Tribal Revolution 2013.
Here’s a half improvisation/half choreography piece from March 2, 2013 at the After Party Show in Chicago at Studio Be.
I’ve never been much of a Christmas person, but I’ve always had an interest in New Year’s Eve for some reason.
I’m not quite sure why it is — possibly because of the promise of self-reinvention that seems to accompany it, or perhaps because of that old adage I heard years ago that however you spend your New Year’s Eve is indicative of how you spend the rest of your year.
That last part is so delightfully “When Harry Met Sally” and it appeals to the romantic in me. If I could only design the perfect night, with the perfect person to smooch at the stroke of 12! Guaranteed bliss for 2013!
But life doesn’t always work out quite that cleanly. When I look back to last year, I spent New Year’s Eve stressed about my job and commuting to St. Louis to perform with the phenomenal Beggar’s Carnivale. The man I kissed at the stroke of 12 didn’t end up being the Harry to my Sally, and later on we parted ways. I lost many people I hold close due to death and it hardened me for awhile. I got a new job midway through the year, and I began pursuing new leads and branching out to work with new dancers and learn new styles.
I learned a lot, I endured a lot, and I emerge at the end of this year a little battle-worn and scarred but pleased with the work I’ve done so far. I feel much more focused on what I want, and more driven to create the year I want to live.
I go into this New Year’s Eve negotiating contracts, trying to be a smarter and more driven dancer. This show will be the largest show I’ve performed in and is proving to be a lot of work — in addition to belly dance, I’ll be dancing back-up for Bollywood celebrity, which is a bit daunting. But I’m so ready for the challenge.
I’m going into this year prioritizing my health and my training. I’ve been working hard these past few months, and I want to enter the new year with momentum as opposed to getting the ball rolling beginning January 1.
And I can’t really afford to NOT prioritize these things, since in the first three months of 2013, I already have I have 3 out-of-town dance trips planned, 15 Chicago shows confirmed and 2 being solidified, and a TV appearance on the docket.
It’s gonna be one hell of a year…
I love to dance to non-Middle Eastern music. I would rather dance to Nine Inch Nails than Natacha Atlas, and I’m more likely to shimmy to a banjo than an oud.
I’m completely aware that this is exceptionally counter intuitive considering the fact that I label myself primarily as a belly dancer, but it’s just the truth. I have seen beautiful belly dance pieces to live music and I find some songs absolutely gorgeous, but rarely do I feel the urge to get up and dance to it.
I have a fair amount of dancer’s guilt about this. I should WANT to dance to the music that is part of my art forms’ culture, right? And I AM a firm believer that belly dancers should know their roots, and while I do know a fair amount about the history of belly dance, it’s definitely an area that I feel is not my strongest. You have to learn the rules before you can break them, right?
So my grand idea was to start off this choreography experiment with a traditional Middle Eastern belly dance piece. A cool drum solo, or a Saidi, or maybe a veil piece (although a rebuttal to that could be that veils were introduced into belly dance in America, I suppose…). It would be a good “staple” for my dance repertoire, I told myself. It would be a challenge for me, it would show that I can be versatile… on paper it was a great idea. I began combing my iTunes for a good song.
I found a few songs that are absolutely beautiful. I listened to them intently and tried to visualize myself dancing to them. I tried some experimental movements, and… nothing. Wasn’t clicking. The more I listened to the songs, the only thing that came into my mind was other dancers’ movements. “I should do that Sonia-esque move there…” “… I want to try that thing Sabah did in that show…” “Oooh, that Jillina thing could be cool…”
But then I realized: I’m not Sonia. Or Sabah. Not Jillina, either (although I did pick up a love of spins after learning her Bellydance Evolution choreographies).
I’m Megan. And while I have studied all these dancers and picked up a few individual movements from them, I do not want to choreograph a piece that is just strings of other dancers’ movement. And as the Gospel of Ben Folds teaches us, “I do the best imitation of myself.”
True art is being honest, vulnerable, and presenting yourself and what you do best to an audience. This is not to say that I will never choreograph a Middle Eastern belly dance piece. But if right now my heart is leading me in a different direction, and I want to create art that is authentic to me.
The answers I received to my questions that I posed in my last post reinforced my conclusion, and brought up some other really good points about selecting music:
1) Get emotional about your music — pick a song you love.
“I don’t actually go look for [music] — It finds me. I hear it on someone’s iPod, on the radio, on Pandora, Youtube and I think, ‘Wow, that would be awesome to dance to.’ It has to speak to me and my emotions. It has to give me emotion. I don’t like dancing to something that I can’t connect with.” — Michele Caldwell
As a dancer that tends to learn toward more emotionally-charged pieces, I really agree with what Michele said here. When a dancer is emotionally invested in her performance, it immediately becomes ten times more powerful (check out Anasma’s Tribute to My Father if you don’t believe me). And if you can find the root emotion behind your music and use it as the basis for your piece, movement flows more naturally and organically, in my experience. During my improv, I often find that I cannot create movement I like if I am dancing to a song that expresses an emotion contrary to what I feel that day.
“Usually, a sure sign that a piece of music is a solid candidate for choreography is that when listening to it, my automatic response is to daydream… if a song immediately causes me to do that, it enters into an intimate realm that I can connect with on a deep emotional level, where I can see a story or a character evolve and prance about. That song will immediately be put onto one of my playlists. This helps when I’m putting together music for a show, because then I will have a huge playlist to select a song from that I already know by heart and feel part of. I listen to my lists almost everyday, even if just a few songs off of them.” — Erin Ryan
I thought Erin raised to really excellent points here… visualization is the unsung hero of dance creation, in my opinion. Every time I have choreographed, the majority of my choreography has been created while driving, strangely enough. I will listen to a song and all of the sudden “see” a movement or a concept pop into my head. I thought Erin raised an excellent point about playlists, as well. On my computer, I have several playlists categorized by different emotions: “Moody,” “Angry,” “Energy,” etc.
“I literally will not perform to a piece of music that I don’t feel strongly about… All in all, selecting music often remains a challenge for me, because if organic movement doesn’t come while I’m listening to a song, its a good indication that a solid choreography (one that I’m happy with) will be elusive. Music that doesn’t speak to me makes for a choreographic nightmare.” — Gabrielle Bellini
I couldn’t have said it better myself — avoid choreographic quagmires and just pick a song that makes you wanna groove.
2) Keep your audience in mind.
I am creating a choreography for my personal enjoyment, so in my mind, the most important thing is just to pick a song you like, that you have emotional connection to, and go from there. But while reading responses, Erin Ryan brought up a good point:
“Keeping the audience in mind is a huge factor when choosing music. Some people are put off by Middle Eastern music, partly because it is not part of the Western culture and therefore an acquired taste of sorts… If I know that I will be performing for a general audience that can wander in and out at will (such as at the Hookah bar, a Renn Faire, the park, etc.), I will try to choose music that might include Middle Eastern rhythms but is fused with other genres, such as electronica. This allows the audience to naturally turn off any cultural censors they might have and just enjoy the dance for what it is. It’s like the book Sneaky Chef, which has recipes for moms who want to hide nutritious foods into their children’s meals without them knowing.”
“A piece WILL fall apart if you do not keep the audience perspective in mind. Some performers would be up on a stage even if no one is watching, as they love their craft that much. However, performing for solely for yourself and performing for an audience are two entirely separate things. An audience might be coming to watch you in particular because they like your moves, or aesthetic, or message, but more than anything they are coming to be entertained or wowed on some mental level. You have to learn to acknowledge and pander to that.”
Definitely. There is a time and place for everything. As strongly as I believe that artists should create something authentic to themselves, there is also a fine balancing act all artists learn to play between honest artistic expression and audience expectation.
2) Listen to your music. Now, listen to it again. … And give it another listen...
Congratulations, you picked a song! I hope you paid attention to number 1 and picked a song you like, because you are now going to be listening to said song approximately 100 billion times.
” Generally I’ll start by just listening intently to the song. I often put it on repeat for long periods of time. When I know it inside and out I start to move.” — Gabrielle
” I listen to the music over and over, then write the counts on paper to see how many I have to choreograph.” –Michele
How do you know when you have listened to your music enough? There are several ways to tell:
— Do you hate your music, wonder why you ever picked this song, and desperately want to listen to a new piece of music? Good. Listen to it some more.
— Are you starting to move unconsciously to the music? Are you starting to visualize little chunks of movement? Good. Give it another listen.
— Are you hearing it even when it’s not playing? Are you dancing to it in the shower? Are you starting to walk in time to the music playing in your head wherever you go? Good. Almost there. Put that sucker on repeat again.
I’m being a little tongue-in-cheek here, but really, you will get to a point where you know every doum and tek of your music, you will hear it before you go to sleep, and it will haunt you (I have dreamed about my music before). And at that point, I feel ready to start tackling the piece.
What do YOU think? Do you have insights into music selection or any other part of the choreographic process? I sure would love to hear your answers.
What’s that, you say? Who are the ladies behind these wise responses? Why, I’m glad you asked:
My next post will be about creating a written road map for your choreography. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to pop my headphones back on…
“Soy lo que bailo*” — I am what I dance.
I have danced in studios from coast to coast and country to country. I danced Saidi in Japan, I spun canes in Spain, I choreographed with girls in Canada. My body and mind broke down together in a studio in San Jose, I slept cheek to cheek with the studio floor in the heart of San Francisco, I became divinely inebriated in Sacramento.
Through the red, pulsating, intolerable haze of frustration, the true meaning of “patience” dawned on me in a New York studio; I saw the living embodiment of the word “dedication” as it related to training and persistence while watching my teacher in Vancouver.
I realized the inadequacy of the word “depression” in some and felt a sense of elation that defies description in many.
I have danced on stages. I have performed for audiences in the hundreds and sometimes for no one at all. One stage saw me become an alcoholic writer, another saw me wear masks — both literal and figurative — to play the Hindu goddess Kali. I have been a snake, a man, a flapper, a monster, a whore.
I have dragged my anger and my frustration onstage and subjugated it into my dance. I have let my energy, love, and excitement ooze out of my pores, feeling it multiply ten-fold the more of it I give in sacrifice to my audience. On other stages it took every wile and ounce of self-manipulation I possessed to convince myself that yes, Megan, you deserved this opportunity to dance, no, you didn’t have a choice in the matter, and now would you please take your damn place on the floor and wait for your music to start?
I have met someone’s eyes when I danced and realized that I was about to take my place in wonderful and terrible difficult love story, and that my part was already written. I have choreographed pieces about falling out of love before I realized my unconscious cast me in the lead role for a reason.
I took risks on some stages; some I played it safe. I have left everything I had on same stages and have taken regret with me off of others. I have sacrificed my blood, sweat, and tears; I’ve broken up with boyfriends and mentors before ending my love affair with dance. I’m a failure and a success story rolled into one slightly crazy, often too imaginative main character. Hi, I’m Megan, and I’m an addict… the problem is just that my addiction is also my salvation.
I have felt the music pull me onto me feet, my toes in the grass under a patchwork tent; I have danced lit only by the dim glow of the stars. I have felt tears run down my face and bump into my smile, I danced with the divine. I have danced in hallways, on rooftops, in kitchens, in hotel rooms, on beds. I have danced in on a bus, in a car, standing up and sitting down. I dance in my seat, I dance in my head…
My life is continuous movement, perpetual growth, and pursuing expansion.
“Soy lo que bailo*” — I am what I dance.
*Quote from Maria Pages
I am so impressed by the recent work I have seen of Zoe Jakes, Kami Liddle, Liz Strong, and Rose Harden.