Tap dancer and choreographer Ayodele Casel often tells the story of learning, for the first time, about tap’s African-American roots. She grew up loving Ginger Rogers, but it wasn’t until college that a friend introduced her to names like Jimmy Slyde, Bill Robinson, Gregory Hines, and the Nicholas Brothers.
“It opened up my whole world,” she said on the conversation series Black Dance Stories in 2020, “because I finally realized that this thing that I was so in love with and attracted to, even though I didn’t know much about it , was truly rooted in lineage and a legacy that was mine From then on, she vowed to tap and present herself “with the utmost integrity, in honor of my ancestors, in honor of all the progenitors of the form.”
That story came to mind as I watched Casel’s characteristically generous and vibrant program at New York City Center, which premiered Thursday as part of the Artists at the Center series. The two-act show begins with five short new works, each by a pair of choreographers selected by Casel. After the break comes her ‘Where We Dwell V.2’, an extended version of a piece she presented at Fall for Dance in 2021. of history grounds and guides it.
The first sound we hear is a statically recorded voice with an almost instructive chorus: “Not to look at, but to listen to.” The curtain rises on Brinae Ali laying down fast rhythms, a prelude to offerings of vocals and spoken word – and music by the amazing live band (Anibal César Cruz on piano, Raul Reyes on bass and Senfuab Stoney on drums). Choreographed by Ali and Gerson Lanza in collaboration with Cyrah L. Ward, Hoofer’s Delight looks back to look forward.
“Memories shape who we are,” says Ali, sharing memories of her family and of famed tapper Baby Laurence, whose voice we heard earlier. Ward, barefoot and dressed in white, tends toward an altar of sorts between luscious, quivering bursts of movement reminiscent of the baptismal rite, her body’s pulsations echoing those of Lanza’s feet.
The other short works seem to grow out of the firm roots of this first piece and present distinctive visions of what crane can be. “Little Things”, by Caleb Teicher and Naomi Funaki, shows Teicher on a pink toy piano, crouching on the floor and belting out a tune that elicits sharp, concise steps from Funaki, Jared Alexander, and Amanda Castro, the three of them lined up neatly in a line a row. “Interlaced,” by Alexander and freestyle dancer Tomoe Carr, better known as Beasty, mixes movement styles in an invigorating blend of tap percussion and house beats.
In ‘El Camino’ by Castro and Casel, the ever-glamorous Castro, shoeless in a voluminous white skirt, is like the eye of a storm around which three tappers gather. Closing act one, “The Man I Love,” by Dario Natarelli and Michelle Dorrance, finds Natarelli swooning alone at the Gershwin classic (played live by cellist Derek Louie), his lyrical torso as expressive as his feet.
Casel makes a few fleeting appearances in these pieces, including a cameo with her wife, Torya Beard, the show’s director, in “Little Things.” While she’s more present in the second half, her energy igniting the stage when she first arrives, she seems intent on sharing the spotlight, both with current collaborators and ancestors.
When the curtain rises on “Where We Dwell V.2,” it’s not Casel but Hank Smith, the eldest cast member, who remains a hovering but vital presence throughout the work. Projected onto a screen in front of him, a rapid montage of images evokes both the joy and the pain in the history of tap, its connections to African dances and blackface minstrelsy, Hollywood and slavery. A cascade of voices includes James Baldwin’s, “How much time do you want for your progress?”
Featuring music and arrangements by Crystal Monete Hall, and propelled by her luscious vocals, the work continues to channel resistance and revelry. In a pared-down and piercing section, Hall remembers Baldwin as she sings, “When? How long?” The only other sound is the trembling of Casel’s feet, in what appears to be an outward manifestation of deep inner emotions. A little floppy in its structure, “Where We Dwell V.2” has plenty of fun and flash, and lets seeing the strengths of his eight other dancers. You leave the theater basking in its glow. But this swirling moment, screaming out and looking in at the same time, leaves an even more lasting impression.
Ayodele Casel
Through Saturday at New York City Center, nycitycenter.org.
