POMARE POWER ENLIVENS OMEGA EVENING.

POMARE POWER ENLIVENS
OMEGA EVENING

ALPHA OMEGA DANCE
THEATER OF THE RIVERSIDE CHURCH
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
MAY 25-26, 2001

For all the high-intensity dynamics that dominated the works presented by Alpha Omega Dance, it was a solo whose intensity came from the simplest gestures that dominated the senses. That solo, Eleo Pomare's classic 1968 Narcissus Rising, not only demonstrated the enduring power of his work, but also unintentionally highlighted the shallowness of other works on the program, all of them more recent creations than this protest-era piece.

That Narcissus Rising, a solo created for and identified with men, was danced by a woman (Donna Clark at the performance I saw, and El Tahra Ibrahim) made its re-emergence all the more intriguing, adding yet another layer of meaning to an already rich work.

Despite the unintended unevenness to the program, the combination of Pomare's work with that of other choreographers focusing on aspects of African American culture illustrated the important role Alpha Omega Dance has served during its twenty-nine-year history in New York's dance community. It is worth noting, too, the long history between Alpha Omega Dance and Pomare. Co-founder and Executive Director Dolores Vanison-Blakely once danced with Pomare's company, and the two troupes are part of a coalition of small black companies in New York that formed during the 1960s.

In addition to Narcissus, the company premiered Truculence, by Alpha Omega Artistic Director Enrique Cruz De Jesus. They also performed Baharini, by Leni Wylliams; Goodbye, by DeJesus; Izigqi Zezizwe (Rhythm of Nations), by Sduduzo Juxuqu Ka-Mbili; and Al Perryman's Tell It to the Lord. Each of these works contained kernels of intrigue--thematically and kinesthetically. But the' dalliances with promising themes were never brought to a satisfying fruition. Baharini and Izigqi Zezizwe, for example, both had movement themes based on rhythms and patterns from West African dance, blended with elements of contemporary modern and jazz. But these works were ultimately mere technical displays of strength, with some dancers faring better than others. The suggested theme of homage to the ancestors in Izigqi Zezizwe proved particularly disappointing once it proved yet another excuse for tricks, and not a genuine tribute to the ancestors.

Ever since Alvin Ailey created his Revelations, choreographers have tried to follow his lead in creating a work to a medley of spirituals or gospel music. Perryman's Tell It to the Lord sticks a little too closely to this obvious source of inspiration in its beginning, with a corps of women waving fans and sitting on stools. But it branches out into more interesting territory by using the voice of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Unfortunately, King's words become just more accompaniment, and it is the high emotion of the rise and fall of King's voice, rather than his message, that seems to drive the movement--a pity, given the richness of the speeches.

Pomare's Narcissus Rising, by contrast, delivered on every promise made. With its image of a leather-G-string-clad biker riding an imaginary motorcycle while angrily staring out at the world, the man of Narcissus Rising seemed to be the embodiment of Black Power as well as a celebration of fetishism and sadomasochism. Pomare, in an interview prior to the performance, said he didn't see the meaning changing because of the dancer's gender. But context is everything, and in this day and in a woman's hands, there are some intriguing, if perhaps coincidental, connotations to consider. Clark, oiled skin shining against her outfit of studded black leather G-string, vest, and boots, was the twenty-first century embodiment of the 1970s superchick--all defiant glare and stalking feminist power. The simple choreography (some in the 1960s argued the choreography was nonexistent) is more attitude than anything else, as the biker preens in the spotlight, "riding" his/her bike in a series of slow lunges, leans, and body rolls.

In Clark's interpretation, the bold hip undulations as she rode her imaginary bike were more a dare of anger and danger rather than any sort of sexual seduction that might have been suggested by the black leather. And underlying all of this was a hint of pride that made every slow lean around a curve and even the quivering legs surrounding the bike's powerful engine a statement about control. This was a woman proudly reveling in showing that she had the upper hand in all things--on and off the bike.