On the surface, Madison Ballet’s Balanchine-based
Nutcracker (through Dec. 27, Overture Hall) looks like tradition set
in stone. Every year, Maestro Andrew
Sewell and the Madison Chamber Orchestra, with its light, sparkly touch, save Tchiakovsky’s
familiar score from ending up as supermarket muzak cliché.Madison Ballet artistic director W. Earle
Smith’s choreography always has the same slightly unconventional neoclassical
look, though it changes (almost imperceptably) to highlight the strengths of
dancers new to particular roles.The
sets have been around since 2004, but they still pop with holiday glitter.The dancing always looks competent, often lovely,
though it’s never perfect all the way through (someone’s arms will lag behind
on a corps port de bras; someone’s battus will flop), and somebody inevitably
slips – the floor on Overture Hall’s stage is less than ideal. But there are
always surprises hidden in predictability.In order not to miss out I saw both casts, back to back, on Sat., Dec.
12.Here are this year’s revelations:
The party scene – that seemingly
intermniable prologue to Nut’s real
dancing, fun to see only if you have little kids in the cast – seemed a little
shorter and brighter this year thanks to Jason Gomez, who’s always superb in
character roles, as Drosselmeyer.The
part’s been done for years by local celeb actors who never quite seemed to fit
right in the context of ballet, so it was a relief to see a dancer, with a
balletic sense of timing and elegance, orchestrate the scene.Plus Gomez has a flair for magic tricks, and he
really knows how to fling a cape.
Phillip Ollenberg, who’s done the
Russian divertissement as a solo for the last four or five years, beamed with
confidence as he turned in (as always) a bold bravura performance.
Madison Ballet’s hired several new men
this season, but the ballerinas are still the heart of the company. Two of them, both in their second MB season, blossomed
in this ballet. In the Arabian pas, Abigail
Henninger furled and unfurled around her partner, newcomer Jordan Nelson, with exotic
lushness, miraculously achieving with her long, supple body the curlique lines
of ancient Moorish calligraphy.Nelson’s
partnering added mystery to this feat; sometimes his hands were almost hidden
behind Henninger’s back, making it appear as if she were floating,
unsupported.
And Elizabeth Cohen – the Dewdrop
in “Waltz of the Flowers” in the evening show – excels at moving through the
music with loose pleasure. There’s a
dash of Latin sassiness in her style, honed during two seasons with Ballet
Latino de San Antonio that preceeded her move to Madison last year.
But the big story in the current Nutcracker production is
about three ballerinas who occupy special places in Madison Ballet history.One is veteran Rachelle Butler, who plans to
retire after the 2015-16 season.Butler’s the company’s backbone – she’s the one the dancers follow in
company class, relying on her command of Balanchine technique and Smith’s
choreography.As Dew in the afternoon
show she revealed that treasure trove of experience in her arms and back, and it
was obvious that she carries this choreography deep in her bones.
The other two in the aforementioned
trio shared the principal Snow Queen / Sugarplum Fairy role this year.Annika Reikersdorfer came up through the
School of Madison Ballet and joined the company last season.She’s one of those very rare dancers who
discovered her artistry early; at 17 she was dancing soloist roles – she was
Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother last spring. Now 18, she just sparkled in Nutcracker’s principal part.In the Snow pas, absolutely calm and
self-possessed, she wrapped an attitude leg behind her partner (Ollenberg); he
lifted her, feathery and spirit-like, into an arcing grand jeté.Her Sugarplum variation was fresh and full of
grace; the delight she took in every step, from simple piqué turns to a
twinkling gargouillade, was palpable.In
the pas de deux she flew into a triumphant shoulder sit; Ollenberg spun her
into a deep fish dive as the audience whistled and clapped.
Madison Ballet isn’t built on
hierarchy – in the course of any season everyone does both corps and solo
parts.But in every sense except title there is a principal ballerina, instantly recognizable to the public at large,
and that’s Shannon Quirk.For her, the
Snow pas seemed effortless.She sailed,
she floated.The joyful flourishes that
adorned her port de bras were pure Balanchine.The audience held its collective breath as she soared into high, arched
lifts or flew, fearless, into a fish. And the long adagio Sugarplum pas was all
about her.The regal way she swept into
penché, then dipped luxuriously into her cavalier’s arms, left no doubt – Quirk
is the reigning empress of Madison Ballet.
Li Chiao Ping Dance presented Armature: in media res, the final
installment of the company’s twenty-year retrospective, at Overture’s Promenade
Hall last weekend (Dec. 10-13 – I attended on Dec. 11).Li is a powerful performer and a major force
in the world of second-wave postmodern choreographers. Her modus operandi is intellectual and kinetic,
achingly personal and/or oddly abstract. Her idiosyncratic vocabulary melds
a buff, angular, egalitarian aesthetic with a quasi-classical countercurrent. Autobiographical solos, dances devised over
spoken-word works, and dada-esque ensemble un-ballets are her bailiwick.
Only one piece on this program, “Past Forward,” which I
described after its 2006 premiere as a happy demon dance (for three), fell flat
– the dancers were strong, but the work itself this time around struck me as simply
a vehicle for Li’s movement style, lacking the meaty content that defines most
of her oeuvre.
The rest of the bill was compelling, featuring dances old and new that I was delighted to see again, or to experience for the first
time.“Aqueducks,” an absurd
divertissement excerpted from Li’s 2010 holiday un-ballet, The Knotcracker, lacked the layers of intellectual nuances that
prevailed elsewhere in this program, but it exemplified Li’s razor-sharp sense
of humor – and in these dark times if you can make your audience laugh at a
postmodern dance concert, you’re onto something.
“Cline,” choreographed this year, was built around the
company’s six current core dancers plus Li, whose powerful presence bookended
the corps performance.Like “Past Forward,” “Cline,” a minimalist
piece, was essentially a vehicle for Li’s vocbulary.But its formal structure was engagingly
complex, built like a Balanchine ensemble ballet with groups of dancers crossing
in space while executing different but related moves, or moving in unison, or mirroring
each other in pairs and trios.Sets of
Li-isms – spin, fall, fling, run; rollover, shoulder stand, push-pull, carve
through space – meshed seamlessly with artifice-less balletic references
(little coupe jeté turns; a promenade in low arabesque; brief pas de
deux with small, low lifts).
Li excerpted three substantive solos, strung together
like pearls on a string of dancing soliloquys, from her autobiographical exposé
Yellow River, originally anevening-length solo program that premiered in
San Francisco in 1991 and which she performed herself.I’ve seen extracts from this work before, but
never so many at once.Taken together,
these dances deftly dissected the Chinese-American experience. East met west; superstition clashed with
science. Li ran in place, center stage, spouting a string of old wives’ tales –
a metaphysical net from which she tried to break free. The following solo, titled “I can feel the
rings” – set to a remarkable field recording of Chinese Gypsy women recorded by
Li’s father – was set on Toronto-based guest artist Susan Lee, whose grasp of
its content was primordial; dancing as if driven by external forces, she exposed
a veiled edge of violence shot through with pleas to invisible deities.From traditional China the story lept to the
modern West; the Mozart-driven “Exact and Precise,” danced by LCPD veteran Liz
Sexe, was playful, with patterns that repeated but became more complex – dance as
music made visible, as Balanchine liked to say. Finally, “Tome” featured Li, small but mighty,
with a big old dictionary that served as a low pedestal on which she pivoted,
or crouched, or balanced on one foot in penché, working leg in low arabesque – so hard!
–while reciting mathematical
constructs.
“Refrain,” choreographed in1999 (though I’ve never seen it before), was bravely performed by Megan Thompson, who’s danced with LCPD on and
off for years.She wore a deconstructed
tutu of the sort Li often uses to signal her un-ballet genre – red tulle pinned
in odd spots over a burgundy-toned leotard.A round spotlight like a full moon projected on the backdrop hightened this
dramatic – ok, operatic – dance, set (what else?) to Wagner.Balletic components – cambrés, port de bras,
second position pliés – were channeled through Li’s angular style.Thompson’s ironic facial expressions
underscored the tongue-in-cheek intent of this piece.
“Gó” (1995), an un-ballet named for the ancient Chinese
board game played with black and white stones, underwent slight modifications
in the early 2000s and then disappeared from Li’s active repertory.The 2015 version, “Gó Redux,” was mostly its
sassy old self – a double whammy that deconstructs ballet both avant-garde and
nineteenth century classical. With dancers in black halter tops, little white tutus,
and combat boots, this witty work flaunts – in Li’s vocabulary – the rhythmic,
tribal thrust of the 1913 Stravinsky / Nijinsky collaboration Rite of Spring (to which Li paid direct
homage during its centennial year), plus some beloved clichés from the 1895
Tchiakovsky / Petipa Swan Lake including
the famous dance of the four arms-crossed cygnets. “Gó” is dynamite dancemaking, eye-popping and
filled with references that click. I was mystified, though, when “Gó Redux” ended
with a trick seemingly lifted from the Hubbard Street Dance vocabulary – empty dresses
traveling across the stage (here, on a clothesline).We’ve seen variations on this theme in Jirí Kylian’s
signature piece, “Petite Mort,” and in other works staged by Hubbard in the
early 2000s.Knowing Li, the reference probably
was intentional, but it felt like an afterthought – a non-sequitur among the brighter
puns in this piece.
The pièce de resistance in Armature was the world premiere of the title work, “in
media res.”For sheer physiopsychological
challenge it bore relation to Elizabeth Streb’s “Board” – a dance featuring a
soloist, a mat, and game of chicken with a spinning two-by-four that I’ve seen
Li perform twice.“In media res” is a
strong, resonant piece, threaded with spoken words in nonsensical sequences
that evoked its title or its actions.It
featured a fearless Li at the peak of tensegrity, performing impossible feats
with a small, plain work table; she lifted it on her shoulders like Charles
Atlas, slid beneath it and hung off its edge, went from downward dog to
headstand on its top,
promenaded there in low arabesque, slid backwards to hang
off its edge, teetering on the small of her back, then fired up her core to
spring up – a Pilates teaser – before leaping to her feet on the tabletop and jumping
down, to vanish and re-emerge, mysteriously, framed in a string of
lights.
They believed, so I did, too.I’m talking about the dancers in Madison
Ballet’s fast-paced feast of entertainment, cooked up by artistic director
W. Earle Smith and featuring his own action-packed choreography, Michael
Massey’s indelible rock n’ roll score (played live onstage by his band),
Karen Brown-Larimore’s slick steampunk costuming, and a big Broadwayesque
aluminum-truss set by the late Jen Trieloff. It played Overture's Capitol Theater last weekend, Oct. 16-17.
Dracula premiered at Capitol Theater in March, 2013, and returned in October of that year.In both of its previous runs it seemed like a
series of somewhat disparate dances, held together by a thin thread of story
plus the astute characterization in Massey’s score. But this time the cast reveled
in the plot, taking the tale to new heights while refusing to sacrifice dance
on the altar of drama. The ballet itself, with the exception of choreographic
adjustments to suit the styles of dancers who’ve joined the company since the
last time Dracula was staged, had few obvious changes.Except one.The action starts with Jonathan Harker trapped in Dracula’s castle, dancing
frantically.This solo of distress formerly
was done behind a scrim, which provided a delicious air of mystery that gave way to spine-chilling shock – when
the dance was done and the veil was lifted, there stood Dracula, in all his
glory.In last weekend’s production that
magic was lost – the scrim was gone, the Harker variation brightly lit.
Other than that I have no complaints.
If Balanchine had created a sex-oozing rock
n’ roll ballet in the twenty-first century, this would be it.The dance for Dracula’s brides is unmistakably
neoclassical, despite its subject matter. Abigail Henninger sizzled and slithered,
Rachelle Butler was lascivious, Kelanie Murphy demonesque – but what really
mattered was how the dancers’ precise pointework exaggerated their slinking
hips.
The Dracula corps is packed with talented soloists, so it’s no surprise that some of the show’s best dancing
happened in the ballet’s two large ensemble numbers.In “Gypsies,” eight dancers in goggles and
mohawks in charge of Dracula’s bags of dirt – vampires, of course, can only
rest if their coffins are filled with earth from home – travel with the Count from
Transylvania to England.Ensconsed in
the dark hold of a wave-tossed ship they shifted between partnering and unison
work, rhythmic and expansive like the roiling sea.“Minions” was bigger, wilder, and more
beautiful, full of batlike contractions that marry latter-day Balanchine with
Martha Graham.All ten dancers (six
women, four men) wore long red satin skirts that swirled and flew as they spun
and lept, to dazzling effect.
As eager suitors of the coquette
Lucy Westenra, the doctor (Jason Gomez), the Texan (Cyrus Bridwell), and the nobleman’s
son (Phillip Ollenburg) brought out an arsenal of balletic pyrotechnics, competing
for her attention with leaps and pirouettes. When she became a vampire, their pursuit – and
their arsenal – turned murderous.The
scene where van Helsing (Jacob Ashley) laid out his plan to slay the vampires just
popped.Men bravura dancing in unison,
with guns – pow!
Ashley’s danced this role in
every Madison Ballet Dracula
production to date.He’s always
been a powerful
jumper – grand cabrioles, switch leaps, and tours en l’air are his specialties
– but he’s upped his acting ante since last we saw him in van Helsing’s leather
frock coat. He was so authoritative he
looked presidential (ok, yes, it’s primary season), directing his posse in the
hemovore hunt.
Jackson Warring, cast again as
Dracula’s lackey (the crotch-grabbing, insect-eating lunatic Renfield), has grown
into his role, too.He came across as blazingly
crazy, and he nailed the intricate rhythmic shifts in Massey’s spot-on maniac
music.This is much harder than it
looks, since it demands complicated counts and an almost constant string of
various kinds of jumps.
The part of Lucy Westenra was
danced by McKenna Collins, one of two current company dancers who’ve come up
through the School of Madison Ballet.At
19, this was her first principal role. A
hint of tension that showed mostly in her shoulders held her back at the start
of her opening number, a wildly flirtatious rock n’ roll romp, but the stress vanished when her boyfriends charged
onstage.It was fun to see her relax and
let go, ripping through the rest of the dance with great delight that didn’t
abate as the plot moved along.Drained
by Dracula, laid out in her tomb, and sensing the
presence of van Helsing’s
posse, she heaved herself up from her icy slab, angry and hissing, feet
pointed.She bouréed across the stage,
pale under the cold light, arms gesticulating, hair flying -- a madwoman in a house of horrors.She bared her teeth and lept brazenly onto her
pursuers, one by one.
The Harker role was danced by former
Arizona Ballet principal Shea Johnson, guesting with Madison Ballet for this
show.An accomplished dancer, he exudes
an aura of smoldering lust that he gets a lot of mileage out of, adjusting it
as needed. He approached the ballet’s opening display of male bravura with
relaxed, confident swagger; he swooned and staggered, swept away, in the
vampiric orgy with Dracula’s brides; he was passionate, playful, and protective
in his bedroom-eyed pas de deux with his fiancé, Mina Murray (Shannon Quirk).
Quirk, as always, was a joy to
watch. We first saw her alone, dancing
on air, lyrical and light, dreaming of Harker.She was liquid; she flowed and soared. Her pas de deux with Johnson was an
ode to
carefree delight.Their chemistry was superb
– they were diggin’ it, you could tell.Sometimes
Johnson pulled her off center, exaggerating her luxurious long lines. The Mina / Dracula pas was the other side of
the sex coin – a dangerous, surreal dream in which Quirk appeared terrified but willing.The powerful Count (Joe LaChance) swept her hungrily into arched overhead lifts; he tossed her over his shoulder; he slung her
deep into fish dives; he tried to bite.
LaChance made a compelling
Dracula, tall, proud, and able to slip sideways through the ether while imposing
his will on vampires and humans alike.In his final variation, shot by the nobleman’s son, he sank to his
knees, slurped his own blood, and, like a wounded animal, rose to fight again. I desperately wanted him to break the fourth
wall and appeal to the audience before van Helsing drove the final stake
through his heart.He didn’t, but the
moment was gripping nonetheless.He
believed, so I did, too.
Shortly after dusk, a string of plump Dane County Farmers’ Market garlic wrapped around my neck, I muster my courage and tiptoe up the steep flight of steps that leads to the Secret Kingdom of Madison Ballet.I peek into a spooky, windowless room where a troupe of vampires is rehearsing a ballet.It’s artistic director W. Earle Smith’s Dracula, to be precise.I loved that show so much I saw all three performances of its 2013 premiere.That’s why I’m here.Insanely drawn to vampires and other bad boys, I can’t wait even one more day to see it again.Take it from me, though – unless you want to scare yourself silly, go for the finished product.It runs Oct. 16-17 at Overture’s well-guarded, very safe Capitol Theater.If you see the show there you get the total experience – Smith’s weirdly terrifying, action-packed, contemporary choreography; Michael Massey’s indelible rock n’ roll score, composed just for this ballet and performed live onstage; Karen Brown-Larimore’s over-the-top steampunk costuming; and the late Jen Trieloff’s bold, Broadwayesque aluminum-truss set.
Smith’s Dracula, like all really good story ballets, is more about the dancing than the narrative, though when you catch it onstage you can see the fable’s flow unfold.But since I’m sneaking in to see a rehearsal, and it’s early in the process, I’ll just get bits and pieces.To prepare, I boned up on the Cliffs Notes: http://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/d/dracula/book-summary.
I draw a deep breath and venture into the studio.At this hour all the sugarplum fairies have gone home, but except for an occasional glint of fang the members of the Dracula cast seem for all the world like perfectly ordinary highly trained ballet dancers (not that there’s anything ordinary about highly trained ballet dancers, but you get my point). They’re wearing regular old dancewear, which heightens the effect.
I work up the nerve to approach Smith.I don’t have any formal questions ready, so I just plunge in.“As the artistic director of a vampire company, I assume you usually work late into the night?”
“I do my best work at night,” he says.His upper lip lifts in a slight snarl, and I notice a red fleck on one of his front teeth. “I play best at night, too.I’m a night owl.”
“How do you keep them from biting you?”
“We don’t often bite our own kind, but the truth is best left unsaid – vampires never give away their secrets, or their feeding habits.”
Out of the corner of my eye I notice something unusual for ballet companies – half the dancers are men!Smith anticipates my next question.“The real tension in this ballet is between the Count and a number of mortal men who haven’t crossed over,” he says.“It takes more male dancers than we have in the company, so I called in Jacob Ashley – um, Dr. Van Helsing – because he’s the best vampire slayer I know.And I brought in former Arizona Ballet principal Shea Johnson, also known as Jonathan Harker, because, well, even though he’s a mere mortal, he’s just plain sexy.”
Smith turns away from this impromptu interview and bares his fangs; the dancers jump to attention.The opening notes of the overture to Massey’s Dracula score announce the start of rehearsal.(Just to clarify, Massey is not a vampire, but he is their favorite composer).
Harker, indefatigable fiancé of the lovely Mina Murray, bears a slight resemblance to the young Mikhail Baryshnikov – it’s his haircut, and some of his facial expressions.He’s executing a bold bravura variation and is in the middle of a string of second position pirouettes when the music goes gouhlish – the characterization in this score is right on point – and the imposing figure of Count Dracula (day name: Joe LaChance) sidles in with loose, lateral steps – the opposite of the diagonal dynamic we earthly humans usually employ.He stalks Harker, grabs him, and – sluuurp! – licks his neck – then pushes him away in disgust.
There’s a break; the dancers regroup.“Mr. Harker,” I ask, “do you find Dracula attractive?”
“Nooooo!” Harker replies, scandalized.“Of course, I’m apprehensive – I don’t really believe in vampires, but there they are!It’s all so weird – I don’t know exactly what’s going on here.”
The action resumes.Dracula’s brides (Rachelle Butler, Abigail Henninger, Kelanie Murphy) set out to seduce Harker, who’s ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time; they circle him, slinking lasciviously, hissing, hips jutting.Holding hands, arms crossed like three harpy cygnets from some perverted Petipa ballet, they slither
sideways doing the Count’s signature step.Each executes a bloodthirsty little come-hither dance. Henninger brandishes exceptional extensions; her limbs seem to stretch toward outer space.Butler, who’s been with the Count longer than the rest, flaunts a singularly voluptuous solo. Still, Smith isn’t satisfied.“Don’t prettify it,” he insists, incisors flashing. “Make it more grotesque!”
I’m itching to ask Dracula if bigamy’s common among his kind, but he’s protected by a band of Gypsies who pirouette, pas de chat and kick, pointe shoes flashing, like human spikes on the castle gate.It’s big, bold, off-center dancing that looks devastatingly dangerous.
The mortal Mina (the elegant Shannon Quirk) appears, leaping happily; she’s come to visit her friend Lucy Westernra (McKenna Collins), who responds with a welcoming outburst of shoulder-rolling, hip-shaking, sheer rock n’ roll that brings her three suitors (Phillip Ollenburg, Jason Gomez, Cyrus Bridwell) out of the woodwork in hot pursuit.Mina watches warily.Lucy beckons her to join this bacchanal. “Mina,” Smith admonishes – and it’s obvious how his tone softens when he’s around this superbly graceful dancer – “don’t fall for it.You’re like, oh no, no, I’m not doing that!Not me!I’ve got morals!”
Lucy is gossiping in the corner with some of the Gypsy girls.I make my way over.“I know you always have a lot of boyfriends,” I say, “but aren’t you afraid Dracula will come lusting after you when you do that outrageously flirty dance?”
“No, not at all!” she replies, laughing.“I’m a daredevil – I’m not afraid of anything!I find vampires alluring – I find most men alluring!”
That crazy Renfield – his day name’s Jackson Warring – is a bona fide schizophrenic.It’s slightly unnerving to see him suck up to Dracula with his loony little crotch-grabbing, insect eating dance.“I’m the action star of my own movie,” he says, safely back in his cell and drooling slightly.“I mean, I just want Dracula to like me.I want him to make me into whatever he wants.Ha ha, I’m a vampire!”
But Dracula has other plans.He goes after Mina, sweeping her into a luxurious penché and lifting her onto his back to carry her off.“Bite her!” Smith commands, chomping at the air. “Find your inner Dracula!”
Finally, I work up the nerve to approach the Count.Up close his towering presence is totally intimidating.“What is it you want?” I squeak.“The taste of blood – I need blood!” he snarls.“I’m a control freak.”His upper lip curls.“I want to do what I want, to whoever I want, whenever I want to do it, and nobody is smart or strong enough to top me.I’ve been dead 400 years – I don’t really want to reconnect with humanity.It’s insulting to have to associate with all these humans – I feel put upon.But it’s Mina – I have a long-term plan for her.I want her, which is why I want to kill Lucy.I’ve been feeding on Lucy for ages, but the next time she looks at me wrong I’m going to do her in.I’m going to do it for Mina, and the hell with Lucy and the rest of my brides!”
I’m starting to feel really weird about all of this.I want to get out of here, now.Mina must be thinking the same thing, because she’s inching toward the door.I follow her.
“How does it feel to be pursued by Count Dracula?” I ask as we tiptoe toward the stairs.“It’s terrifying, yet flattering,” she whispers.“I usually play it safer – it feels very risky to fall into being pursued, especially by a vampire.”
The first faint rays of dawn are visible in the hall.Only the hemovores remain inside the studio; the sound of coffin lids softly closing reaches our retreating ears.But someone who doesn’t belong in there is trapped – it must be Harker, since he’s not with us.We can hear him leaping, flinging himself at the walls in frustration.
Want to know what happens next? You’ll have to go to the show.But don’t forget your garlic, or you might be sorry.
________________________
Dracula tours to Oshkosh’s Grand Opera House (Oct. 21-22) and the Juanita K. Hammons Hall for the Performing Arts in Springfield, MO, on March 16. If you can’t get enough, get on the road.
Dr.
Juan de Marcos González wears a string of green and yellow beads on his
wrist. This bicolored bracelet is the
iddé of Orula, orisha mayor, oracle, brother of Changó, personification of
knowledge, keeper of all secrets of life and nature. Juan de Marcos isn’t particularly religious,
but the iddé is apt – the man personifies knowledge of Cuban music. He’s the keeper of its flame; he knows,
better than anyone else, its secrets, and the many facets of its brilliant
nature. He sees its future. For these reasons, Marcos is the UW-Madison
Arts Institute Interdisciplinary Artist in Residence this fall – and the purveyor
of the Cuban music experience not just on campus, but beyond the ivory
tower. He heads a series of performances
and lecture-demomstrations that are open to the public. This week he offers us
two events with his own master project, the Afro-Cuban All Stars. On Tuesday, Sept. 29, there’s a lec/dem at
Music Hall (7:30 PM) – and on Friday, Oct. 2, the ACAS play a gala performance
at Overture Hall at 8.
Juan de
Marcos is a world class, multilingual intellectual with advanced degrees in
hydraulic engineering and agronomy, musical training at Havana’s premier conservatories, and a deep, wide knowledge of son y rumba rooted in his personal
family experience. Family looms large for
Marcos, and the iddé is part and parcel of his heritage. “It’s something I’ve
had since I was little,” he says, “though not this particular one. My mother gave it to me when I was only
seven. I didn’t like it; I frequently
threw it away, and then she’d give me another one. About four years ago I made this one – not as
a religious object, but as a tribute to my family and my culture.
The Afro-Cuban All Stars, which has been around much longer than that particular
wrist band, is also a tribute to his family and culture. The idea for the project was sparked by the
success of Marcos’ first band, Sierra Maestra, which he put together while he
was a graduate student at the Universidad de la Habana. “A bunch of students got together to
play music in '76,” he told me some years ago when I interviewed him for
another upcoming ACAS concert. “Most of
our peers were drawn to British and US bands that had the allure of forbidden
fruit.”
Not that there was any authorized
rock n’ roll from “la yuma” on the big socialist island. But in Havana there were clandestine late-night rooftop
listening sessions revolving around radio pirated from Miami, and in 1973 the groundbreaking Cuban jazz/rock fusion
band Irakere, fronted by Chucho Valdés, started enlisting traditional Cuban rhythms
in the service of new, US-influenced forms.
Sierra Maestra took a different direction. “We were smitten with the
old-timers' music,” Marcos told me. “We were after a
punk look and we played traditional Cuban son. We were notorious, and very popular.”
From the
dustbins of prerevolutionary history, Sierra Maestra rescued the sounds Marcos grew
up with in Pueblo Nuevo, which, along with its neighboring Centro Habana
barrio, Cayo Hueso, was the Cuban capital’s twentieth century hotbed of
rumba and urban son. Marcos’ own father
– his puro, as Cubans say – sang with some of Havana’s greatest dance bands,
including the great Arsenio Rodríguez’ Septeto Boston, in the 1930s.
After his puro passed away, Marcos, looking
to take the Sierra Maestra concept one step further, found a deeper way to
celebrate traditional Cuban music. And
that’s how the Afro-Cuban All Stars came about.
The ACAS’ first album, A Toda Cuba
le Gusta, was recorded in 1996 at Havana’s EGREM studios, produced by World
Circuit’s Nick Gold, and distributed in the States through Nonesuch. For A
Toda Cuba, a big band affair, and its sister CD, Buena Vista Social Club, dedicated to the son septet style, Marcos and
his wife Gliceria Abreu rounded up as many of the old-timers as they could find
who were still able to play. Most of
them had abandoned music, or rather, the Cuban revolution had abandoned them.
A Toda Cuba le Gusta was a very traditional big band album of urban, '40s and '50s-style son, guaracha and guaguancó, starring a remarkable slate of musicians whose
names evoke reverence if you’re a fan of the Buena Vista albums: soneros Ibrahim
Ferrer, Pio Leyva, Raul Planas, Manuel “Puntillita” Licea; the great pianist Rubén
Gonzalez, bassist Orlando “Cachaito” Lopez (Cachao’s nephew), trumpeters "Guajiro" Mirabal and Luis Alemañy.
Almost all of
the grand old soneros featured on those two albums and the handful of followup
solo recordings from that series are gone now.
But musicians Marcos' age and younger were in the mix, including, on A Toda Cuba, sonero Félix Valoy, Marcos himself on trés and his now-deceased
brother Carlos González on bongos. All were integral to Marcos’ plan. “I was always aware that the old ones have to
die, so even in the beginning I was adding younger musicians to the lineup,” he
says.
The ACAS is a
hands-on, real-life study in the sustainable evolution of tradition, and we’ve
watched it happen here in Madison. Some of
the original artists were in the lineup that played at the old Civic
Center’s Oscar Mayer Theater, in April, 2000 – Puntillita Licea (who died later that year), Alemañy, Marcos, his wife and ACAS
manager Gliceria Abreu, his brother Carlos, and Valoy – plus Teresita Garcia Caturla, who wasn’t on A Toda Cuba, but whose career in Cuban
song is legendary. A few smokin’ young
players whose styles were edged with jazz and timba shared that stage. Among them were pianist David Alfaro and
trumpeter Yauré Muñiz. Garcia wore
white; the men wore zoot suits in Changó's colors, red and white.
They cooked, they danced, they played a mix of tunes from A Toda Cuba and the just-released second ACAS disc, Distinto,
Diferente (Nonesuch, 1999).
There’s son on that album, and a traditional canto Abakuá, but also a timba-son penned by
Marcos, who called the package a modern interpretation of traditional Cuban
music. “The only way to preserve the
traditional roots is to let in contemporary elements,” he
says.
The
Afro-Cuban All Stars were slated to return in November, 2002. But early that fall, in his post-Sept. 11
delirium, Bush 43 (Fidel, in his
interminable speeches to Cuba’s version of Congress, the Asamblea Nacional del
Poder Popular, used to call him “¡Boochún!”) beefed up his already hardline
stance against the island, declaring it a state sponsor of terrorism. As part
of this offensive the US started denying visa applications from recording
artists, essentially on the grounds that Cuban music was harmful to US
interests. Fidel countered with an
addition to the Cuban constitution instituting socialism as an
“incontrovertible” Cuban principle. As a
result, squelched demand for economic reform on the island drove a strapping
diaspora of Cuban artists to spots around the globe.
By the time the ACAS finally returned to Mad
City – to play at Overture Hall – it was March, 2009. The band had three new albums out, including Step Forward: The Next
Generation (yes, the album title’s in English) on Marcos’ own Havana-based record
label, DM Ahora! (2005). “It’s classic
Cuban, mixed with elements of contemporary music and a lot of improvisation,”
Marcos told me when it was released. It
paid homage to the elders while showcasing the next generation’s superstars, and mixed son y rumba with multicultural, hip-hop-tinged beats – guaguancó-timba (or guarapachangueo),
ballad-timba – and older fusions like Irakere’s funkified batumbatá.
On the 2009 tour all of the players, including
Marcos himself, who had moved his family to Mexico City, were expats, which insured
that the show would go on. The golden age threads were gone, replaced by sharp dark suits. The repertory
was part traditional, part Step Forward,
and the lineup – as always an all-star affair – was packed with ACAS, Buena
Vista, and Sierra Maestra alums of assorted ages, plus (among others) Calixto
Oviedo, who played drums and timbales with the original timba outfit, NG La
Banda, in its best days, and the brilliant pianist Nachito Herrera, who studied
with Rubén González as a child and who’s now a leading Latin jazz figure based
in Minneapolis.
For this week’s
concert the All Stars are all expats, too – a good thing, since even now, with the door cracked open a few inches, it’s
hard to get musicians out of Cuba. As in
2009, there’ll be some traditional tunes and some of Marcos’ contemporary
compositions. Since I'm an old-timer myself, I mention, during my
most recent interview with him, that I’m not, in general, a fan of today’s
youth music.
“It’s
important to have continuity, but Cuban music is not static,” Marcos responds. “Cuba is revolutionary and competitive in
music, and if you want to play all of its genres and review its history
you have to include the new styles. When
I compose, I often mix contemporary and traditional elements in the same song.”
“I don’t do reggaeton or hip-hop,” he adds. “But, you know, I do use timba. Of course, timba was very contemporary in the
‘90s, when it was new, but now it’s pretty traditional. I do it for that reason, not because I want
to influence the market. I’m lucky, I
don’t have to make concessions to have an intellectual and cultural effect on
Cuban music. Inside Cuba, though, young
groups are being heavily influenced by commercial sounds like Puerto Rican reggaetón, and they're mixing it into what they do.” [Note: there's a whole youth genre called "Cubatón" these days.]
"Music inside Cuba is getting more commercial in another way, too," Marcos adds. “There’s a singular new phenomenon going on. Cuba has no commercial
system – there’s no official market. But
today’s youth have created an internal market for pirate CDs and music videos
by influencing the public. They make
commercial videos like capitalist pop stars to get the word out about their
concerts and their bands.”
Things have changed since the days of Boochún. The seeds of this quasi-miracle were planted in 2008 -- six years before the move toward normalization that began late last year -- when Raul Castro succeeded his brother as president and
initiated a series of minor economic reforms; among them was permitting the
sale of electronic devices, including computers and cell phones (with service),
to ordinary Cubans. It took a few years for this technology to become widespread. “But young musicians are now using flash drives, text messages, and Twitter to advertise,” Marcos says. “Everyone in Cuba texts and tweets – it’s
not controlled by the government, like Internet access is. There's a whole subcommerce that exists within a
socialist system where the possibilities for individual promotion are very
limited.”
Cubans are notoriously inventive, and Cuban musicians in expatlandia, like their island counterparts, are constantly reinventing the way they approach their work. So it's no surprise that the Afro-Cuban All Stars have a new sound. For about four years, Marcos has been using the sonora (or
conjunto) format first made famous by Arsenio Rodríguez.
On the heels
of the Septeto Boston, in which Marcos’ puro sang in the '30s, Rodríguez, a
king among trés players, urbanized the son sound, creating a new, larger
format – the conjunto – by adding piano, a second (and sometimes third)
trumpet, and tumbadoras – congas – officially prohibited by the island’s white
regime for being “too black” until the ragingly louche nights of Batista’s
corrupt, Mafia-allied reign overtook Havana in the '40s and '50s.
In his rhythms and lyrics, too, Rodriguez brought a blazing sense of
black pride to a style of Cuban music (son) that’s African side was tempered
with the sabor of Spain.
The only wind instruments in the classic sonora sound are trumpets, and the rhythm section has no timbales, but there are no hard and fast rules in this game. Marcos uses timbales in this incarnation of the ACAS, but also three trumpets, no trombones, no sax. “I wanted more frequency,” Marcos explains. "The trombones and barritone sax can be a
little aggressive. I chose to use
clarinets instead. I’ve also added an
instrument that hasn’t been used in Cuba since the ’60s – the vibraphone.”
Vibes are far from a traditional Cuban instrument, but in that decade a few Cuban jazz combos, whose players would have noticed how the instrument was being used in US jazz, picked it up. Nuyorican salsa players in that decade were using vibes, too. Most famously Joe Cuba, “el padre del boogaloo,” often used them instead of horns to fill out the sound of his sextet.
“I really like the vibraphone for its sweet sound,” Marcos says. “It's sophisticated, and it’s an excellent counterpoint to the
horn section. I think I'm the first Cuban orchestrator to use it in a son format. But no matter what
instrumentation I use, I respect the genres of Cuban music. I try to play all of them, bolero, cha-cha-cha,
guapachá, son – with this sonora sound.
I’m working on a new album in this format. It’s called ‘Step Backward.’ It’s only half finished, but it’s more
traditional than anything I’ve done for a while.”
Friday night’s concert, with this orchestration (the full lineup is below), will
be, at least in part, a taste of “Step Backward.” And, like Orula’s iddé, it’s a family
affair. Gliceria Abreu, as always, will
be onstage playing hand percussion, singing chorus, and dancing with her
husband. Their two intensely talented,
conservatory trained daughters, Gliceria and Laura González, will be there,
too.
“My daughters have always worked with me on recordings,” Marcos says, “but I
didn’t want to incorporate them into the stage shows until they finished their
university studies.”
The year they started appearing live with the band was 2010. The younger Gliceria, 30, is an orchestral conductor (and a lyric soprano);
she’s teaching a Cuban string ensemble workshop in conjunction with Marcos’ UW
residency this fall. But Cuban classical music is just part of her art. Onstage with the
ACAS, she plays keyboards and vibes.
Laura’s the clarinetist.
“Of course, they’re not just great musicians, they’re Afro-Cubans,”
Marcos says, with tremendous pride.
“They play percussion, they sing and dance.”
