You can see plenty of fine dance programs, but you’ll not often find one with a great concept behind it. This was the mark of sophistication that Pilobolus brought to Wolf Trap in its enthralling and frequently astonishing performance Tuesday night. It was a deeply satisfying presentation, because of the guiding idea woven throughout.
They swing like saplings — roll and lift and orbit. Six dancers blend into three creatures, four-armed like dancing Shivas. They are wearing spare clothing the colors of their skin and moving in sunlight, to the sound of quiet strings and calling birds.
Many successful choreographers’ careers have started with a simple question. For Brian Brooks it was how to convey the emotions and experiences of running a marathon through the use of movement. By investigating the elements of running such as pace, duration and the feelings of inspiration and achievement commonly associated with the activity, Brooks has created a movement language that is fast-paced, compelling and uniquely human.
The name pretty much says it: The Brian Brooks Moving Company is all about moving. But it’s not just about how we move; it’s about the patterns we move in, the direction, and how we move against one another. Brooks brought six pieces to the Citi Shubert Theatre Saturday, under the auspices of Celebrity Series of Boston, but the big name was his guest star, former New York City Ballet principal dancer Wendy Whelan.
Brian Brooks has been a regular at the Joyce Theater lately, performing last week with Wendy Whelan in “Restless Creature,” for which he was one of four choreographers, and this week with his Brian Brooks Moving Company. Watching his fine dancers in a program of five short works, which opened on Tuesday, you can see why Ms. Whelan, looking to break out of ballet’s verticality, would gravitate toward Mr. Brooks. He treats the body as an axis that’s never upright, or only upright on its way from one incline to another.
Music historians have never quite known what to make of the late Renaissance composer Orlando di Lasso, or, for that matter, even what to call him. (Sometimes he's Orlande or Roland, and sometimes De Lassus.) Musicologist Richard Taruskin calls him, simply, a loose end. Di Lasso's style never fully conformed to the luxurious perfection of his age. His bizarre harmonic explorations, along with his attraction to lurid or mystical subject matter, could get him into trouble.
The stage is bare apart from 21 chairs in two diagonal rows, nine on one side, 12 on the other. But it’s not until near the end of Lagrime di San Pietro that the singers actually sit on them for the first time. Mostly, they sing while performing the compelling, poetic, physical choreography that Peter Sellars has crafted on them to drive deep into the emotional heart of the Renaissance a cappella masterwork.
Lagrime di San Pietro (Saint Peter’s Tears) is one of the finest examples of the style completed during the renaissance, and perhaps the composer's crowning glory.
Since she made her solo debut at age 11 in 1982, violinist Midori has grown up — and grown middle-aged — under the full glare of the media.
Reporters dubbed her a child prodigy when she first stunned audiences as a last-minute substitute with the New York Philharmonic. They chronicled her ascent to adolescent superstardom, a status cemented when at age 14, she went through three violins in a single Tanglewood concert. The media continued to follow her as she matured into a venerated soloist.
We meet a violinist whose first language is music and who has become a UN Messenger of Peace.
