This year I decided to give Balanchine the benefit of the doubt. As if life in our household isn't interesting enough, I thoroughly dislike most of Balanchine's work, and disagree with his aesthetic. The accompanist, however, is now completely inside the bubble that is New York City Ballet, so I'm trying.
I made an effort, and sat through an all Balanchine evening. Mostly it served to remind me why I dislike the stuff.
Concerto Barocco, a study in old-fashioned academy uniforms. The girls in what, today, might pass for tennis dresses, the boys in black tights and white tee shirts with white shoes and socks. Glorious Bach double violin concerto, and choreography which at times resembled children on a playground, hinted at maypole dances, and gave more than a passing nod to military close order drill. The piece dates to beginning of World War Two, premiering barely six months before the US entered the fray. Busby Berkeley ruled the Hollywood musicals of the previous decade, and his intricate, kaleidoscopic choreography was based on the close order drills he designed for the military during the First World War. This was also the era in which Mr. B was invited to make Circus Polka on the performing elephants of The Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Circus. I can only suppose Mr. B failed to find inspiration in JSB, but I guess that's okay, because I've never understood what he heard in Stravinsky.
Which brings us to Stravinsky Violin Concerto. This was made a few decades later, when the avant-garde of the Sixties finally trickled into the mainstream. It moves around like ballet, but if you really look at it, it's tap, jazz, and modern dance with a thin ballet veneer. I almost felt this was Mr. B reading his own reviews and making a parody of himself, and having a great big laugh while no one was looking. He and Stravinsky used to get thick as thieves, and the stories got more outrageous at time went on. The music, though, doesn't require a period of adjustment in order to listen to it, the way Rite of Spring might. This was also another generically costumed piece, as if Balanchine couldn't bear to have anything, not even the music, distract from the choreography. The main problem with cutting edge stuff is that it seldom stands the test of time. I don't know if this piece was considered cutting edge when it premiered in 1972. What I do know is that, for me, it falls to one side of a rather blurred line of demarcation in the maestro's body of work. I think of it as post-Le Clercq. He could not physically manipulate Tanaquil Le Clercq's polio ravaged body back into the muse he needed her to be. But he could manipulate the dancers he had left, and that's what he proceeded to do. These often contorted movements are seldom pretty to watch. This piece, for me, doesn't just break classical technique, it goes after it with a machete and leaves it bleeding on the marley.
Let us please move on. Symphony in C has a fairly new set of very sparkly costumes, but they don't save the work from being dull. It's one of those "Stairway to Freebird" pieces, presenting the same dance riffs over and over, never wanting to stop. In fact, I felt I was having flashbacks to Jewels. I was looking at the same stuff, a bit like picking up a badly edited book in which page twelve pops up again between pages fifteen and sixteen. The work demands a very precise corps de ballet, and this was not their night. As the Diamonds section of Jewels was marred by conductor issues, I felt there were tempo issues throughout the evening that culminated here. Like the book with the extra page, Balanchine needed a sharper editor.
How can you not love Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux? I hated it when I saw Peter Martins dance it. Like Symphony in C, it's one of those pieces usually done better across the plaza. Joaquin de Luz honed his chops over at ABT, and his presence on stage brings a vibrancy to Balanchine's works that goes begging when danced by NYCB's often expressionless men. Joaquin is retiring this season, which why I decided to brave an All Balanchine night for the chance to see him do Tchai Pas. Of course when I got home, the acoompanist asks me "How was Tiler?" Meaning Tiler Peck, the distaff side of the deux. He knows better than to ask me about the girls when there's a top notch male dancer on the stage. I think it will be some time before those coming up through the ranks will even come close to Joaquin on stage. There are a few glimmers of hope for the future, but it just won't be the same without Joaquin.
I made an effort, and sat through an all Balanchine evening. Mostly it served to remind me why I dislike the stuff.
Concerto Barocco, a study in old-fashioned academy uniforms. The girls in what, today, might pass for tennis dresses, the boys in black tights and white tee shirts with white shoes and socks. Glorious Bach double violin concerto, and choreography which at times resembled children on a playground, hinted at maypole dances, and gave more than a passing nod to military close order drill. The piece dates to beginning of World War Two, premiering barely six months before the US entered the fray. Busby Berkeley ruled the Hollywood musicals of the previous decade, and his intricate, kaleidoscopic choreography was based on the close order drills he designed for the military during the First World War. This was also the era in which Mr. B was invited to make Circus Polka on the performing elephants of The Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Circus. I can only suppose Mr. B failed to find inspiration in JSB, but I guess that's okay, because I've never understood what he heard in Stravinsky.
Which brings us to Stravinsky Violin Concerto. This was made a few decades later, when the avant-garde of the Sixties finally trickled into the mainstream. It moves around like ballet, but if you really look at it, it's tap, jazz, and modern dance with a thin ballet veneer. I almost felt this was Mr. B reading his own reviews and making a parody of himself, and having a great big laugh while no one was looking. He and Stravinsky used to get thick as thieves, and the stories got more outrageous at time went on. The music, though, doesn't require a period of adjustment in order to listen to it, the way Rite of Spring might. This was also another generically costumed piece, as if Balanchine couldn't bear to have anything, not even the music, distract from the choreography. The main problem with cutting edge stuff is that it seldom stands the test of time. I don't know if this piece was considered cutting edge when it premiered in 1972. What I do know is that, for me, it falls to one side of a rather blurred line of demarcation in the maestro's body of work. I think of it as post-Le Clercq. He could not physically manipulate Tanaquil Le Clercq's polio ravaged body back into the muse he needed her to be. But he could manipulate the dancers he had left, and that's what he proceeded to do. These often contorted movements are seldom pretty to watch. This piece, for me, doesn't just break classical technique, it goes after it with a machete and leaves it bleeding on the marley.
Let us please move on. Symphony in C has a fairly new set of very sparkly costumes, but they don't save the work from being dull. It's one of those "Stairway to Freebird" pieces, presenting the same dance riffs over and over, never wanting to stop. In fact, I felt I was having flashbacks to Jewels. I was looking at the same stuff, a bit like picking up a badly edited book in which page twelve pops up again between pages fifteen and sixteen. The work demands a very precise corps de ballet, and this was not their night. As the Diamonds section of Jewels was marred by conductor issues, I felt there were tempo issues throughout the evening that culminated here. Like the book with the extra page, Balanchine needed a sharper editor.
How can you not love Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux? I hated it when I saw Peter Martins dance it. Like Symphony in C, it's one of those pieces usually done better across the plaza. Joaquin de Luz honed his chops over at ABT, and his presence on stage brings a vibrancy to Balanchine's works that goes begging when danced by NYCB's often expressionless men. Joaquin is retiring this season, which why I decided to brave an All Balanchine night for the chance to see him do Tchai Pas. Of course when I got home, the acoompanist asks me "How was Tiler?" Meaning Tiler Peck, the distaff side of the deux. He knows better than to ask me about the girls when there's a top notch male dancer on the stage. I think it will be some time before those coming up through the ranks will even come close to Joaquin on stage. There are a few glimmers of hope for the future, but it just won't be the same without Joaquin.