By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
On the third night of the run, I sit through what may be the most garland-draped performance of Revelations ever. Young dancers from Ailey II and a handful of half-pint students from the Ailey school join in the opening I Been Buked; three men perform the solo I Wanna Be Ready; the kids accompany their elders in Wade in the Water; Ailey II members dance in every aisle at the climax of Rocka My Soul. And suddenly Im crying.
We go way back, Rev and I. I knew Alvin. Wed both danced in one of the annual Hanukkah Festivals at Madison Square Garden and Id seen his 1958 Blues Suite. But I first met Revelations at Jacobs Pillow three years after its premiere (a revelation, it was). So, for me, every performance of it is inevitably a palimpsest. Behind each of its sections, I see shadowy parades of dancers, Ailey himself, James Truitte, Minnie Marshall, Judith Jamison, John Parks, Keith McDaniel, Sarita Allen, Donna Wood, Loretta Abbott, Myrna White, Dudley Williams, and many more.
At its 1960 premiere, Revelations had a smaller cast, and the dancing was more rough-edged and less technically showy than it is now, when every Ailey dancer can kick high noon and takes every opportunity to do so. When Marshall and Truitte performed Fix Me Jesus, people held their breaths, caught up in the eloquent images of a woman striving for balance and salvation, supported by a calm, gentle mana minister perhaps. I remember other dancers giving fine performances in this duet (Elizabeth Roxas comes to mind), but it must be hard for performers to focus on the spiritual, when spectators applaud on cue for what have become iconic moments.
Part of what moves audiences to clap along with the music and rise to cheer for encores of Rocka My Soul is the prowess of the performers, but theyre also moved, as I am, by the power and joy of the song (we shall overcome big time) and by the dancing. The short documentary, produced and directed by Judy Kinberg, that precedes Revelations on this seasons programs alternates excerpts of interviews by Ailey and others with excellently chosen vintage footage of black workers in the cotton fields, river baptisms, and carried-away prayer meetings. Ailey, born in Texas, drew on what he heard about, saw, and knew. And the fact that contemporary audiences are moved to get on their feet and shout out praisefor whatever reasonprobably seemed appropriate to him.
Revelations is a whale of a dance. Compared with the movement palette Ailey used in later works, the style has a contagious homespun feel, and the choreography wastes nothing. Most of the steps arent showy in themselves, none is balletic, and you can see the influence of Aileys mentor, the West Coast choreographer Lester Horton, whose strong, plain-jane technique is still taught in the Ailey school.
In contrast, Night Creature (1974), which opened the City Center program I saw, shows Ailey flirting with ballet. The glamorous denizens of a nightclub world decreed by Duke Ellingtons music play cool elegance against sensual heat and jazz-based steps against virtuosic ones. The wonderful Renee Robinson can snake her hips enough to make her sparkly, sky-blue gown flair, as she leads the ensemble, flirts with Vernard J. Gilmore, leaves him for Amos J. Machanic Jr., and, temporarily weary of partying, waves everyone off the stage, one by one. But the dancers also throw their legs up in arabesques and high kicks with thrown-back torsos, and, in one of the many show-off sections for small groups, Michael Francis McBride and his coterie fly around beating their feet together in brisées and entrechats six.
Night Creature, one of Aileys best middle-period works, reminds me what a gift he could summon up for crafting ebullient, theatrically savvy choreography. I note how smoothly he managed getting one group offstage and another on by making the entering steps identical to the overlapping, exiting ones and how he varied spatial patterns to keep the work simmering on its way to a boil.
This season is Jamisons last one as artistic director, before Robert Battle takes over in July 2011. Appropriately, Cry, the solo Ailey made for her in 1971, was revived for the 2010 season. This time, the pieces sections are parceled out among three soloists (Linda Celeste Sims, Constance Stamatiou, and Briana Reed), who replace one another unobtrusively in the blackouts. This gives more than one fine performer a chance at Aileys homage to the resilience and tenacity of African American women. The downside is that you miss seeing one woman endure, persevere, andfinally set freerejoice. And (palimpsest alert), anyone who saw Jamison perform Cry cant help measuring others against her for musicality, honesty, and intense concentration on the moment.