Dancing Your Pants Off

Now modern interpretive dance is just one of the millions of things I know virtually nothing about.

In truth, dance just isn't my thing.

In elementary school, I hid in the boys' room whenever they announced a ladies' choice number at Tune Time.

In high school, I played keyboard in a rock band, so I was performing when everyone else learned to do the pony, and the horse, and the funky chicken.

In college, I vividly remember staring in wide-eyed, stoned wonder for 4 hours at 2 of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen who walked over after the mixer and told me and my Neil Young-lookalike friend Frank Haircut, "we do know how to dance and you missed your chance" before leaving out the door forever.

I am still having nightmares from the time a few years back when my wife dragged me to a dance recital for her god-daughter that I swear featured 7,000 munchkins and went on for a week-and-a-half.

And there was that episode just last month where Fidel Castro tried to evict me from Cuba for attempting to kill the well-endowed professional Cuban salsa dancer who was trying to instruct me in her art. All I did was stomp on her feet, blindly stumble, and desperately grab her endowments, which caused her to scream and both of us to wildly crash into a precious, irreplaceable Santeria altar. And I swear I was during really well for the 3 seconds before the unfortunate mishap.

Now I tell you all this to set the stage to try to explain my inexplicable decision to purchase 2 tickets to the Kennedy Center tonight to see the Keigwin + Company dance performance. It may have had something to do with the preview of the performance I had read in The Washington Post. That preview said innovative and hip company director Larry Keigwin grew up dancing behind his bedroom door to an '80s MTV playlist: Michael Jackson (when he was alive), Madonna (when she was young), Whitney Houston (when she was still alive) and the original cast recording of "Cats." The previewer promised an evening of provocative and stylish entertainment. I like provocative. Stylish can be good. And there was that fact that my wife was still smarting from my ruining her romantic Havana Valentine's Day with my very unstylish Salsa stumble.

I bought the tickets. I wanted to have a good view so they were directly center stage. But given my previous dance record, I wanted to be safe so I made sure they were in the last row in the 2nd balcony of the massive Eisenhower Theater. You know, just in case.

We arrived at the theater and after climbing a whole lot of stairs, we found our seats. Despite our distance from the stage, the view was great. Just like a rock concert, they were playing warmup music. I made out Boy George's "Karma Chameleon." And 2 or 3 hits by Madonna I recognized. Hey, I may be able to get into this modern dancey thing, I thought.

The lights dimmed for the 1st of 4 scheduled movements - "Megalopolis." 12 dancers in futuristic black and silver garb moved around the stage in impressive machine-like motions. Then there was a part with a darkened stage and a dancer with 2 flashlights performing to a pulsing MIA song. Then more futuristic marching to a minimalist, but still driving soundtrack. Then another brief club moment. Then a curtain. I wasn't certain exactly what I had seen, but I had enjoyed it immensely. If I had to say, it had something to do with the impersonality of the future world and man's search for connection and meaning in such a place. Like Charlie Chaplin's classic silent film Modern Times. In fact, the whole thing was sort of like a fast-forward version of Chaplin's film with 2 extra doses of a night in a hot NYC club. I was content with my interpretation of the work. But I knew if I wanted to,  I could find out the real story by asking anyone around me. I could tell I was in the midst of modern dance experts. They had vibrant stylish scarves draped fashionably around their necks and wore expensive dangling earrings. And that was just the men.

The lights dimmed for movement 2 - "Mattress Suite." On stage left, you could see a solo dancer in a wedding dress. In the center was a mattress on its edge. Stage right was still dark. Then the lone dancer began to move. "Oh my God no," I silently screamed to myself. She was dancing to an opera track. I hate opera. I mean I really hate opera. I hate opera so much that it has made me deathly afraid of any full-figured woman. I am terrified that if I so much as look at one, she will break out in a high-pitched powerful song in a language I have no chance of understanding. I closed my eyes, but I couldn't close my ears. It got worse. A 2nd opera track. I finally opened my eyes. There was a man in a wedding tux dancing. But wait. What was that in the darkened back corner of stage left? It couldn't be. This was the staid, proper Kennedy Center. But it appeared the early dancer was disrobing. I strained forward to see better. Yes, she definitely was suggestively swaying slowly as she slid her wedding dress down over her shoulders. In the faint stage back light, I saw glimpses of her white bra. She let the dress fall to the floor. Now she was in just bra and panties. In my concentration on the 1st dancer, I had failed to recognize that the 2nd male dancer had also stripped to his tidy-whities. The pair flipped the bed down.. For the next few minutes, they bounced, and intertwined, and flipped and retwined on the bed. But then something happened and the woman stormed off stage, leaving the male to dance a hauntingly sad solo with the mattress to Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine." Then somehow there were 3 dudes (including the married guy) cavorting on that much used mattress to a Verdi backing. I didn't care for this much, but those earring wearers I referred to earlier seemed to really get into it. In the final scene, the female wedding dancer returned to close the movement with a beautiful solo dance to Etta James' "At Last." Much of this was done while touching the now again upright mattress. To be honest, unlike the 1st movement, I really didn't have a thematic clue about this section other than it involved multiple looks at different aspects of love. But I did like the costumes, except the ones on the 3 dudes.

After intermission, the lights dimmed for the 3rd movement - "Love Songs." Now my wife swears I don't have a romantic bone in my body, but I was convinced I would like this movement the best. First, there were no stupid opera tracks. And I was extremely familiar with all 6 songs the 3 couples would be dancing to. Two were by Roy Orbison - "Blue Bayou" and "Crying." Two were by Aretha Franklin - "Baby, I Love You" and "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I love You)." Two were by Nina Simone "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" and "I Put a Spell on You." As I thought, I loved the movement. After the curtain came down and I finished applauding, I turned to my wife. "See, I can do romantic," I said. She just shook her head.

Now, I was really ready for the final movement - "Runway." According to the previewer, it was a look at modeling in a 1960s-meets-techno-music sort of way. And sure enough, 12 dancers turned the stage, and indeed the entire bottom of the theater, into a giant runway. The women wore pastel-colored 60s mini-dresses and sported high-poofed hair. The men wore black suits with white shirts and skinny black ties. I was still taking in the initial costuming when it suddenly got even better. Four of the 6 females stripped down to bra and panties which matched the pastel colors of their dresses. Four of the men also stripped down too, but you can't expect everything in a dance performance to be perfect. All too soon the final movement, and indeed, the performance was over. One bow. Two bows. One breast. Two breasts. Then fini. Our night with Keigwin + Company was complete.

Now I'm sure you're asking - Dave, given your past history with dance did you really enjoy the performance? And the answer is an unqualified (and with my lack of knowledge about modern dance I mean really unqualified) yes. I give those big thumbs up even with the 2 opera tracks and 3 dudes cavorting in their tidy-whities on that mattress. In fact, I was so moved by the 4 movements that I am going to take my wife to National Geographic on April 13th for a night of Cuban Salsa dancing. And to keep in practice, I am going to make a few visits to the posh, discreet Gentlemen's Club just across the street from our apartment. I know I can learn some really cool dance moves from those talented hard working girls, especially Kat, and Krystal, and Kandi, who I have been following closely on the internet. I definitely want to keep abreast of this dancing thing. And I'm virtually certain that I won't be subjected to any opera songs. I believe they are banned in Gentlemen's Clubs. I just hope that same ban applies to earringed men in tidy whities.

Tales, Tips, and Tidbits
I'm sure you understand that I may have played fast and loose with a few facts in my above re-creation of our neat night with Keigwin + Company. First, my Villanova University buddy wasn't named Frank Haircut. His real name was Frank Hackett, but we did call him Frank Haircut and he was a dead ringer for a 1970s Neil Young. Obviously, there really weren't 7,000 munchkins at the described local dance recital. The dancers weren't munchkins at all; they were cute little girls and there couldn't have been more than 6,973 of them tops.. Finally, for full disclosure, I wasn't  ordered out of Cuba by Fidel Castro. It was really his 80-year-old younger brother, Raul. I just always thought Fidel was way cooler. Now as to my enjoyment of the Keigwin + Company performance, my only concern is that my meager writing talents failed to convey how much I truly enjoyed the night. And I swear, no matter what you think, it was all about the dancing, not the costuming.