student blog

Reflecting on Merce Cunningham / Sarah C.

It has been almost two weeks since the Merce Cunningham Dance Company came to Iowa City, and yet almost every day in my ballet or modern classes, one of the teachers mentions their talent and strength. That’s the kind of impression I believe those dancers leave to any audience. Some dance companies leave an impression of beauty, passion, and grace. Others leave the audience with a story to remember. None of this is present in Cunningham’s work, and that was exactly how he wanted it. No emotion, no storyline, no presumed beauty; nothing but the movement, which was often created by chance. And that movement is extremely difficult, but the company dancers tackle it with pure strength and ease. They truly are some of the greatest dancers that I or any other audience member will see. Because of Cunningham’s use of chance choreography, he created some absolutely amazing techniques of dance that will be used (I believe) for hundreds of years to come. And those techniques created and will create some pretty talented dancers, to say the least. However, leaving the talent of the dancers aside, this show may not always be exciting to the non-dancer audience.

Cunningham was an extremely innovative individual, and because of that he is will be remembered as one of the greatest choreographers in dance history. As an artist and dancer, I respect and appreciate everything that Cunningham did; I am inspired by his work and I love watching the execution of his difficult movement by extremely talented dancers. However, for the common audience member who is maybe not a dancer or an artist in any way shape or form, this show may not be the most entertaining. I have been lucky enough to see the company perform at two different times, but to be completely honest, there were long moment during the performances where I found myself thinking about my homework, or friends, or my plans for the week to come. And to be frank, I was bored. 

This is not to say that I do not enjoy watching the company, for I love their skill and the movement. I simply don’t enjoy watching it for that amount of time. Let’s be honest, people watch a performance, or a movie, or read a book for the emotion that it possesses. Reading that book, or watching that movie made you laugh, or cry, or think about something you never had before. And that’s why you watched or read it. Cunningham purposely took all that away. (Which was obviously extremely unusual! But unusual or weird in the art world usually means that you are remembered). He said that if the audience member wanted to put a story, or emotion, or some type of meaning on his work, they were welcome to do so. He just never deliberately put any there.

Taking all of that emotion, or storyline away from a performance is extremely bold (and difficult), but that’s not to say that it is the most entertaining. Would you read a book that was composed of words, sentences, and passages that had been randomly picked and sorted from 1,000,000 different books, poems, billboards, newspapers, and magazines? Probably not. Cunningham’s work is a bit more complex than that, but the audience’s reaction is about the same. If you want to try and find a meaning or reason to the randomly sorted words, sentences, and passages, go for it! But that’s not to say that you will find any, for the reality is that the book is completely random!

To put it simply, I truly appreciate and respect everything that Cunningham did for the dance and art world. I believe anyone who gets the chance should go see the company before the end of their legacy tour. If nothing else, you will see some amazingly talented dancers. And maybe you will also admire and find value in Cunningham’s “unusual” and innovative take on dance.

—Sarah Carusona

Farewell Merce – You will forever be remembered / Melissa

 
In nearly 60 minutes, the Merce Cunningham Dance Company performed 60 years’ worth of legendary Cunningham technique and choreography. This historical, final tribute to Merce Cunningham’s renowned position in the dance world was nothing less than sensational. As a dancer, I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to witness the last production of one of the most iconic individuals in dance history. In all honesty, I wasn’t completely sure what to expect from this performance. Therefore, I decided to attend the performance with an open mind—which is certainly what Merce consistently encouraged his audience members to do. Because I have studied Merce Cunningham in some of my previous classes, I had somewhat of an idea of what the repertory would be like; however, with the MCDC on stage, no one can ever know what to expect.   

Tuesday night’s show was no ordinary dance performance. The MCDC yet again distinguished itself from all dance companies across the nation. Not many dance companies out there have the Director of Choreography perform alongside the other dancers or have live music inspired by a music legend, John Cage—one of Cunningham’s frequent collaborators. Even more out of the ordinary, no other dance company has attempted to gather 60 minutes worth of choreography and establish the order of which it is performed until the night of the show. Because this whole performance was ultimately left to chance, these dancers followed this criterion as closely and most distinctively as Merce would want it to be. Many of the audience members may have recognized the contrast between the dancers’ facial expressions and their movement. One dancer—Andrea Weber—smiled about half the time she was on stage, appearing as many would say, “not present,” or “in the moment.” As unprofessional this may seem to be for a dance company, Tuesday’s audience members seem to accept it and associate it with Cunningham’s “chance” method. For sixty years, many would attend MCDC performances and anticipate something refreshing and rare. I’d say that the standing ovation at the end of Tuesday’s performance certainly meant that the people of Iowa City recognized the company’s innovation.

Although I haven’t had the privilege of watching Merce on stage, I was able to recognize that every movement was derived from Merce’s incredible movement variations. The choreography was continuously filled with the most abstract lines, facings, and shapes that can only be seen through Cunningham technique. The MCDC members sustained the most controlled and elaborated quality of movement throughout the entire sixty minutes on stage. You would be kidding yourself if you didn’t recognize how impressive these dancers are.

Similar to many dance legends like Martha Graham, Isadora Duncan, Doris Humphrey, and Erick Hawkins, Merce Cunningham greatly contributed to the development of the most expressive art form in history, modern dance. Merce was extremely gifted in creating the most innovative works in modern dance and showing the world new ways to think. After experiencing my first and last MCDC performance, I feel inspired to follow the same approach to my dance technique and choreography. 

The MCDC may be near the end of their 60-years of performances, but Merce Cunningham and his company’s legacy will undoubtedly live on forever. 

—Melissa Carroll

breathing life into jazz / Andrew

I recently read an article that focused on one man’s aspiration to bring new life and spirit into the jazz scene around New York City. His project involves filming over two hundred gigs in order to show a new crowd of potential jazz enthusiasts it too is a music scene that is always evolving and making way for different sounds and styles that are refreshing and original.

Reading through, it struck me that the scenes of music I’m forever tied with, jazz and classical, have such an unrelenting air of ostentatiousness that it ended up stopping me from pursuing music in college. I’ve played cello from kindergarten through my senior year of high school; I’ve gone through the school orchestra classes, the private lessons, the summer camps, the conference-style competitions, even going as far as auditioning to various schools for cello performance and music composition.

Something I always loved about classical music and jazz is that everything is taken seriously and with consideration: from the score, to the performance, to the interpretation. Because of this formality, there isn’t much leeway in terms of experimentation in sounds, technique, or even simply taste. To play a cover of Metallica was immature, or using a simple scratch of an instrument was considered “avant-garde,” and therefor completely discarded by anyone who doesn’t listen to mid-20th century classical music. My interest in composing for traditional instruments (cello, piano, etc.) and new-age instruments (electric guitar, DJ scratching, etc.) fell short during college auditions because of this formality.

Granted, in post-bop and free-improvisation styled jazz, these styles are taken into account and even relished. Unfortunately, those styles of jazz are considered obscure or unconventional, and are promptly discarded by a large portion of jazz listeners simply because the voices and thoughts may not agree with the old style they’re used to hearing.
 
The reason I bring this up is because there is a new project that I might be a part of: EyeJAZZ. The project aims to use new journalists, from enthusiasts to professionals, to cover jazz using a simple pocket video recorder. The organization posts the YouTube-style videos of jazz life throughout the United States. They encourage their “interns,” so to speak, to find young and vibrant performers still keeping the spirit of jazz alive, the same spirit that made jazz explode in such an unrestrained way that the world loved and encompassed so wholeheartedly.

Exploring jazz and classical in new ways is exciting for me because they are two genres of music that, up until the mid-20th century, were the rock shows of society. People cheered for encores during dance scenes in operas, men bought performers drinks after the concerts, and women swooned over soloists. Coverage on music was predominately done in writing and occasionally on radio. Now, with satellite radio, fios cable, 4G internet, I’ve never been sure why classical music and jazz still stick with writing and radio; it may be the only reason why these music scenes seem so out of touch.

This is why EyeJAZZ exhilarates me. The more projects that breathe life into jazz and classical music, the wider the genres form, the larger the audiences, the more accepting the old world becomes.

Ideally, I’ll be proud to be a part of the EyeJAZZ project; the application process ends February 15th. If I make the cut,  I’ll be able to bring the zest and admiration of the Iowa City jazz scene into to the spotlight, not only for everyone living here, but to the rest of the United States, and perhaps even farther abroad. At least, that’s my goal.

Until next time,
Andrew Alberto Nicolas Deloucas

can't wait

With only a few short weeks until the Merce Cunningham Dance Company performs in the Main Lounge of the Iowa Memorial Union, my anticipation builds. I am anxiously awaiting February 8th!  Because of its reputation for being a top presenter of dance, Hancher is honored to be included on the list for this legendary company’s final performance tour.  As a longtime fan of Cunningham’s work, I feel so privileged to get to see this company perform live!

The Merce Cunningham Dance Company’s influence spreads worldwide, greatly impacting and developing modern dance, choreographic processes for dance making, and music’s relationship to dance. This company is controversial, but also inspiring and intriguing, and for these reasons, plays a profound role in dance history.   After Cunningham’s death in 2009, talk of the company disbanding immediately was a real fear; however they have continued performing and restaging his works.  This achievement, as well as the achievement of the longevity of the company, will be celebrated in their final tour, The Legacy Tour.  This event is the show that I have been most enthusiastic to see out of all of Hancher’s delightful performances.  I can’t believe they will be here in less than a month!

—Kim

The Quarterlife Crisis: It’s a real thing!

And this is how it ends: “Love and sadness, twined together so tightly they are indistinguishable,” writes Emily Gould to end her book And the Heart Says Whatever (quite the title, isn’t it?). But it sounds to me like an awfully morbid declaration and one that almost suggests an unhappiness that is both static and steady. To consider the inseparability of sadness and love seems pitiful — hopeless at best — but the worst part about Gould’s conclusion is that I actually believe her.

“She doesn’t really provide any answers for the title’s premise,” says Rob upon lending me the book, (Rob is my boss, but the kind you ask for genuine advice about what not to say when out to lunch with a prospective employer or boyfriend), and he’s right. We share a similar dissatisfaction with the story’s unidentified solution, but it seems to be more pressing of an issue to someone like myself. What I had hoped for — as someone in the midst of career transitioning — was something comparable to that of a stiff drink, pat on the back, and a firm talking to that eventually ended with a sympathetic embrace and the phrase, “Everything will be okay…” But I suppose if a therapist (minus the drink and a hug) is really what I’m looking for, then I suppose I should have realized that a sixteen dollar paperback is not exactly a physical or financial equivalent.

In And the Heart Says Whatever, we learn about Gould’s internship at Gawker, a bit of restaurant work, her relationships with various men (Joseph in particular), but it’s difficult to pinpoint a moment in the book where Gould actually expresses a sincere sense of pride or accomplishment. Most of the time, she’s indifferent or just terribly sad: someone who is extraordinary but has convinced herself that she is somewhat less than mediocre. However, what Gould does accomplish successfully is her ability to accurately illustrate the tendencies of what Eye Weekly identifies as the “Quarterlife Crisis.”  Unfortunately, this has become a very real thing, and is defined as:

“Unrelenting indecision, isolation, confusion and anxiety about working, relationships and direction is reported by people in their mid-twenties to early thirties who are usually urban, middle class and well-educated; those who should be able to capitalize on their youth, unparalleled freedom and free-for-all individuation. They can’t make any decisions, because they don’t know what they want, and they don’t know what they want because they don’t know who they are, and they don’t know who they are because they’re allowed to be anyone they want” (eyeweekly.com, Dec. 23, 2010)

In a certain sense, Gould becomes admirable because she has managed to both emulate and conquer this so-called Quarterlife Crisis phenomenon simply by writing her book…so I guess that lets her off the hook. But what about the rest of us? What the hell are we supposed to do?

I recently returned from a visit to Chicago where I was dancing and visiting friends, while simultaneously deciding if Chicago proved to be a place I could not only live but also survive upon graduating. While I was there, I attended a master class taught by choreographer Randy Duncan and a company class taught by Same Planet Different World artistic director Joanna Rosenthal. In addition, I attended SPDW rehearsal (as an observer) of “Hit” choreographed by Black Label Movement’s Carl Flink. In combination with my inspiring encounter with a portion of Chicago’s “dance life,” I also displayed my helpless behavior toward public transportation, exhibited painful anxiety in a crowded Trader Joe’s, and sat alone in Union Station for over five consecutive hours (although that’s not much different from my current living situation).  However, what proved to be most inspiring about the visit as a whole were the attitudes and survival rates of two of my closest friends: talented twentysomethings, currently obtaining or having already obtained Masters degrees from reputable universities that value the pursuit of an artistic career. Sounds pretty exceptional, huh?

Inherent in my being is a type of anxiety that both frightens and overwhelms those who don’t know me, and while I’d like to blame most of it on my mother, unfortunately this disease was acquired all on my own. That being said, these friends who I was staying with had the pleasure of experiencing this type of behavior for the four days we were together. Santo dances for SPDW, co-owns his family’s restaurant, and works part-time at another restaurant as an additional source of income. Matt is a writer, currently attending graduate school, finishing an internship at Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, while simultaneously juggling two to three other jobs. But what I envy most about each of them is their calm approach to living — that they have found ways in which to do what it is that makes them happy. And naturally, it’s what they’re terribly good at.

I explained to Santo and Matt the rampant tendency of the Quarterlife Crisis, to which they half-laughed and confirmed what I had already expected: that they too were currently experiencing the effects of its wrath, and probably even more so than myself. The only difference was that they had chosen to handle it like adults. (Of course, they didn’t actually say this, but it’s the truth and highly respectable).

So maybe this proves my delusion — the portrait I paint in my head each morning of my scrambling to find work that I like, my desire to be wanted, to be valued, crawling helplessly on all fours to find food or a few quarters to pay for a cup of coffee or a pair of used tights, and if I’m lucky, a man who might still find me desirable even after I’ve been crying for hours in desperation about nothing in particular. This, however, could mean one of two things (or both): 1. That I’m extremely passionate about what I do, or 2. dangerously unstable. (I’m joking… it’s the first one…. I think).

To state the obvious, I’m not the only one struggling to find work (and with it a sincere form of happiness) which is why I should probably take note of how it’s being accomplished without the sacrificing of sanity. However, I’m beginning to wonder if dancers and artists have increased their rate of survival simply by having been prepared for this sort of thing all along? The economic circumstances are undeniably poor, but have artists really ever expected something more profitable? “Starving” is actually integral to the maintenance of our irresistible image, or at least that is my understanding. 

As dancers (or artists), we make decisions based on what we want, but what we want isn’t always what we are allowed. So we work harder at what we do, make art to figure out who that is, and once we’ve managed to accomplish these goals, we set new ones in order to seek work seemingly more gratifying than what we’ve been given. And if we happen to get paid once in awhile, well… it means the heavens have pardoned us temporarily. You see, dancers know more about hard work and dedication than most other employees, and their rewards are equivalent to that of a performance opportunity or a new leotard (talk about work ethic!). We ache for nothing more than the pursuit of a creative life and the gratification felt from sharing something so truly special to us with our audience members, knowing whole-heartedly that our gift can never be recreated, only experienced. We don’t know what it’s like to receive a consistent paycheck or formally interview for a job, or follow standard procedure; it seems our world has always managed to be a little less forgiving. But maybe we’re better off because of it. After rehearsing “Hit” with the company, Santo told me, “there [is] something great about the exhaustion and desperation that it [gives] the dance…” and dancers understand what he means- that even if what we have isn’t much, we’d give it all up just so we can hurt a little more for what it is that we love.

So maybe Gould is right. Maybe love and sadness are undeniably inseparable, and perhaps it’s not as bad as we imagined it might be. This may definitely be the beginning of my so-called Quarterlife Crisis, but at least I hear it knocking, already with genuine intention and in enough time to make plans. Every morning, I try to remember who I am and what my art form has taught me, and sometimes I even recite to myself in the quiet of my own room, “Everything will be okay,” until I believe for a brief moment that it actually will be.  And then after my two cups of coffee, I step outside the doors of a multi-level Chicago apartment and into a brisk wintery wind, only to realize that I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.

*Special thanks to Rob Cline and Sam Shapiro for their insight and inspirational reading material.  The following links include the article referenced in this entry from EYEWEEKLY as well as other interesting reading suggested by NPR.

-- Sarah

Esperanza Spalding hits the Englert / Rachael

From the moment Esperanza Spalding walked on stage Thursday night at the Englert, I knew it was going to be a fantastic show. Maybe it was because she took off her coat, sat in a chair, and poured a glass of wine. Can you say laid back? Love it.

I wasn’t wrong, either. Spalding took audiences through an hour and a half of a beautiful fusion of jazz and classical tunes—complete with so much intense scatting that it would have made even Ella Fitzgerald jealous. The reviews sure weren’t lying when they said Spalding had a voice like a siren.

Prior to Thursday night’s concert I had only heard a smattering of Spalding’s music, but I knew enough about it to walk into the show expecting a whole lot of jazz and enough feelings to make me swoon with joy. Though Spalding and the Chamber Music Society delivered on both accounts, there was a surprising amount of classical tune-age—something I hadn’t noticed in her 2008 release, Esperanza. (You know, if I had half a brain I would have realized the concert would be heavy into the classical, judging by the name and all…).

But here’s the thing: I love classical music. OK, in all honesty my love of classical doesn’t entirely come from playing violin for eight years (I was really bad), most if it comes from my infatuation with classical dance (hi Tchaikovsky!) and The Lord of the Rings soundtracks (nerd status). Really, all I’m saying is that I thoroughly enjoyed the high amount of classical music I heard on Thursday night. 

I also appreciated Spalding’s efforts to make a concise show—one that came full circle. She started in the chair with the wine and she ended in the chair with the wine. She took audiences through a beautiful and mellow classical piece featuring violin, viola, cello, and of course her trademark bass, and then added backing vocals, drums, and piano and picked up the pace. Every song flowed into the next—there wasn’t anything abrupt or harsh that interrupted the laid back vibe Spalding brought from the very start.

 Spalding’s intensity and clear love of her profession capped the entire night and made it an evening that will resonate with me for quite some time. Like so many of the reviews say, if Spalding ever performs in a town near you, don’t miss it.

—Rachael

hoping everyone else gets it / Sarah

Recently, a few interesting things have occurred.  And these things are moderately unrelated to dance. But not entirely. I wanted to share them with you.

In the past few weeks I have not only re-entered the old restaurant where I used to work, but also ran into and engaged in conversation with co-workers from the old restaurant where I used to work- two things I neither expected to do nor had hoped might happen. Regardless, I survived- dignity intact- realizing each was bound to occur and probably in a fashion less terrifying than I had imagined.

Annually, company members gather together post-Dance Gala performances to revel in the efforts of their performance along with faculty, family and friends, as a sort of a rightful reward for their hard work and dedication. Conveniently, this year’s cast party was held in the confines of said restaurant.

For the record, this really is a wonderful place to dine, drink and work- that, I will never deny- but it just wasn’t a place for me, which this little dance soiree confirmed by its end.  And if you were wondering about any encounters in particular, ex-chef was not present, nor have we conversed since I was given full custody of the Underworld Trilogy; he moved to Memphis in pursuit of his dreams, and probably in hopes of getting the hell away from me, which I can’t exactly blame him for.

Regardless, the event proved to be a success in its ability to showcase the members of my dance family: the people who have always understood my artistic endeavors and the efforts behind my pursuit.  And now they were being unintentionally compared to the family I had once tried so terribly hard to fit into. Only now, everything appeared to make perfect sense. 

My old managers said “Hello” in all politeness, as they ran around frantically, aiding bartenders, servers, and chefs, and I noticed nothing had changed.  Nor would it probably ever.   Fellow friends pulled out cameras like tourists and retold stories of hilarity, and as we swished about our cocktails and wine, we soon forgot where we were (and not because we had been drinking).  We forgot where we were because it didn’t really matter.  Being together with the people you love- the ones that love you back and for all the right reasons- sort of makes its way into the foreground, as architecture and place fade into the distance.

By the end of the evening, laughter roared loudly, but only five people remained beside the bar, myself included- the owner peering anxiously in our direction, probably glad he had made money and the event had been a success, but also wishing we would leave so he could go home.  My director noticed, and began to shoo us out, thanking the man I used to work for.  I remember hoping that my re-appearance had made some sort of impact on the people who saw me that night, and I imagined them saying things about me like, “Maybe we should have taken the time to really get to know her,” and then I re-joined reality.  We made our way toward the staircase, and I waved goodbye.  And this time it felt official- like a sort of confirmation that I was leaving a place that had never really welcomed me in the first place.

 

My second encounter with actual co-workers occurred right before Thanksgiving break and possibly right after Sam and I had discussed plans to move to New Orleans and build a house out of coasters.  “You’ll sleep on this side,” he said, pointing to the miniature replica on the table between us, “and I’ll sleep on this side.” I clapped my hands ridiculously and decided (in that moment) to only make decisions about my future post-cocktail consumption as it seemed to extract feelings of anxiety (Dad, if you’re reading this… I’m joking). 

Ironically, Sam and I really had been discussing our nervousness in relationship to career transitioning just as a band of co-workers entered the bar we had occupied for at least an hour already.

 “Is this awkward?” he asked, watching me watch them file in, one after the other.

“Sort of,” I said, “But at least I’m happy.”  And I meant it. It sounded sort of simple when I heard it flee from my mouth.  Of course, the detachment was odd- watching my past dance around me in human form, extending affection in all directions but mine- but really, it had always been like this; I had just failed to notice it.  I was too busy pretending to be someone people “could” like: the same person everyone secretly hates for having no opinion and being annoyingly diligent.

“I really have to go to the bathroom!” I said, and Sam gave me the “It’s-time-to-grow-up-and-no-I-will-not-go-with-you” look, which was followed by friendly words of encouragement: “Just go.”

“Don’t make me be ‘that guy,’ “ he said, “-the one with the girl who peed herself in a bar.”

Sam was right. If I was the good friend I claimed to be, I would march myself to the bathroom and take care of business like any other grown woman. So for his sake and mine, that’s exactly what I did- past the co-workers without a glance, and down the hall to the ladies room. And I made it just in time.

When I returned, a few of these old friends approached us, and this is what they said:

            “Today was [insert name here]’s last day, so we’re just out having a few drinks.”

            “Nothing new. Same shit.”

            “It’s probably a good thing you left. You don’t want to be stuck at this place…”

            “I work from 9-5 at my other job and then go straight to the restaurant every night.”

 These are all things I appreciate not having to say. They’re not my type of sentences. 

 

 

 Last, I must make mention of my latest reading of Emily Gould’s And the Heart Says Whatever, recommended to me by Hancher’s Rob Cline for seriously understandable reasons. “You have to read this,” he said, and it is so very clear as to why this was said to me. Talk about female experiences with career transitioning and the workplace!  I’m beginning to think Gould and I are somehow related.  I am halfway through her collection of both relatable and evocative anecdotes, and the following are lines taken from her book worth sharing (or at least I think so):

“There’s this weird quality of being suspicious and cynical about everything and simultaneously, unwittingly, being utterly open and receptive and gullible that is part of youth, or at least was part of my youth...”

“Free floating ambition is toxic because it means that anyone who has accomplished anything in any realm of human endeavor is the enemy because she might be your competition. So you hate everyone a little bit, but behind this wall of hatred you still feel vulnerable. And you are vulnerable, but not because of the competition. You’re vulnerable because if anyone points you in anything that seems like a direction, that’s where you’ll go...”

“I also wonder if there was some moment when men began to sense that the skepticism I’d once feigned had calcified into something real, and so they stopped trying to sway me.  Or maybe they don’t sense anything and they just see that I’m almost a decade older now. And anyway the streets and the bars are full of easier prey: girls whose eyes, behind their sunglasses, are filled with this targetless, nameless, need.” 

 

…  And so at least I’m not alone. None of us are, really. Artist or not, our lives are flooded with questions and illegitimate answers, desirable but unnecessary things, and the encounters we are never expected to have.  But these things make life sort of stimulating and somewhat manageable.  Not to mention, these are the things we make art about.  Dance, writing, photography, painting: they all begin with something personally meaningful, regardless of outward significance. But of course, that part comes later; usually around the same time we hope everyone else “gets it.”

—Sarah

 

Leahy video feature / Melissa

The holiday season is finally upon us! What better way to celebrate the holidays then to attend the Leahy Family Christmas show this Saturday. Here is a sneak preview for this weekend’s show:  Hancher Interns Present: Leahy Family Christmas. 

Elizabeth and I really wanted to get into the holiday spirit, so we were on a mission to find a Christmas tree to incorporate into this video. Apparently, the only BIG Christmas tree in town is at the Old Capitol Mall—what’s up with that? Well, that’s all for now folks! Keep a lookout for the Interns’ episode featuring Esperanza Spalding.

-Melissa

Professor Kubinek Meets the Symphony: hilarity ensues—Melissa

Yes, it’s true.  Professor Tomáš Kubinek’s collaboration with Orchestra Iowa was no less than hilarious.  And yes, the professor undoubtedly maintained his usual look of a typical lunatic.  Right off the bat, Tomáš became the source of the audience’s continuous laughter as he entered West High Auditorium being carried on a litter acting as if he were a king.   From start to finish, Tomáš remained unpredictable and entertaining.   Before the professsor even opened his mouth, he made sure his hair stood straight up.  I’m assuming he felt uncomfortable with having his hair lay flat on his head…  Followed by this ultimate hairstyle decision, he instantly showed off his flexibility by balancing a glass of wine on what he calls his “five-head,” playing a banjo, and whistling a tune while slowly lowering his back to the ground.  Wait it gets better… he then used his knees to hold the glass of wine and managed to do a backward roll.   By the second act, Professor Kubinek and Timothy Hankewich, Orchestra Iowa’s conductor, were fighting for the conductor role as if they were two brothers fighting over a controller to play a video game. To make this scene even more amusing, the symphony played the famous horse racing song, “William Tell” by Gioachino Rossini. 

Although I am considered a “newbie” to the symphonic scene, I’m almost positive that lunatics are not usually integrated into a traditional symphony performance.   Perhaps the professor’s untraditional crazy act is what can possibly revive an appreciation for symphonic performances in today’s music world.   Professor Kubinek’s humorous interaction with the audience took a typical orchestra production to a whole new level.   At the end of the show, I overheard an audience member say, “this show was definitely something for everyone.”  And indeed it was.  I was truly impressed that the professor’s humor related to kids, adults, senior citizens, and yes, even college students.  Aside from Tomáš’ loony character, I was also captivated by Orchestra Iowa’s performance.  I’m actually interested in researching their pieces of music for my choreographic studies as a dance major.  Let’s hope this will not be the last time Professor Tomáš Kubinek and Orchestra Iowa will entertain the Hancher audience.

—Melissa

Kenny Barron video feature / Melissa

Our latest video featuring Kenny Barron and Special Guest David Sánchez is available for your viewing.  I’m starting to realize that Lauren, Elizabeth and I are starting to become professional improvisers.   I’m impressed with our ability to think on our feet and instantly come up with an idea.  Even though Lauren and I have no future as actresses, we still have fun entertaining the Hancher audience.  Stay tuned for the Fiddler on the Roof episode!

—Melissa