Originally written 13 February 2022, 12.31pm.
I took a couple of choreography courses last year that, while helpful, kind of freaked me out as I saw only too clearly how big the gap was between the ideal and my actual output. I let those simmer and continued doing solos. I hate choreographing solos and I always have, but in college, when I was trying so desperately to prove myself to literally every director and teacher in the province because none of them could be bothered to see the potential in me, I resorted to solos because they were quick to create, easy to learn, and easy to film. I put out an astonishing amount of solo dance videos because I felt this invisible whip on my back to prove myself, to show that I was, in fact, dedicated and a hard worker (things that I was consistently told throughout college that I was not). Posting myself dancing new choreography every 2-3 days with the difficulty level increasing exponentially each time seemed to be the only way to show anybody that I was actually trying (those words still threaten to take me to a very dark place even as I type them). I got good at choreographing solos as a result, but I missed the complexity, attention to detail, and the sheer elation that goes into choreographing a big group number.
I've since been banned from social media by my in-laws because I'm not happy enough (and yes, I told them about the 'unfollow' button. They figured banning me, a grown adult, from expressing herself was easier and made more sense), so in many ways, I've reverted back to that seventeen-year-old notating reams of pages by hand alone in her bedroom where nobody ever saw some of the brilliant things she came up with because they could not possibly have cared less and she knew it. This has given me time to focus in on unattainably big groups again. After all, if nobody's going to see it, why not lean into the impossibility?
This is actually bringing some level of comfort. At the time that I was choreographing big groups, before college, I had a whole list of songs I loved that I wanted to choreograph to that I simply never got around to. And now I'm revisiting that list.
Frequent readers of this blog (are there even any left or are they all dead?) know that the bigger the song, the more I like it. I love songs filled up with harmonies and '80s keyboards and big drums and deep, big feelings. Songs with one solo (usually mediocre) singer and an acoustic guitar about one's boyfriend are so small and boring. I like songs that take up space, sonically and emotionally. These songs are also usually suited to choreography that also is big and takes up space -- like big group numbers. Many of my very favourite songs in the world either are group numbers I've already choreographed or they've been languishing in the 'big numbers' queue for a very long time.
And currently I'm working on one that in my mind, ranks right up there with Daniel Amos' Sanctuary as 1. one of the best songs of all time, full stop, and 2. one of the first songs I ever wanted to choreograph to.
I've come back to this one off and on over the years, threw out some ideas, dreamscraped, scribbled bits of notation on envelopes and receipts, couldn't find the theme, threw it out, and repeated the whole process several times. Last year it started to really arrest my attention, but I still couldn't find the vibe of the choreography. I knew it was jazz dance, but I couldn't see anything beyond that.
Then one day while biking, I realised that this was going to be an arm-led piece.
I hate arms. They've always been my weak spot as a dancer, and that shows in my choreography. Many times I leave the upper staves of my notation blank or just fill in standard classwork arms because I hate choreographing them so much and spend as little time as possible thinking about them. My choreography is typically very footwork-heavy because my brain just doesn't think in arms. But this time, that was the exact realisation that snapped the piece into focus. I choreographed a four-minute twelve-dancer piece in a week and a half because I focused on the arms rather than the legs.
This is the first large-group piece since Nachmo 2020, and before that the last one was 2016. The 2020 one was tap, which is a very different animal since it's less about formations and lines and more about rhythm and musicality. 2016 was the last soft-shoe large-group dance I've written. That's almost six years ago now. I don't remember much of the 2020 one because my college-trauma-induced memory loss wiped out that period of my life, but the 2016 one is a four and a half minute piece for sixteen people and I choreographed it start-to-finish in eight hours. And I loved every single second of it. There's a level of satisfaction that comes with creating a large group piece that simply does not exist in choreographing solos or duets.
This project brought me so much joy. I was actually sad when I finished it. Of course there was that rush of accomplishment, but I miss the joy of figuring it out. Maybe it's because I know I'm not likely to ever see it performed in real life, so my time with that piece is essentially done for the rest of my life.
At least I can still listen to the song and see it all in my head.
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