Posted by Cinnamon Twist on Monday, April 30, 2001 at 11:03PM :
t h e . t r a v e l l i n g . e x p l o s i o n
I remember coming out of Black Rock city in 98. I had a vision of a
travelling dance circus.
I remember thinking, the model of the circus: possibly an ideal
interface between what "we" do and the rest of society. Normals are
used to the circus, they accept the freaks, the mad spectacle, the
sideshows. They even like it. They pay money for it. It affects them on
some level. And once in a while, their kids . . . run away with the
circus. . .
Well, here we are a few years later and the circus does seem to be
taking form. Down here in LA we've got the Dream Theater and
Cirquanalia. In San Francisco, the Bantu Mystic Family Circus. A tight
knit network of dancers,artists and performers no doubt cooked in the
Black Rock City stew, working hard for months on a travelling dance
ritual theater circus-like experience. . . next stop, Israel,
supposedly.
Early email missives from the Bantus gave off a definite vibe. These
people seemed pretty serious, pretty organized, with what I'd call the
"right" mindset.
So it was with some anticipation I waited to see just how much of their
ambitious vision they could pull off down here. Packing it all together
in one night, the yoga, the tai chi, the ritual theater performance,
bands, djs, sideshows, food, spoken word, activists, . . . the
veritable kit & kaboodle of 21c evolutionary culture.
Well, the night came round at last. My summary tag line: "one of the
best parties that almost didn't happen."
The yoga & tai chi sessions were appropriately surreal--a hundred or so
party people, many in fantabulously odd get-ups, stretching, moving and
chanting. Nice. Things moved on, the sideshows started outside, people
started to stream in. The little girl in the red butterfly outfit gave
away all her little red crop circle postcards. The costumes were the
highlight. The Bantus evidently brought with them a sizable contingent
of Bay Area freakazoids. But honestly, aside from the costuming,
something was missing, the vibe was still a bit tepid.
Then three or four participants dressed up like firemarshals and cops
strolled back and forth through the space, trying to look as
business-like as they could. Coincidentally enough, the party was shut
down. They made everyone leave the space. Too many people, no fire
permit. Standard party bust story. Good actors.
Then the party REALLY started.
600 or 700 bonafide freaks in full
alien-mutant-cosmic-khaotic-tribal-psychedelic regalia-face
paint-tattoo-piercings-feathers (feathers were THE fashion tip of the
night, btw) creatively loitering for hours in the street entertaining
themselves and the cops, fully lit up by the helicopter circling
overhead. Video cameras everywhere, documenting documenting
documenting.
People doing somersaults, on stilts, guy with owl wings pursuing the
cop car, flags and twirlers, jesters, nonsense pronouncements on a
bullhorn from inside the silver bus, the green little man with the long
nose & magic wand getting people to breathe their best wishes for a new
universe into the wand, fits and starts at creating a street parade.
Bangin' drum circles. Trumpets trumpeting. Flute and sage wafting.
Strumming on the guitar, singing, "taking it to the streets..." Crowd
oozing around in rhizomatic amoeboid dynamics, unwilling to disperse.
Blazingly hot mutant chicks in Silk Route belly dance outfits cavorting
in front of macho cops trying not to be distracted.
Hundreds of people refusing to clear the street for the cop cars to
Pass through until finally begged into obedience by Bantu organizers.
Highlight: the "owl chorus" lines up in formation and sings its sacred
hymn. Soaring feminine harmonies, middle of the night, downtown LA
industrial district, to an audience of a few dozen LAPD, plus the rest
of us. Now that's rad.
Somebody says, "this isn't a circus, this is a travelling explosion."
And while most people are whining about the party being shut down, I'm
arguing this is better. Just think of the unbelievable footage, if
nothing else! It was supposed to be a "documentary performance", right?
You could never orchestrate something this magical if you tried. This
is the real shit. Creative resistance, non-violent civil disobedience,
respectfully disrespectful play in the face of authority. If the Bantus
are really serious about social change through their creativity, then
this is a real beginning. Not "just another party."
And after an hour or two of irrepressible vibe on the part of the
partiers, all the cops can't help but grin and crack up at the antics.
What have they gotten themselves into?
So the street scene gradually winds down as alternative party plans
develop. People begin to move off in different directions, the crew go
back in the warehouse to break down. Organizers call "Circle," three
concentric circles to be precise. Blue bellydancer acts as facilitator,
cops looking on quizzically. Guess they've never been witness to
consensus decision-making process by mutant circuseers. A first for
everything.
It appears there's no bargaining with the cops. The show must NOT go
on. Break down all the stuff. Get it out of there. People are bummed, a
huge preparation went into this, but as Carmenchuchu points out, this
is the challenge, to accept that this really is "about the process and
not the product."
At some point, the cops have all disappeared. The word goes out--"the
show WILL go on! Even without the main sound system!"
A hundred people stream back in from the Gigsville party nearby. The
overhead lights go off. The black lights go on. The Xmas light star
mobile shines again in the corner. Lorin turns on the DJ monitors, pops
the first CD in, and the party is, VOILA, back to life.
Eventually the performance does start, pared down because parts of the
cast have gotten lost in the night. As it goes on, I'm trying to think
about how to describe it. The story line is not at all clear. (I'm
later informed it's all about menstruation--huh?) There's great
gesture, interaction, dialogue, concentrated physical energy. Groovy
outfits. Cute girls. A giant book. The hero of the story (its a "Hero's
Journey" of course), cute mulatto kid with a lot of fancy capoeira
moves and full mid-air somersaults. He doesn't say anything.
Communicates with gesture--everybody else talks and sings at him. Hmmm.
Encounter with the spirit of the jungle. Temptations of city life. The
owl of death, the owl choir. The tree of knowledge. The seven sisters.
A bunch of stuff about seeds, planting seeds, at the end. Not quite an
ending. Performers spread out into the crowd, ... planting seeds?
At moments I have a taste of what the Living Theater must have been
like in the 60s. The raw energy and vibe of it is what is most
compelling, and that doesn't translate well into print. So I won't
bother you with a detailed review. Just to say that, like a good trip,
it doesn't all make sense, there's a lot going on, multiple layers and
levels, and what you make of it depends a lot on what you choose to
focus on. The bottom line is, it moves, it looks good, it sounds good,
it feels good. (It's pretty funny too, at points.)
What it all makes me think of is the little known fact that theater
originally evolved out of the Dionysian cult of ancient Greece. As in,
wild orgiastic dance parties under the full moon, probably aided by
psychedelic-laced wine. And the question I have always had on that
count: what was the intermediary form, WHY did the ecstatic trance
dancing turn itself into acted-out stories? We know nothing of this
transitional form, this missing link, pre-5th century BC Greece. What
is it about this kind of experience that it wants to format itself into
images, metaphors, characters, narrative? Is it the need to re-tell the
shamanic voyage to others, to oneself, to conceptualize, digest,
mythologize? After all, we are by nature culture-makers, are we not?
And we're going through the same process again, 2500 years plus down
the road. Ritual dance theater, to re-embody for ourselves the story of
what it is we are doing and where we are going, in the middle of the
parties. A way to focus, refine, define non-verbally.
Because most of us know, somewhere, it's not just about the dance.
It's about shaking and baking a new human culture through the dance.
Because the language of dance is our deepest and oldest root language.
And because the problems of the old culture won't be solved by old
culture band-aids.
And because it's about time.
And about . . .
. . . planting seeds.
-cinnamon twist
spring equinox 2001
twist@thelearningparty.com
PS--Wait til you hear the Foxgluv track that was never performed. …
-- Cinnamon Twist
-- signature IaAb/.