Author Archives: jessicakoslow

J.U.i.C.E.: Justice Uniting in Creative Energy

Scatterbrain

It’s a Saturday in October 2011 and people jam into MacArthur Park Recreation Center for J.U.i.C.E.’s second Free Cypher Jam, a free battle with no prize other than bragging rights. Breakers both young and old take turns entering the cypher, trading funky sets of footwork, poses, slides, spins, flips and rocks.

The crowd seems mesmerized, partly by the live DJ spinning break beats but more likely by the smooth moves unfolding center stage. The onlookers are as diverse as the city of Los Angeles, and hip-hop is their unifier. Bad day, good week, hard life, troubling family; the dance floor is their soapbox, a creative outlet to express what’s on their mind. There is nowhere else they would rather be. J.U.i.C.E. provides the space, but the hype participants create the empowering space.

Lamar Glover and Daniel Rizik-Baer, co-executive directors of J.U.i.C.E. (Justice Uniting in Creative Energy) since April of 2011, are constantly blown away when they stop by their Saturday workshops for at-risk youth. One instance at a music production workshop stands out in particular for Rizik-Baer.

“Lamar and I were speaking with young kids who used to be on the streets gang banging who are now having discussions about criticism versus critique,” he says. “These things go way beyond hip-hop. That’s the biggest thing for us that we’re trying to get across. We’re building knowledge, confidence, self-awareness and ways of thinking that translate to other parts of people’s lives. What we do in our program, and I think it’s a beautiful thing, is we make sure we are focusing on experiences that facilitate conversations about all aspects of life.”

In existence for 10 years, J.U.i.C.E. is a nonprofit arts program for all ages, providing space for kids and emerging adults to interact with hip-hop elders as everyone builds their skills. J.U.i.C.E. prides itself on being an inter-generational program. Every Saturday from 12 p.m. to 4 p.m. at MacArthur Park Recreation Center at-risk youth, transition aged youth, and adults come together to create and practice all elements of hip-hop: music, visual art, and dance. Anyone can freestyle in the b-boy/b-girl open practice, learn how to spin on turntables, freestyle rhymes and record and produce music, and take graffiti and mural painting classes.

Glover views J.U.i.C.E. as a stepping stone for kids to delve into Los Angeles’s rich hip-hop arts community. “We’ve seen lots of folks move through the program and matriculate into professional artistic careers in all elements of hip-hop,” says Glover proudly. “It’s been a special place to be.”

More than the generous grants from organizations like the Los Angeles Department of Cultural Affairs and California Arts Council, J.U.i.C.E. runs on heart; that of its volunteer teachers, administrators, directors and board. “Everyone has other jobs,” explains Rizik-Baer. “We do other things to support ourselves, and then spend all of our free time trying to make J.U.i.C.E. the best it can be. Of course, the more funding we get, the more effective we can be.”

It’s hard enough to secure funding for hip-hop arts programs in the first place, but add a crippled economy to the equation and times have never been tougher for J.U.i.C.E. Securing grants is a difficult process.

“I just finished graduate school for social work with a focus on management planning,” begins Rizik-Baer, “and one of the things I learned is that they are looking for real results and concrete numbers, which requires time and resources. Without funding to implement the solid programming that grants are looking for, it makes it difficult to prove concrete results like people expect. It’s a vicious circle.”

Rizik-Baer continues, “The sad thing is that there is only so much heart people can have before they burn out. That’s real to us. But social justice is part of our mission, and part of social justice is making sure people get paid properly and can afford to eat and have a roof over their head.”

Until further funds are found, J.U.i.C.E.’s heart beats on. “We’re not the type of nonprofit that sits around waiting for grants and donors,” says Rizik-Baer. “We are hip-hop in the true sense of word. We want to be able to expand and have self-sufficiency.”

Hip-hop culture continues to impact and inspire communities abroad. J.U.i.C.E. understands why, and taps into this movement to uplift its own backyard. “People look at hip-hop as a tool for organizing or consciousness-raising,” Rizik-Baer says. “In a lot of ways, I look at it the other way around. Community organizing uses hip-hop as a tool because hip-hop is a language. The very foundation of hip-hop really was about combating violence in poor areas, about getting youth away from gangs and into positive forms of self-expression. Hip-hop is a true form of human expression. Kids come from various walks of life and bring their different experiences and enter a space on common ground, which allows us to see life in a complex way.”

For more information, visit http://www.rampartjuice.com.

Posted on KCET

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Trey McIntyre Project with Preservation Hall Jazz Band

Photo courtesy of LA Phil

It may come as a surprise to some people, but Boise, Idaho, is a blossoming arts community. That’s where Trey McIntyre Project is based, and as dancer Brett Perry says, “It’s a really cool city, and we’re thrilled to be a part of it. It’s a community where we can get out and make a difference.”

During my conversation with Perry via telephone from his home in Boise, it becomes clear that Trey McIntyre Project — a contemporary dance group comprised of five men and five women between the ages of 19 and 34, 12 staffers and founder Trey McIntyre — values a sense of community. It was this inclination to engage that led Trey McIntyre to partner with New Orleans’ Preservation Hall Jazz Band Creative Director Ben Jaffe for their 2010 Hollywood Bowl debut. Over the past year, the two creative powerhouses have been working together again. On Nov. 22, they will perform their new collaborative work celebrating the distinct culture of New Orleans at Walt Disney Concert Hall.

Originally from Indiana, Brett Perry has been with Trey McIntyre Project since it launched full-time in 2008. He started dancing at 4 and landed a hot spot at the Juilliard School after high school. In his senior year, he met Trey McIntyre, and after taking his class, loving it and having a two-hour conversation with the choreographer at Starbucks, Perry accepted McIntyre’s offer to join the Project.

This year, the company has experienced an especially high turnover rate: three new dancers. “It’s exciting because they bring in brand-new energy, movement quality and visions of what they can bring to the dance company,” says Perry.

For their Los Angeles appearance, Trey McIntyre Project will perform two pieces, “Ma Maison” (French for “my house”) and “Sweeter End,” with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Preservation Hall will also play an additional third set of newly composed music.

Trey McIntyre Project and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band have performed “Ma Maison” before — at the Hollywood Bowl last year. “‘Ma Maison’ celebrates New Orleans culture in the sense that they celebrate life after death,” Perry explains. “They are not afraid of death. It also celebrates the culture by bringing in the colors of New Orleans, especially the purples, greens and yellows of Mardi Gras, and we wear skeleton masks.”

“Some of the movement in ‘Ma Maison’ is more pedestrian-like,” says Perry. “Trey spent time in New Orleans during Mardi Gras and in different parades. He pulled so much information and inspiration from what people were doing, how they were dancing in the streets, how they were reacting to the parades and all of the music.”

The Project and the Band have also previously performed the second piece, “Sweeter End” together — in February in New Orleans. It focuses more on post-Katrina New Orleans. “There was graffiti that came out of the post-Katrina era, a big X on a lot of the houses and buildings, and Trey and designer Andrea Lauer were fascinated by this.” In this piece, a big spray-painted X makes an appearance.

“We’ve been collaborating with Preservation Hall for thee years, building a relationship,” explains Perry. “They are jazz legends, the face of New Orleans jazz. Last time we were there for 10 days. We get to see places that tourists don’t get to see, underground bars of the music scene that are off the beaten path. With New Orleans, I’ve never been to a place where you’re walking and out of every single storefront or restaurant or bar there is live music coming out. You can just stand on a street and all around you hear five or six tunes happening.”

For Halloween this year, the Project joined Preservation Hall in New Orleans for the Voodoo Fest. “It’s a whole ’nother crowd and new audience,” says Perry, who is more familiar with traditional theaters than festival grounds. Without a rehearsal with the band, they hit the stage and performed to a lively audience walking, talking, carrying beers and dressed in costumes, in an even louder environment with multiple bands playing at once.

HBO’s “Treme,” which chronicles the life of New Orleans residents three months after Hurricane Katrina, offers insight into the city’s tradition of second line dancing when it’s done after a funeral. People file down the street from the cemetery in a line filled with people dancing and musicians playing upbeat compositions. They say it is performed to aid the dead person’s soul in passing over to the afterlife. The living spectators also have to keep moving to avoid their souls being caught. These beliefs may have inspired McIntyre’s “Ma Maison.” Whichever the sparks, Trey McIntyre Project’s pieces overflow with elements of New Orleans culture, both the celebratory and the sad.

“New Orleans was built in the swamps of Louisiana,” Perry offers. “You’re not quite sure what the next step for that city will be. People in New Orleans know that they’re living in a situation that could potentially not be there in however many years.”

Posted on Culture Spot LA

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Know Your LA Hip-Hop Dances: The Cat Daddy

The Rej3ctz, from left, Pee W33, MoWii and Bounc3/Photo By Pierre Auroux

Here’s my third installment of my LA Weekly Blog called Know Your L.A. Hip-Hop Dances on The Cat Daddy.

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The Romance of Magno Rubio review

Magno Rubio (bottom center)/Photo by Hydee Abrahan/Studio 1003

Magno Rubio is small; both the man and the play titled “The Romance of Magno Rubio.” As the cast yells out in unison at the start of the show, “Magno Rubio, four feet six inches tall. Magno Rubio, dark as a coconut ball/With a head small/And limbs like a turtle.” The belittling words set the stage for the conflict ahead. Magno Rubio (Jon Jon Briones) is a tiny man in love with a large woman and a huge dream, for which his fellow Manongs – Filipino migrant workers – constantly tease him. Audience members at [Inside] the Ford in Hollywood not familiar with how Manongs were treated in 1930s California get the picture as they take their seats and the words ‘No Dogs and Filipinos Allowed’ graffitied on a wall stare them down.

Despite the show’s sparse set and small space, “The Romance of Magno Rubio” packs a big punch; the impact of which is most glaringly felt when the labor camp’s overseer shoves to the ground a Manong named Atoy (Eymard Cabling), who had paused picking fruit because of the rain. He hits him with a switch and commands him to get back to work. It resembles the way black slaves were beaten on plantations, and it highlights America’s recurring, cruel reality of exploiting minorities through an economic system that survives on cheap labor and inhumane treatment of workers. This is a familiar story, this go-round from a perspective that is not heard much, if at all, and especially not in Tagalog, a language native to the Philippines. Director Bernardo Bernardo has adapted Carlos Bulosan’s short story into two languages: English and the Tagalog version, “Ang Romansa ni Magno Rubio,” which runs twice on Saturdays.

The show’s message is clear, and rears its heads in spoken words like, “The American dream loves someone else” and “United Snakes of America.” Magno’s dream is personified by a “girl twice his size sideward and upward.” He picks her out in a magazine’s Lonely Hearts section and maintains his faith that their affection is mutual. Clarabelle (Elizabeth Rainey) lives in Arkansas, and the two lovebirds correspond regularly by letter with the help of his friend Nick (Giovanni Ortega), whom Magno pays for his script services. Magno works nonstop and naively sends every penny he earns to Clarabelle. Her response is always the same: It is not enough. Send more. Work harder. Leave nothing for yourself. Missing the point completely, Magno clings to the idea of her love and their impending marriage.

“The Romance of Magno Rubio” is a commentary on exploitation, disillusionment and dashed hope that today speaks to just about everybody. For Magno, receiving Clarabelle’s imagined love is equivalent to achieving acceptance and success – what his new homeland promised upon his arrival. His faith in the unseen is what sustains him, what sets him apart from the others, allows him to maintain cheer in the face of hardship.

What also supports Magno and his forlorn migrant crew is spirited song and dance. As did many black slaves, the Manongs fill their days and nights with rhythms ­– traditional Filipino love songs called Kundiman – and movement – eskrima, or martial arts using rattan sticks. Again, words are central; most of the dialogue is delivered in rhyme, a clever choice that sometimes adds silly phrases to this serious show, with good result.

Posted on Culture Spot LA

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Bring It On: The Musical

Taylor Louderman and Adrienne Warren/Craig Schwartz

I went into my interview for LA Stage Times not knowing that in September, the Writers Guild of America filed a request for arbitration on behalf of Bring It On screenwriter Jessica Bendinger, who claimed the musical’s producers “never acquired or received permission to use her exclusive rights.” The WGA was seeking damages and an injunction to halt the show until the producers acquired Bendinger’s rights. The first question I asked the stars focused on the film, and they denied the show had much to do with it. I immediately sensed they were defensive and changed the direction of the interview. It all made sense when I got home and found this information on the Internet.

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The Origins of Hip-Hop Dance

The term hip-hop dates back to the ’40s when African Americans would say they were “hip-hopping” when they went out on the town. Then again in the ’70s, Afrika Bambaataa referred to hip-hop as the culture he was championing that encompassed the four elements of deejaying, graffiti, emceeing and breaking. Hip-hop dance is very much a part of, and cannot be viewed separate from, the broader hip-hop culture, and often intersects with the other three elements.

While many of the dance moves and styles that are considered hip-hop dance are relatively new, their beginnings can be traced further back in history. In the ’50s and ’60s, tap dancer and all-around entertainer Sammy Davis, Jr. introduced fancy foot and floor work in his star-turning routines that influenced modern-day breakers.

The athleticism, virtuosity and flash of tap dancers the Nicholas Brothers, who caught Hollywood’s attention in the ’40s but who were electrifying stages in the ’30s, planted ideas about what was physically possible on the floor, in the air and using props for effect. The impact of other popular African-American entertainers of the ’30 and ’40s, like Cab Calloway and the Berry Brothers, can also be credited with influencing today’s hip-hop dance styles.

“What we now consider hip-hop dance is the most recent manifestation of a genealogy of dance practices that have been going on since African people came here,” explains D. Sabela Grimes, dancer, UCLA professor, creator of The Funkamental Movement Experience, and host of the 4th Annual J.U.i.C.E. Hip Hop Dance Festival.

Amy “Catfox” Campion, teacher, dancer, artistic director of Antics Performance and co-artistic director of the J.U.i.C.E. Hip Hop Dance Festival, adds, “Dance history is a continuum with various dance styles continually being born, disappearing, developing, evolving, and influencing one another.” She lays out three defining factors when speaking about street dance, a term she uses instead of hip-hop dance as an umbrella term for a variety of street dance forms, including Uprocking from Brooklyn, Breaking from the Bronx, Popping from the Bay Area, Locking from Southern California, Footworking from Chicago, Wu-tang from Philadelphia, Hyphy from the Bay Area, Jerking from Inglewood.

Street dance takes place in unconventional spaces. “It did not emerge in a class or dance studio,” Campion assures, but rather “in everyday spaces like a parking lot, playground, garage, backyard, or community center.” Second, it centers around freestyle, and third, it generally springs up in urban areas.

It seems clear that hip-hop dance is conceived in relation to time, place and space. Grimes adds to the discussion about the inception of hip-hop dances within social contexts. “What’s interesting about hip-hop dance in particular is that we often get caught on the surface level, like these are the hip-hop moves or hip-hop dances, and we don’t think about the social context in which these dances are created,” he offers, “about how the community intelligence, collective intelligence, really gives birth, depending on what urban environment you are in. They are regional, vernacular, corporeal body languages and vocabularies exchanged among people in certain communities that are very relevant to them.” He views hip-hop dance as a conversation that’s wildly popular because of its inclusiveness.

Bradley “Shooz” Rapier, dancer, award-winning choreographer and creator of the Los Angeles-based Groovaloos, says that traditionalists often refer to popping, locking, and breaking as the central styles of street dance. Popping and locking share their birthplace in California and are known as funk styles, a term coined by Electric Boogaloos member Popin Pete for West Coast street dance styles. Popping, or the contraction of muscles to create a pop or hit with the body, hails from Fresno in the mid-’70s, as does the closely related Electric Boogaloo, which adds rolls of the hips, knees, legs, and head to the vocabulary of popping.

Boogaloo Sam of The Electric Boogaloos is credited with coming up with the term Popping. In the late ’60s, while trying the Funky Chicken, Don Campbell inadvertently created what is now known as a “locking” motion, or freezing the arms to the beat. After receiving huge crowd approval, he named the style after himself, Campbellocking, soon shortened to Locking. He formed the world-famous Lockers, which included Toni Basil before she released her #1 hit “Mickey.”

Breaking emerged from the South Bronx in the early ’70s and revolves around of a number of movements, mainly the Toprock, the Downrock, Power Moves and Freezes. Most importantly, “b-boying began with the break,” writes author Joseph G. Schloss, “the part of the song where all instruments except the rhythm section fall silent and the groove is distilled to its most fundamental elements.”

As Campion points out, “Hip-hop dance can mean different things to different people, so one definition is challenging.” What’s clear is that each individual dance style maintains its connection to hip-hop culture as a whole.

Posted on KCET

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Goldie Rocks

After Jonathan Gold left our classroom last week, I think I heard Erin ask Laurie Ochoa if our guests will ever give an actual answer to our question about how they do what they do (paraphrasing here). I also find it funny, but truthful, that our guests are all naturals at what they do. Gold told us he’s “wired weirdly,” and Powers said, “Things that people are willing to pay for come from my pen.” I believe you can become a great writer, but I also think it’s easier for some than others. And I also know that some people never consider any other career. I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was six. I went to a fortune teller on the Santa Monica Pier and after looking at my little palm she confirmed what I already knew; that I would grow up to be a writer.

Aside from being “a natural,” I think Gold shared some incredibly helpful advice with our class.

He gave us guidelines when writing about food (or most things):
• Write about what you are experiencing.
• The dish came from somewhere, exists somewhere and is going somewhere; tease out the narrative.
• Be like the man from outer space, but don’t over-exoticize things.
• Elegant variation is the number one enemy of writers.
• Write details that tell.

And my favorite piece of wisdom: There is a weird inner dialogue in your head when you’re experiencing something. Transcribe that inner voice. That’s what’s interesting. Your unconscious is writing the piece. Pay attention to that annoying inner voice.

I can’t stop thinking about this last tip. I went to a few shows this weekend and I kept scribbling throughout the performances. I even did as Gold said and wrote my comments down before sharing them with the person sitting next to me.

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My LA Weekly blog

Cali Swag District/"Teach Me How to Dougie"

I have a new blog for LA Weekly called Know Your L.A. Hip-Hop Dances. The first one was about the Dougie and the second one was on krumping.

Come Fly Away articles

Come Fly Away/Joan Marucs

Last week, I saw “Come Fly Away” at the Pantages Theatre, and I loved it. I wrote a preview for LA Stage Times based on an interview I did with John Selya, dancer and resident director of Twyla Tharp Dance. Turns out he was a breaker in his youth and break dances during the show. I also wrote a gushing review of the show for CultureSpotLA. I struggled to write a rave review without sounding gushing. Looking back, I could have criticized a few things, articulated a stronger point of view and made connections to larger issues. Maybe I could have gone further than describing the scene and explained why this type of show with this type of movement without too much story is different, exciting or valuable.

Kyle Abraham’s ‘The Radio Show’ at REDCAT

Photo by Steven Schreiber

Kyle Abraham’s skill at picking dancers is as great as his talent for choreography. During the 75 minutes that The Radio Show tickled our senses at REDCAT on Oct. 21, the audience was treated to bodily perfection. It was a combination, of course, of gracefully rhythmic movements, subtly seductive outfits and bodies that boasted sculpted lines and alluring curves.

From first sight, the costumes piqued our interest and set the sensual tone. Like Academy Award winners for Best Costume Design Chariots of Fire (1981) and Gandhi (1983), The Radio Show wasn’t showy in its designs, but it still scored big. The pants and tops in shades of brown and gold appear rather plain-looking. Yet it’s the way they hug the dancers’ torsos and limbs, and their backs peek out of the gaping holes intentionally cut to showcase the soft, sinewy lines. In modern times when it seems as if we need so much to stimulate us, Abraham reminds us how surprisingly erotic an oft-overlooked body part can be.

What’s even more attractive than the coyly exhibitionist style of the clothes is the egalitarian nature of the audience’s desire. Men and women admire both male and female. It’s a dual sexuality that transmits back and forth between the standing and the seated. The female dancers are as imposing as the male, the men as elegant as the women. The seductive ambivalence throws everybody in the same boat, leveling the playing field and making each solo, duet and group performance an exhilarating, power-shifting balancing act.

Using the dancers’ bodies as his Etch A Sketch, Abraham weaves his feelings, surrounding the closing of a popular black radio station in his hometown of Pittsburgh and Alzheimer’s in his own family, into the movements that power the performance. From the beginning, as Abraham himself walks through the crowd, his arm twitching uncontrollably, it appears as if some form of expression is being repressed. Later in the piece, when he tries to scream but no voice comes out, the disconnect and loss are even more obvious.

Playing on the theme of a black radio station, the soundtrack to the show sings with old and new popular tunes from Betty Wright to Mary J. Blige, Bill Withers to Beyoncé. It’s an interesting move when choreographers choose to use familiar tunes. They run the risk of the nostalgia factor. The audience has its own memories attached to the tunes, and the songs are usually associated with a certain time. But Abraham also accepts the challenge of taking the audience somewhere they’ve never been before. His work does just that, existing within the terms of the music but also pushing beyond, fusing hip-hop, ballet, street jazz and modern into something fresh.

Complementing the choreography are the seven dancers (including Abrahams) who truly inhabit each step. They are longtime friends of the beat, and their relationship blossoms over the course of the show. The second act overflows with funk, as each member of the motley crew adds its own flavor to the joyous mix. These dancers are having fun, which can be felt throughout and continues even after the performers take their bow, at which point they break out into playful party moves as they exit the stage.

Abraham doesn’t completely rely on the familiar. One of his more surprising moves is toward the end, when Antony Hegarty’s operatic version of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” lulls the crowd, turning a smash pop ditty into a tender, albeit grating, aria. It’s only fitting that Abraham once again turns convention on its head.

Article on CultureSpotLA