Wo'se African Dance Theatre.

BROOKLYN CENTER FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS AT BROOKLYN COLLEGE FEBRUARY 22-23 1997

Rhythm is commonly heard, then felt. But how often do you catch sight of it, free and exposed? Only once in a while. And so, whenever you "see" rhythm, it comes as a surprise, especially if you've grown accustomed to relying mainly on your ears.

Still, the visual side of rhythm is easy to glimpse in African dance. A midriff, musically quivering; a shoulder, flurrying with playful force--the rhythmic spectacle of pummeling images is bound to hold the eye. And it may also leave you with a question: is the dancer drumming with her body, or is she being drummed on by rhythm?

Some of both is probably happening, and that's the drama of the performance. Take Ethiopian dancers, for instance, who seem to bounce up and down gleefully with a frenzied verticality that's vaguely reminiscent of Irish step dancing. Their shimmering upright streak of movement is the very picture of a pulse in action, and the longer it continues, the more amazing and apocryphal the picture becomes. Or look on as a Ghanaian dancer presents us with her well-draped, wriggling rear and makes it seem as amusingly expressive as a face, due to the cycles of her rhythmic virtuoso roil. In either case, a mirage of rhythm dances before your eyes until you almost have to wonder, Are the dancers really doing this themselves, or is a master puppeteer of jive in charge?

A convergence of Africans shook New York City in February, with some performing at Symphony Space in the World Music Institute's African Music and Dance Festival, and the others bound for Brooklyn College. Wo'se African Dance Theatre, with roots in the traditions of Guinea, Senegal, Mali, Ghana, and South Africa, offered a danced story of tribal initiation in a production that was well staged, though much too long. Odadaa! and the Nile Ethiopian Ensemble, unfortunately, did without the full theatrical trimmings but gave inspired performances nonetheless.

A highlight of the Symphony Space festival was the music itself--for example, as performed by Ethiopian singer and hear soloist Seleshe Damessae. The hear, a six-stringed harp, has a dry melodic sound like an inflected rattle, and the startling range of Damessae's voice--from basso rasp to soprano squall--warbled all over the place, impish and sophisticated. His avuncular charm sometimes persuaded the audience to sing or clap along. By the time a trio of Ethiopian dancers [Almaz Getahun, Abbe Belew, and Etegegne Mulah) arrived onstage, we had already been rhythmically primed. The three moved as if a current were passing through them in clean, jittery pandemonium from soles to smiles--they vibrated constantly. The frenetic rate of vibration gave the picture of their rhythm the feeling of euphoria.

By contrast, the performers of Odadaa! and Wo'se evoked a pleasantly impromptu state of being, as if waiting for dance to strike them. And when it struck, the dancing was flamboyantly rhythmic, even though the drumbeats of Odadaa! were linked by the sounds of accompanying bells. Odadaa! brought challenge dances of the belly, best seen when the belly was large; also featured was that memorable wriggle of the rear. Their program concluded in a shim-sham-like finale, with about twenty-five members of the audience lured onstage to dance with the cast. Meanwhile, back in Brooklyn, Wo'se's depth of pattern and color in costumes added a rhythmically heightening dimension to what we saw: the whirling pantaloons of four dancing female drummers helped to mark them as unrepentant musical pugilists.