impact. And certainly George’s heart is in the right place: he calls out the consequences of AIDS, as well as what he sees as popular indifference (presumably because victims were primarily homosexual).

But it goes beyond that. Pertinent comments from George’s program note state: “The world is on fire, and we must use this call to action to challenge the status quo and advocate for change and inclusivity in our dance institutions. How can we as artists use our creative voice to unify the collective and encourage people to see how variations in political ideas, race, sexual orientation, and gender identity create intersectionality that makes us not different and other but unique and human…” Where has George been? In recent years, particularly in the arts, the contributions of the LGBTQ+ community has been emphasized, not swept under the rug. But I suppose that, in his eyes, and I know in the eyes of many others, whatever’s been done to date is insufficient.

Whatever it may be now, George finds the societal response (including performing arts, and specifically dance) at least during the period of the worst of the AIDS epidemic to have been  inadequate and heartbreaking. And to the extent that that’s his argument, he has a valid point.

But I must say that except for George’s sincerity referencing how AIDS eliminated large swatches of people in the arts in general and dance in particular, and the outer ambiance (seeing what was intended to look like snow falling from the upstage wall area, behind the action on stage, which served to emphasize the coldness of the period), to me the piece was ponderous and uninteresting, with groups of the six-man cast (including George) moving together primarily in slow motion. Even those scenes that moved somewhat more rapidly (and in sync) looked to be uninventive choreographically and burdened (not inappropriately) until the concluding dance with George and one other dancer – and that scene was difficult to see because the stage was so dark.

In hindsight that’s all I remember of Venom.

My view may be a minority position (I’m aware that some viewers consider it epic). For what it’s worth, the audience at the performance I attended appeared either rapturously enthusiastic or politely applauding.

Program 3

Anne Plamondon Productions is a Canadian contemporary dance company that, according to the program note, “aims to stimulate the avant-garde in dance through creation, research, and production of original works. It was founded in 2018 by Plamondon as a vehicle for carrying out her own creative projects and fostering new creative partnerships. She’s a veteran performer, having danced with, among others, Les Grands Ballets Canadiens, Nederlands Dans Theater 2, and Kidd Pivot. She’s also a veteran choreographer, having choreographed multiple dances for Canadian companies. The opening dance in FFD Program 3 was her dance titled Myokine, a piece for seven dancers, which had its world premiere in November, 2023 in Montreal.

Myokine is described as “a unifying work for seven dancers who together explore the body as a source of resilience, beauty and hope in the face of the urgency to act that characterizes our times. Molecules secreted by muscles when the body is in motion, myokines are often called “hope molecules” for the sense of well-being and optimism they provide….[The process] embodies dance’s essential function of releasing tension, emotions and anxiety, and making sense of the imperfections that make existence both strong and vulnerable. Through their virtuosity and precision, and a multiple choreographic language developed throughout Anne Plamondon’s eclectic career, this energetic Canadian performer brings to life the power of our bodies when united in movement.”

I saw none of that. And that description is so dense, and so self-serving, that I probably would have been turned off if I had. But at least it enlightens me as to the meaning of “myokine.” Endorphins second cousin once removed. [There’s a lot of that going around.].

The piece is choreographed to an unidentified score by Olivier Fairfield (a contemporary Canadian songwriter, designer, arranger, producer and multi-instrumental musician working in many artistic disciplines, including theatre, dance and film), and Ourielle Auvé (a Montreal-based multi-instrumental musician, composer, and performing artist) that does not interfere with Plamondon’s choreography. But that choreography left me uninvolved (the dark costumes early on didn’t help) – and maybe it was supposed to. There certainly were periods of interaction among the dancers, which at times included a limited sense of sensuality, but more often the interaction seemed grouped, almost like exercise (which is how myokines are reportedly derived). Apparently, they didn’t generate sufficient myokines.

My memory of the dance, on first and only view, and considering its unnecessary length, is limited. The piece begins in a somber mood, as the dancers appear grouped together, missing a cone of light. Soon thereafter, as I recall, they’re within individual cones of light, pulling and stretching in isolation, until one leaps into another’s arms and the dance of looking for connections and switching from darkness into light begins. Eventually the choreography displays considerable effort to connect as the seven dancers (Eowynn Enquist, Isak Enquist, Diana Leon, Judy Luo, Justin Rapaport, Raphaelle Sealhunter, and Renee Sigouin) gradually recognize that connecting is a good thing.

Overall Myokine impressed me as nothing particularly special, and, the myokine reference aside, is not unlike other dances on similar overall themes. The dance does improve to a lighter, more energetic mood as the dance progressed (after accumulating sufficient myokines) and the costumes change from dark to uniformly off-white during the course of the piece. But as fine as the dancers were, it didn’t pull me in. And although during the curtain calls there were some whoops generated from the rear of the orchestra and from more distant levels above, from my view the audience reaction could be categorized as politely enthusiastic.

The program’s second piece proved to be far more interesting – much more so than I’d anticipated.

Although it’s relatively rarely performed (ABT hasn’t presented it in many years), Le Spector de la Rose, choreographed by Michel Fokine, is a miniature gem. It tells the story of a young girl returning from a dance or ball, who dreams of dancing with the rose that she returned with – a gift or souvenir, and, as she closes her eyes, the rose comes to life. At its Ballet Russes premiere in Monte Carlo in 1911, it featured Vaslav Nijinsky and Tamara Karsavina. ABT premiered it in Mexico City in 1941, revived it in 1972, and revived it again in 2004. I vividly recall seeing it (the 1972 staging by Andre Eglevsky) with Baryshnikov and (to my recollection) Marianna Tcherkassky, at the Met.

With respect to the FFD presentation that featured Herman Cornejo and Skylar Brandt, in a revised version re-choreographed by Cornejo after Fokine, I recall hearing warnings about it being a sort of Spectre-lite. Such predictions proved inaccurate. It’s true that as Cornejo has re-choreographed it much of the leaps and jumps have been toned down from what I recall of Baryshnikov (and others). But they’re there – maybe less of them, and without the height, since Cornejo has understandably lost some of his ballon over time. But I don’t have a problem with that – and the audience’s dazzled reaction to his initial leap onto the stage says all that needs to be said.

Far more important than whether Cornejo can still dance with the energy and ability he displayed years ago (including the 2004 revival of Spectre) is the updating he has staged and designed. This is a Spectre for the 21^st Century. Instead of a young girl dreaming of dancing with her rose in her bedroom in a turn of the century (the 20^th century) manse, we have a young girl (Brandt) – perhaps a budding ballerina or girl who aspired to be one; instead of the girl being dressed in a ball gown, here she’s wearing an outfit (costumes designed by Elsa Edit Schenone and Cornejo) that’s light as a feather, matching Brandt’s light as a feather movement; instead of a bay window from which the Spirit leaps and exits, here there’s a large work of art hanging on the wall from which the Sprit emerges in the young girl’s dream, and through which he exits.

The dance was a City Center Commission for this year’s FFD, and it’s a highly successful one. I suspect we’ll be seeing this updated Specter of the Rose again.

From the sublime to the … not sublime.

Program 3 closed with “Excerpts from Feeling Good: A M.A.D.D. Rhythms Tribute to Nina Simone.” As might be deduced, M.A.D.D. Rhythms, a Chicago-based company of young tap dancers, performed the piece. The company describes itself in the program note as “a phenomenal dance collective whose sole purpose is to spread the Love and Joy of tap worldwide…representing the true essence of tap: rhythm!”

With that bio, how could one help but love M.A.D.D. Rhythms? Easy.

The presentation was loud, louder, and loudest, including songs popularized by Nina Simone but not sung by her. Instead, the songs were sung by a woman named Felina Bunn, whose purpose appeared to be to shout into her microphone louder than the amplified tap dancing. Equally disturbing was that the tap dancing had nothing to do with the songs.

The process, as Bunn sang, was for the group’s director, Bril Barrett, to tap to the music (provided live on stage by four musicians), and then “point” (turn to) one of the dancers assembled in a semi-circle around Barrett and Bunn, and then for that dancer to tap solo to the music. When finished, Barrett would dance again, then turn to another dancer in the group to supply supplemental tapping, etc., etc. The tap dancing is very well-done, but, to my view, nothing special. The cast lists twelve (including Barrett), but I didn’t see that many on the stage.

It’s possible that the full version of this “Tribute” makes for a better presentation than was provided with these excerpts, but I doubt it. I suspect more would have been more of the same: unimaginatively staged and executed, and ultimately having nothing to do with the object of the tribute, Nina Simone, besides belting out songs that Simone originally sang with understated grace and measured power.

As I exited City Center, I overheard a woman talking to her companion, marveling about the strength of the singer’s voice. Chacun a son gout – which is it should be.

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