To spark discussion, the Walker invites Twin Cities artists and critics to write reviews of our performances. The ongoing Re:View series shares a diverse array of independent voices and opinions; it doesn’t reflect the views or opinions of the Walker or its curators. Here, dance artist Penelope Freeh shares her perspective on last night’s performance of Cellular Songs by Meredith Monk & Vocal Ensemble.
Meredith Monk & Vocal Ensemble’s Cellular Songs is a timely undertaking. In the program notes, Monk states that she created this work as an antidote to the values that are being propagated right now.”
Cellular Songs begins like an invocation as hands poised in prayer animate the space. They are projected onto the floor in repeating patterns, a gentle call to action. Three performers emerge, Monk among them, her hair in signature braids, pure of heart and with a voice clear as a bell.
This work is comprised of many parts, segments that receive a gentle physical treatment with walking patterns, tableaus, gestures, and body postures directed by Monk. This is just enough, a light touch upon sacred material.
The all-female cast, five in total, wears puffy white jumpsuits. The women read as delicate forms, yet their black boots give them away. Don’t be fooled by the ethereal, they are grounded in their soft power.
The vocals are mostly wordless, sounds that accumulate into their own language of pleadings, revelations, covenants. This context renders a solo Monk performs downstage in a box of light all the more poignant when she utters repeatedly, “Oh…. I am a happy woman…” The text transforms over the course of the song into a spectrum of descriptors. She inevitably lands on “angry,” and I feel a shudder of recognition. Yes, it’s possible for one small body to contain it all, universes of emotions and exclamations, celebrations and laments.
The women eventually disrobe, revealing a variety of white tunic-like costumes. We see their shapes and sizes, their outlines and individualities. They cut through the space better now, are read more clearly. The discarded jumpsuits are carefully piled up in the back of the space. Resembling an iceberg detached from its glacier body, it is stalwart.
There are some heftier dance moments as the piece wends its way forward. Two of the women vocalize and dance in playful relationship, a sort of call and response. I am struck by how utterly the movement is fulfilled because of the simultaneity of the voice accompaniment. This is a satisfying morsel of a section.
Another movement solo takes place on a chair, with the performer’s body draped across it, always in oblique relationship, never quite sitting up. She tips back, arching to touch the floor behind her, coccyx-balanced, legs lengthened outward and crossed or straight up with feet flexed. Her gestures are mostly smooth but then punctuated at surprising moments, interrupting (but really more like accompanying) the flow. This nicely reflects the music, laced throughout with aural quirks.
My favorite moment is a vocal solo, again in the box of light. A woman rotates, singing, breathing. She is rapt, attentive to the play of space. She projects and yet is enmeshed in her own experience; it is inward and outward. An elongated, sustained moment, it is situated at just the right point in the work, an extension amid the short bursts.
Near the end a group of girls enter the space. Also clad in white with black boots, they are the next generation. They mimic the trudging walk of the five women then lay themselves to rest in fetal position, all exhaling an arm skyward.
Reconfiguring into three groups, the women and girls stand shoulder to shoulder, facing one another and vocalizing. Their bodies eventually come to rest within their cluster communities. Curling up upon and with each other, they float, icebergs, waiting for the sea change.
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