Review: Kes the Band | SummerStage on the Rocks 2019

Kes the Band, a well-loved soca band from Trinidad & Tobago premiered Tuesday on the Rocks at the Coney Island Ford Amphitheatre in New York City on June 11, 2019 as part of the SummerStage series. Although not well advertised the person-to-person buzz about the concert was significant, probably due to the band's widespread following and the fact that the concert was free. 

Image from SumerStage on the Rocks 2019
Photo credit: Kes The Band's Facebook Page by Theworldisrich

Kees Dieffenthaler as an entertainer is known for his strong, clear vocals, warm and charismatic stage persona and energetic performancel delivery. His fans, a loyal bunch came ready to ‘get on’ with him from the audience, as is emblematic of Caribbean carnival ‘fete’ culture. From the boardwalk outside the venue, to the wait for the show-start, the temporary community formed for the event begins to enact itself through the shared love for Soca but also for the opportunity that it begets to its followers to perform ‘themselves’. As the band enters stage and the magic of the show becomes more apparent, the spirited swell of the show’s patron community is like a wave gearing up to peak and then descend in all its glory. Starting simply with the musicians playing the melody of the group’s most popular song from Trinidad Carnival 2019, ‘Savannah Grass’, the audience now on their feet, is already transported to an even higher plane. Kees’ entrance to stage like a lightning bolt on what feels like the most power punching part of the song, strikes the space to a glow. 

Now this moment is the culmination of a few things. One being the popularity of the song itself having dominated parties and the airwaves locally since January of 2019. Two, many in the crowd were possible Carnival-goers and have their own vivid cinematic memories that are recalled through the live performance. Three, it reflects the emotional investment and anticipation of those experiencing the song live for the first time. From the general sentiment after the show, it did not disappoint. The band’s set continued for close to two hours - a well selected walk through their varied repertoire from the high energy Soca, to more groovy hits, to a considerable section being devoted to reggae and dancehall. Renditions of ‘Wotless’, ‘Where yuh From’ and ‘Hello’ veritable song-legends of the last decade met reggae covers of ‘Driver’ and ‘Murder She Wrote’.

Photo of me taken by André M. Zachery
outside the event. 

Although I attended the event with a good friend and my husband (neither of whom is West Indian), I found myself in consistent dialogue with the stage and a few others around me who could share in the story of the songs played. Thankfully they (the former) understand! As a member of the audience, and a fan, it felt almost impossible to be quite so engaged throughout: the peppering of choreographed movement on stage - let’s not even talk about the infamous ‘Kes Jumps!’, the witty repartée with the audience and the chemistry of the musicians on stage, all amplified the magic of the music. Every ‘one drop’, and ‘small wine’ led us closer together. 

As the show was coming to a close, Kees dramatically exits, leaving the band on stage and we the audience are completely satisfied acknowledging the sustained outpouring we have received. Surprisingly to us, he returns with the opening number. To say this was a gift is an understatement. When the show finally ended the wave of energy had indeed crashed and we the audience members, were happily slinking to the shores of our cars, subways and homes.


Yours in Arts and Feelings,


Candace Thompson-Zachery

Explore all the things I do at:

candacedancefitness.com

dancecaribbeancollective.com

caribbeanthefutureproject.wordpress.com

Disclaimer - These words are my own and are written as a pensive, analytical, artist and recent full-time arts administrator, who is prone to do (too) many things but is attempting to stay connected to said artistic practice and is lucky to be living the life she is.

[INTENTION] + [VIRTUOSITY] - A Song to SLMDances 'Purple'

In a world of tricks, aesthetic inequities and flashy narratives exists artists whose quiet power takes time to understand. What does virtuosity in dance look like outside of physical feats? What would it mean to celebrate deliberate and intentional approaches to creating community and social change through the building of movement? Well for one, this artist isn’t waiting for that to happen, she is creating it and celebrating it, herself and on her terms.

The opening words can only begin to describe Sydnie L. Mosley, a maker that has honed her community-engaged, process-oriented, deeply visceral, and justice-oriented praxis over time. As an artist in her mid-thirties, Mosley speaks with the authority of what we would call in the African Diaspora, an elder - perhaps due to the fact that she has been making performance in this way already, for almost twenty years. This Baltimore-bred Black woman comes from a line of similarly purposed leaders. Her grandmother, an activist and civic mover in her community, rallied her peers through the power of her famous pound cake, her sister that currently fights for food justice in that same city and her mother, a singer-performer in her past life. That said, her work cites a deep sense of clarity about the importance of activism in all its forms - activism through joy, through sustenance, through equity and through affirming abundance. Sydnie L. Mosley Dances, the entity that houses all of her creative endeavours, itself has been a carefully constructed project, articulated alongside the development of its large scale artistic works. Before a step can be performed all its collaborators understand the legacy they walk in. That of those ancestors far: Ntozake Shange, Zora Neale Hurston; and those near: aunties and grandmas. Her vision for a world where Black communities and womxn live just and self-determined lives is palpable and well honored through the company’s values of Dreaming, Humanity, Activism, Community, Transparency and Learning. Each inquiry that Mosley has channeled through the company has further enacted the conditions to make possible this work.

Photo by Candace Thompson-Zachery
taken during rehearsal
at the company's Lincoln Center Residency

Currently, SLMDances (the company’s acronym) is two years into the development of ‘Purple’, a universe that houses many iterations with communities over northern Manhattan that may take as long as five years to fully realise. In that time they have been in residence at the Amsterdam Houses and Lincoln Square Neighborhood Center, nurturing relationships with seniors through story circles, line dances, field trips and paid oral history parties. The hope is that they opt into being in creative partnership for this project. My own visit to the Purple rehearsal lured me into the work’s lore: elders as royalty, breath as affirmation, intimacy as sacred and purple space as plastic and supportive. I arrived to find the dancers leading company class without Sydnie, focused on detailed qualitative expressions of simple floor work sequences. ‘Look at your hand and see something new about it.’ A seemingly mundane activity that is a window into the physical scapes Mosley devises, aestheticising ease, which in relationship to the demands of hyper-capitalist overproduction, is a political statement.

Dancers are face down on the floor and another gets down to ground level and says ‘I just want to give you love’. The other dancer responds ‘yes please do’ and proceeds to warmly lay over her. How do you portray a deference to pleasure and sisterhood onstage without it becoming a cheesy broadway musical? Seemingly through the many rituals the company participates in. As Sydnie finally arrives to rehearsal around two hours in, a circle automatically forms in the center of the room. ‘Let’s check in. How is everyone doing today in a few words?’ I join the circle too, happy to be a part of the group’s energy. Many of the ‘Creative Partners’, the way the company refers to its performers, highlighting the multiplicity of their roles, respond with life updates and personal challenges, all the while considering how to channel their best lives into the rehearsal process. What I witness over the next two hours I know personally, is the result of the ten years of work its leader has put in making work in New York City, and the seven years working under a company model.

Photo by Kearra Gopee at BodyBusiness 2015

Just this morning a memory popped up on my Facebook feed reminding me of the fall season of 2015. It was a busy one - I had been in ‘exile’ in Trinidad, waiting for my visa paperwork to be finalised and came back stateside to jump back into rehearsals with Sydnie L. Mosley Dances and my now husband, André M. Zachery. I threw myself into a frenzy training and rehearsing with both companies. It would be the first time I was aware that my performance mattered to an outside audience. Both performances had been pitched to major press and many people in the field were starting to take note of both choreographers. Not only had I been a part of the initial version of the work to be performed, her second major project BodyBusiness, but I had been acting as the Associate Artistic Director of SLMDances. I was leading rehearsals, directing at times and devising material, including a danced monologue about my personal relationship to ‘BodyBusiness’. The name of the work excavated what it meant to be an artist, from a material and financial perspective and conjured what a thriving arts field might look like.

Walking in to any event that SLMDances hosts, is walking into a well-curated civilisation.
Everyone’s role has been considered. Her ability to design structures and coax audiences, or as she calls them, ‘witness participants,’ to immerse themselves into the work, be active in their viewership, and to affect the space with their decisions, physical action or vocal participation, is nothing short of brilliant. I have seen audiences rise to their feet and start moving through the space at stuffy suit-and-tie conferences; full theaters of folks, engage in bartering and problem-solving; and auditoriums of college students improvise and weight-share. For ‘Purple’, her goal is to create a space of Permission.Joy.Healing. Mosley’s way of life offers us a new way of being, further proof that this world she envisions is possible. I have no doubt that when the conceptual curtain closes on ‘Purple’, we will be able to say ‘lo hicimos’ - ‘we did it’ - a phrase uttered several times by the dancers during my rehearsal visit.

Photo by Candace Thompson-Zachery
taken during rehearsal
at the company's Lincoln Center Residency

Yours in Arts and Feelings,


Candace Thompson-Zachery

Support SLMDances

by donating to their campaign:

https://fundraising.fracturedatlas.org/sydnie-l-mosley-dances/campaigns/3094

Explore all the things I do at:

candacedancefitness.com

dancecaribbeancollective.com

caribbeanthefutureproject.wordpress.com

Disclaimer - These words are my own and are written as a pensive, analytical, artist and current grad student, who is prone to do (too) many things and currently works several day jobs that are partially unrelated to her mission but is lucky to be living the life she is.

How not to be sad and bitter in Arts and Culture?

The question right?

I asked this on Facebook recently and got lots of varying responses. From, 'Girl I need to know myself.' to more very poignant attitudes and values to adopt to stay on course.  We won't talk about what led me to ask the question (alyuh doh have all day) but in pondering on it, I have come to a few conclusions.

1. Don't confuse 'the' mission with 'a' strategy.

For instance, you believe in dance and dance culture. You support it whenever you can. But what is it about dance that you really believe in? The fact that it brings people together? The fact that it is a mind/body activity? In this sense dance is the tool not the goal itself. But its easy to lose yourself in HOW your personal mission appears as opposed to WHAT your personal mission is. That also leaves room for change and growth. The things you thought could get you there can change but your mission should be your mission regardless (of the transient circumstances). Which leads me to:

2. Everybody want to get to heaven but nobody want to die (quote from my mother).

Dedication to your mission will take work and sacrifice. You can't skip that part. But if you have clear focus on your vision it should be enjoyable or at least palatable. If you don't, might be time to reevaluate, or evaluate your chosen strategy to get there. Maybe you've diverged so far from your original motivation that it can no longer drive you. BUT...

3. Not all parts of your work will look like the mission.

Some parts of your job will seem extraneous, annoying, unrelated because they don't resemble your passion. You're interested in youth development but here you are doing a certification in entrepreneurship and you hate it. But at some point you said to yourself that those skills will get you to your goal and keep you in the mission-delivery zone. You just have to remember that.

4. WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS, COLLEAGUES and PEERS?

They are busy. We live in New York. Everyone is busy. Everyone is focused on their goals. They said they would support your cause. They haven't. Or not in the way you would like them to? Do your goals depend on them? What's in it for them? Is it that you need them in order to carry out your mission? Is it that you are using your mission as a means of maintaining your relationships? Is there a version of your mission that is not dependent solely on those around you? If so see number 1.

5. Teach people how to support you.

Yea, yea, yea --- but they should know. They don't. But it doesn't mean they don't see or support the work you are doing. Maybe for you its people checking in on you. Maybe you need folks to show up. Maybe you need a listening ear after rehearsal. You might need to let them know that. Don't worry I'm still learning this one.

6. Build re-inspiration into your arts-cycle.

I had to read this book, 'The Gift' for grad school. A lot of this book annoyed me (re. point number 3), but it says, 'If, when we work, we can look once a day upon the face of mystery, then our labor satisfies...When the gift passes out sight and then returns, we are enlivened.' So we get far a way from the effect our work has on our world until somehow it is brought back to us. Maybe its through people who have seen or felt transformed by it or through the work of someone else. Maybe it is through detaching totally from it for a while. I think the hard part is making room for those activities. Again these don't look like work but they are. 


That's all I have for now. If more comes to me maybe you will see another post.


Yours in Arts and Feelings,



Candace Thompson-Zachery 

Explore all the things I do at:
candacedancefitness.com
dancecaribbeancollective.com
2017.newtraditionsfestival.com

Disclaimer - These words are my own and are written as a pensive, analytical, artist who is prone to do (too) many things and currently works several day jobs that are partially unrelated to her mission but is lucky to be living the life she is.

What are we really doing with this dance/arts/life thing?

So here we are. My friends have probably heard me say this more than once. I am too self-aware for my own good. Literally. My brain works too fast and every possible avenue immediately brings to mind every possible repercussion. In theory, this is a good thing. I have a knack for analyzing. Breaking things down into categories. And by things I mean EVERYTHING. I find connections between events. I trace lineages. I invert. I retrograde. But all this information that inundates my nogen everyday also leads to paralysis. When you're so self-aware and reflective that you're afraid to try things because of what might happen or what it might implicate. I also say that people who aren't quite so perceptive have a better time at life. What a joy it must be to not think so deeply about everything! But alas, I'll never know what that's like.

So HERE we are. As we speak I just finished my 1st (2 week) intensive of 6, for the Masters of Arts in Curatorial Practice in Performance program. What is that you ask? Well, its the theoretical underbelly of the act of working with artists and their ideas, and presenting live performance. We spend a lot of time with performance theory and history, analysing site-specific projects, looking at relationship building to research to execution,  and teasing out our own curatorial interests. I've gone through extreme emotional shifts: enthusiasm to dejection, inspiration to demotivation, stimulation to saturation.

Here we are. The latest question I have is who can afford curation? It seems like this thing requires a lot of time. A lot of investment. A lot of effort. Those that know me, know that I am not afraid of work. I work best when I can go IN. Immerse myself in a project and come out triumphant. But do I have that luxury? Do we (my community of folks that I believe in and support, more specifically Caribbean Artists and Artists of Color in this hemisphere) have that luxury? Now if the question is do we deserve to be curated? To be engaged on a critical level. To be taken seriously for what we have to offer to society. The answer is YES. Does that happen? NO. Caribbean work most times just gets thrown on stage. Yea did you picture Uncle Carl throwing Jazzy Jeff out of his Bel-Air Mansion? Good. Because that's how it feels when you get a random email from someone who's barely heard of you asking you to perform somewhere for an honorarium or for free with no consideration or research of you or your work or what your work requires to be done well.

We are. Am I guilty of doing this too? Or of expecting it? Yes sure. Because capitalism is a real thing (why are these people sending me five million email for this one 30 mins gig) and when you get used to being mistreated you just come to expect it (hey do you want to schedule a call about this? no because it won't change anything because you won't actually be able to change anything about the context of the engagement) and even perpetuating the paradigm (hey can you do this thing here's all the info in detail [while praying they don't have too many questions cause I'm tired and don't feel like dealing with anymore humans]). But what has become abundantly clear to me now is that I do not wish to participate in gigs where my value is not understood. And that can be two things. Either understood artistically, and you engage with me on a colleague to colleague level understanding and caring for what I bring to the table even if the dollars ain't there OR understood financially: pay me enough to prepare for and execute this project. You cannot disrespect me and not pay me. Choose one.

Are? The thing that I crave the most is to be able to have meaningful conversations about my work. And therefore I built an organisation with a team of awesome folks that would intentionally make space for that. But is it sustainable? Can our networks sustain time and space for critical reflection when we got kids to send to school, parents and siblings to take care of, rent to pay? I'm asking. So maybe this curation thing is like dessert. You have it on your birthday and Christmas and the rest of time you do without. OK. That's all I have time for today. Friends and Well-wishers as you were.


Candace Thompson-Zachery of OverThinkersAnonymous

Explore all the things I do at:
candacedancefitness.com
dancecaribbeancollective.com
2017.newtraditionsfestival.com