Dancing to one’s own tunes

Volume Number 1 Issue Number 3 | October 13 - 19, 2006

Dance

eyeSpace
Choreographed by Merce Cunningham
Showing through October 15th
Joyce Theater
175 Eighth Avenue
(212-242-0800; joyce.org)

Annna Finke

Turn on and tune out: In Merce Cunningham’s new dance, “eyeSpace,” audience members lose themselves in the crowd as they watch the dancers while listening to iPods.

Dancing to one’s own tunes

By Sara G. Levin

Imagine your daily commute, the type that only happens in a cosmopolitan city. If you’re listening to an iPod, the sound of people rushing past you, shoving for a seat on the subway or chatting with each other, is muffled. Looking out from your music-filled bubble, you might be more inclined to notice how the shift of a woman’s body is graceful, or how the bend of a man’s head is mournful, while those around you remain oblivious to such details.
This juxtaposition of feeling isolated while existing within a crowd is exactly why Merce Cunningham’s new piece, “eyeSpace,” is essential “New York.”

It is also essential “Merce.”

The performance, which premiered Tuesday, Oct. 10 at the Joyce Theater, is another venture for Cunningham to experiment with corporeal relationships and new technology. All audience members brought or borrowed an iPod Shuffle. And with the addition of that simple device, the independence of music and dance was elevated — a company tradition that began with Cunningham and composer John Cage’s collaborations.

Connecting sound and movement by time and space only, as opposed to story, drama or emotion, gives Cunningham’s work an unusual sense of unexpectedness, randomness and sometimes, wandering. In “eyeSpace,” the independence of the music is heightened because each person is listening to a different track while watching the work, viewing the piece in aural isolation.

Humming in my ear were the sad, longing sounds of Mikel Rouse, who composed the five varied songs programmed into the iPod. Far away there were muffled noises of a subway door opening and closing, the announcement “This is a number two express train,” which made up the distinct soundtrack playing over the theater’s speakers.

The result was like peering from the head of someone jerking along on that two train with their headphones on. Before me, the dancers arched back, reaching backwards as if diving for something. Two women propelled their arms upwards in slow motion, as if fighting a vicious current. Then entered the lyric, “waaaterrr.” I felt as though whatever I saw — whether looking at a dancer or imagining a haggard commuter — was decidedly mine: No one else was seeing it with the same specific verse at the exact same moment.

Visually, the scenery in “eyeSpace” has nothing to do with New York City subways. The backdrop is a disorienting sea of painted blades of color jutting out from black circles that dot a pink background, created by Henry Samelson. Bubbles rise up from the bottom. The blades are painted in metallic silver, so they appear three-dimensional, matching the glint of the unitards worn by the dancers.

And yet, the dance itself calls to mind our daily commute, as men and women drift apart then come together, moving intently, sticking jumps and hops precisely. The dancers’ crisp changes of direction, uncomfortable landings, twists and spins, mimic the way one’s mind drifts, turns, contemplates, and sees people in different lights while riding the subway listening to music. With the iPod, a feeling of isolation and day-dreaming takes over, while sounds of train cars and MTA announcements become background noise, and the surrounding people soften from reality’s focus.