There’s a genial kind of, I don’t know, Brechtian disruption going on when you hurl that sound at people. They just lose their shit and do not know what to do with themselves. It is somehow a punk rock gesture.
mayfield brooks, jumatatu m. poe, and the I Moving Lab are part of aa three-week series conceived and curated by Marýa Wethers at Gibney Dance highlighted “intersections and crossroads among Blackness, queerness, and Indigeneity.”
She exists, she conjures, she illuminates through whisper and scream.
Its in-betweenness, like the liminal space of “not me…not not me,” grants us the ability to be in two places at once.
George Emilio Sanchez offers a rumination on Culturebot’s Maura Donohue’s recent work at La MaMa
Christmas in Nickyland and Reggie Wilson/Fist & Heel prove dancing and singing are practices of resilence and resistance.
With an impending Developer-in-Chief and First Son-in-Law eager to tear down historic buildings for the sake of more real estate profits, the preservation of buildings like 537 Broadway become essential. Kudos to Cathy for bringing it forward as the centerpiece and star of her latest work.
They fucked us good.
Three singers sit on three couches; they each occupy their own. They wear nice fitting clothing in gentle colors and matching mukluks, the kind you can order on Amazon. The couches are in sad shades of brown, and I realize for the first time how
Anne Waldman gave what felt and looked like a sermon. Meredith Monk exemplified how closely voice and body are connected.
Claire Tighe responds to Idgy Dean’s ETLE Universe Looping Workshop.
Alaina Ferris chats with Gelsey Bell about thingNY’s opera THIS TAKES PLACE CLOSE BY.