Opeth. Best known for being a Swedish death metal band who has had one foot firmly planted in the world of modern progressive rock for quite some time.   But their most recent album, Heritage, is not death metal. At all. And they didn’t play any songs with growling death metal vocals at their absolutely stunning live show here in San Francisco.  Heritage is a tribute to the bands’ influences, to metal and progressive rock of the 1970s, but with a personal, modern, and truly unique approach.  It blends classic heavy metal with quiet acoustic interludes and even a Swedish folk song played in a jazz style.

What makes Heritage so brilliant, though, really?

One:  It is not a hackneyed attempt to revive the musical trends of the past. It is a showcase of technical and emotional musicianship and a clear understanding of the music that paved the way for bands like Opeth to form and gain worldwide fame.  These five men are masters of their art, tip their hats to the past, and make emotional songs.  There is a fresh passion in their work, even as it references sounds from nearly 40 years ago…. and music even older than that in their reinventions of Swedish folk melodies.

Two: The lead singer makes no apologizes for any changes in the band’s musical style.  Ever.  In fact, he says that if someone doesn’t like it, they can fuck off.  Death metalheads lament the lack of RAWR in the recent album and tour setlist, but Opeth stands firmly by their creative decision to showcase more mellow and melodic songs from their already diverse repertoire.

Honor the past.  Know your roots. Be a master of your instrument (whether that’s your paintbrushes, your guitar, your words, or your body). Create honest art.  Stand by your creative decisions.

Wise lessons to live by, I’d say.

A few nights ago, Natalie Brown and I went to see the new Bellydance Superstars show at the lovely Newberry Opera House in Newberry (surprise!), South Carolina. As I watched the oriental dance group pieces, I noticed that although the dancers were beautiful, trained, and performing lovely choreography, the pieces lacked a certain depth. And I find this to be true for a lot of oriental dance pieces, particularly ones performed to music written specifically for dancers (rather than, say, instrumental versions of Umm Kalthoum songs). Then, I realized… I love watching oriental soloists, and oriental dance is inherently a solo dance. The connection between the dancer and the music, how she relates to the notes, the instruments, and the lyrics of the song (even when dancing to an instrumental) is the core essence of true oriental bellydance. New students of bellydance who go to a Bellydance Superstars show rarely see the beautiful connection between a solo dancer and the music, except when a lead dancer performs a drum solo with Issam Houshan. Even then, however, we never have the full experience of watching a solo dancer perform to an Umm Kalthoum song or a melodic taqsim.

I think, in order to work effectively as a troupe or company choreography, group oriental dance pieces must have a specific emotional perspective. It’s not enough for the dancers to be beautiful, elegant, well-costumed, or technical. Every dancer performing a given choreography must find an expressive head and heartspace that relates to the overall emotion of the piece that she’s performing. The emotion must be consistent throughout the company, too. And EVERY dancer needs to “go there” in order for the performance to truly succeed and reach the audience on deep, emotional level.

Part of why I think some dancers are turned off by oriental dance and so attracted to the style that is so often referred to as “tribal fusion” (the modern blend of ATS, oriental, and club/freestyle dance made popular by Jill Parker, Rachel Brice and the Indigo, and early Urban Tribal Dance Company) is that tribal, in its parent form of American Tribal Style (ATS), has a built-in emotional perspective. ATS’ emotional perspective is, “I’m so happy to be dancing with my sisters, and you, the audience, should feel honored that you get to see this special moment between us. We are regal, beautiful, and powerful.” Tribal fusion group choreographies often project this perspective, even if the dancers themselves aren’t expressing themselves fully. Tribal fusion projects a mystery that oriental dance choreographies often do not.

In order to be a successful dancer of any style, oriental or tribal or folkloric, we must project emotion. Acting and theater training and exercises are key to developing this skill. Not all choreographies have to be heart-wrenching or deep or depressing. Sometimes a choreography really is about pure joy or love or excitement. If we are performing a piece with which we do not connect with emotionally, we can’t just “fake it”. Being able to project an authentic emotion is a skill that we dancers must develop. The audience can tell when we’re not “there” emotionally. We must find an emotion within the piece and within the movements in order to sell it and make it real. Dancing is acting without words. As dancers, we must be able to express emotions through our movements and not be literal about them. We are not mimes. Dance is about using the whole body to project an idea, emotion, or story. And true, honest, and raw expression is difficult and requires training. Actors train for years to be able to own their roles and be real on stage and/or film. When we perform choreographies with a troupe or company, that fact doesn’t change, regardless of what style we’re performing. A dancer must train her body as well as her expression. The two skills go hand-in-hand, no matter what style of dance one is performing. True emotional expression isn’t going to convert all tribal style dancers into lovers of oriental dance, but I think it might be a step in the right direction.

Performing is work. It’s not just physical work; it’s highly emotional. Just as I train physically, drilling and conditioning and sweating, I also train emotionally: crying, yelling, and laughing.

I owe my training to none other than the incomparable and ever-amazing Suhaila Salimpour, who leads her students working at Level 3 and higher through intense emotional exercises to prepare us for performing true, raw, and honest personal choreographies. If it weren’t for her training, I’m not sure I’d be able to give so much of myself on stage, and I certainly wouldn’t be as mature and experienced performer as I am now. That said, I know I still have so much to learn… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This little introduction brings me to write about “Grist”, the piece I most “famously” performed at Tribal Fest 8. It seems to be my most popular performance, but it was also one of the hardest for me to put on stage. Every time I have performed this piece, it manifests differently. Sometimes, as at Tribal Fest 8, it expresses as triumphant, but most other times it has come out as dark, brooding, angry, and sorrowful. “Grist” took on a life of its own. I created it in the summer of 2007, which was a dark time for me. Without going into details, I started questioning the stable things in my own life, realizing that they weren’t as stable as I had thought and they weren’t bringing me the joy that society tells us that they should bring. I was very unhappy. “Grist” was a physical manifestation of my frustration, my anger, my feeling trapped. The last time I performed it was the weekend before my marriage ended, and it was a “goodbye” to that part of my life into which I had invested so much time and energy. I haven’t performed it since that weekend in October 2009. For now, “Grist” is retired.

And yet, people ask for me to perform it. I’m not sure people understand how difficult it is to perform something like “Grist”. I’m not sure if people think it’s just an “act”, that I was just putting emotion out there for show, that it wasn’t real. Or maybe I really did strike an emotional chord in them, and that’s what they’re connecting with. And part of me, the professional, tells me that I should be able to perform it at any time. A professional can “go there” whenever she chooses, and she can walk off stage and return to the real world without a problem. I am still working on that elusive skill, and I expect to always be working on it.

Maybe one day I’ll perform it again. But for now, as I have been trying to travel the healing road, seeking joy and peace after the dissolution of my marriage, living out of my suitcase and sleeping on a friend’s sofabed for six months, and packing up all of my worldly belongings and moving to South Carolina, I want to create new pieces about this new chapter of my life. “Grist” is a collection of angry memories, and instead of looking back on them, I would much rather look forward.

Personally, I try to avoid the books on belly dance that urge women to “get in touch with their inner goddess” and prefer more scholarly works on the dance. I’m also a little suspicious of research without footnotes. That said, there really aren’t many works on belly dance that stand up to academic scrutiny because the history of this dance is so convoluted, and the first Western writings on the dance were mostly by European men who commented more on the “erotic gyrations” of the dancers than, say, where the dancers came from, the specific movements they performed, or why they danced at all.

By far, the best and most academic book is Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, And Harem Fantasy by Anthony Shay and Barbara Sellers-Young. This book is a collection of articles about the various aspects of belly dance: dancers and social stigma in the Middle East, the inherent orientalism of the “Arabian Dance” in The Nutcracker, and the meaning of American Tribal Style. I highly recommend this one.

Another wonderful work of research is “A Trade like Any Other”: Female Singers and Dancers in Egypt by Karin van Nieuwkerk. Van Nieuwkerk explores the stigmas and stereotypes that female performers in Egypt face in order to make a living. An excellent work that looks past the glitter and glam of dance “over there” and gets into the nitty gritty of what life is truly like as a female performer in Egypt.

Although her research is a bit lacking in parts (footnotes/endnotes are also lacking), Serpent of the Nile: Women and Dance in the Arab World by Wendy Buonaventura has become required reading for every belly dancer. I would take the history in it with a grain of salt, but this lavishly illustrated book is a great introduction to belly dance for the new student.

Of course, The Tribal Bible, Exploring The Phenomenon That Is American Tribal Style Bellydance by Kajira Djoumahna is geared more towards dancers of the tribal persuasion, but it has some wonderful interviews with Masha Archer, Carolena Nericcio, Suhaila Salimpour and other innovators in the wider world of American belly dance. Unfortunately, this book is difficult to find these days, and it is a little out-of-date as it does not address the more recent phenomenon of tribal fusion belly dance as performed by Rachel Brice and the like over the past five years. That said, If you can borrow this book from a friend, it’s well worth a read.

Bellydance: A Guide to Middle Eastern Dance, Its Music, Its Culture and Costume by Keti Sharif is a lovely and beautiful little book that contains lots of information on the different subgenres of belly dance and the various steps and costuming specific to each. It’s beautifully illustrated as well. It’s certainly not a heavy academic work, but a good introduction to the various kinds of belly dance and Middle Eastern folkdance.

I hope that you find these books as edifying and interesting as I have.

Next up: Tools for creativity…

The following video made the rounds a few years ago, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen it re-surface:

(Or, visit this link.)

Many people value an up front, honest criticism, myself included.  I really appreciate when someone I admire or respect gives me feedback that is relatively objective and isn’t insulting.  I’m also a fan of the “Kiss-Kick-Kiss” method for longer critiques and reviews: compliment, criticize, compliment.

What I don’t appreciate is when someone is insulting or downright mean in their critiques and then try to frame their statements as “telling it like it is.”  If a student in my classes has lazy arms, I’m not going to tell her that her arms “look like shit.”  That demeans the student and creates an uncomfortable learning environment.  I will, however, tell her what she should do with her arms: “Your elbows are a bit low, and your fingers are limp – extend through the fingers and lift the elbows, and that will look much better”  The second statement is also “telling it like it is”.  Sure, the students’ arms might need work, so what about them needs work?  Saying that they “look like shit” doesn’t help. The student’s arms were lazy, so what about them can be changed to make them look better?  I don’t need to tell my student about her arms in a way that might make her feel demeaned, hurt, or belittled.  For me, the classroom should be a place where students feel safe, where they can feel that they can learn and grow to their greatest potential.  It is not a place for hurtful language or actions.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t expect my students to work hard and correct themselves when I ask them to fix something.  I just expect everyone to be respectful and kind, including myself.

Sometimes teachers hide behind the idea that they are “telling it like it is” when they use what could be construed as hurtful language in their classrooms.  I think this is a lame excuse for not being able to frame their crititques in a constructive manner.  Teachers who hide behind downright mean statements like, “your arms look like shit” seem to be trying to gain a position of power over their students.  It’s as though they’re saying, “I’m insecure, so I’ll make my students feel less-than so that I can have control and power in the classroom.”  Sure, their students might fix their arms, but they might also feel belittled and shamed in the process.  Shame has no place in a learning environment.

As a subject of excessive teasing and bullying from my classmates as a child, I learned at an early age that if someone is using hurtful language against another, that usually is a reflection of the bully’s own emotional state.  A child from an abusive home will act out against his classmates because he doesn’t know how else to express his pain.  If a teacher is using hurtful language, and then using “telling it like it is” as an excuse to use such language, what hurt or frustrations is she trying to hide?  What is hurting inside her that causes her to treat her students as less-than?

The next time you hear someone making an excuse for hurtful or unnecessarily critical language by saying that they were just “telling it like it is”, ask yourself if there could be a more constructive way of phrasing the criticism or hurtful statement.

Well, for one thing, it’s better for body alignment, and keeping the feet close together underneath the body keeps the center of gravity focused in one place, rather than two.  It’s a lot easier to dance and keep your balance if the feet and thighs are together.  Really.

For another thing, keeping the feet together looks more elegant, poised, polished, and dancerly than keeping them wide.  If the thighs are open, it also gives off a less modest appearance, and belly dance is, at least in its more Middle Eastern forms, an inherently modest dance.  Pointing the toes also finishes the line of the leg, whether or not the dancer is bare foot, in shoes, or in boots.  And for tribal and fusion dancers, more and more we’re wearing costuming that reveals the feet and sometimes even the thighs, and if the legs aren’t together and if the feet aren’t pointed and elegant, the whole performance can fall apart and just look bad.  A dancer could be performing beautiful torso isolations with a radiant smile, but if her feet aren’t poised, and the thighs are apart, the feet can distract from the whole presentation.

This revealing of feet and legs seems mostly to be happening in troupes trying the tucked-up skirts, striped tights, and boots like the Indigo has been wearing over the past few years.  I’ve seen dancers perform can-can inspired kicks with loose feet, and frankly, it looks unprofessional, unpolished, and lazy.  I’ve seen dancers in skirts tucked up in the front with their legs wide apart, nearly in a squatty position, performing interior hip circles, and other hip work that looks raunchy and overtly sexual when the legs are apart. I’ve also seen dancers in the “garter shorts” style of costuming that also have been dancing with little awareness of what their feet and legs are doing, and those costumes are even more revealing than the skirts and tights inspired by the Indigo.

If we bellydancers are to present to the general public that we’re professionals, that we’re not dancing to be sexual, that we’re just as respectable as a ballet or modern dancer, then we need to pay attention to what our feet and legs are doing.  Sure, you can get away with your feet a little bit wider apart if you’re wearing a classical American Tribal Style 20-yard skirt with pantaloons underneath because chances are, your audience isn’t even going to see your feet.   However, even underneath a skirt and pantaloons, the feet should always be pretty and not an afterthought.  The thighs should be close, which brings an elegant line to the whole body.  And the upper body should be lifted, opening up the solar plexus, heart center, and collarbones.  I would like to see every tribal and fusion dancer pay more attention to their lower bodies, and how that affects the entire performance. The legs and feet are our foundations, what connect us to the ground and the stage. Bellydance, while it is about isolations in the torso, should never neglect the legs and feet.

Also, being physically capable is only half of it. The other half is courage, dedication, and love.

lapinetrose [Gymnast]

Don’t be afraid to rest (or hold a pose when dancing). Negative space is just as important as sound/movement.

androgenie [Musician]

Always carry back up safety pins, bobbie pins, hairspray, bandaids, mini-sewing kit, ace bandages, and water.

mydwynter ["Classical" dancer, i.e. ballet and jazz]

You know, I have been thinking about this a lot lately because I’m now dedicating more time to studying dance after a year of mainly studying yoga. My asana practice is essential to keeping my body strong, flexible, and balanced- the foundation and body awareness is there so it’s just a matter of making my dance brain learn new things. The philosophical and spiritual aspects of yoga have been very important to my growth as a dancer, as well.

Flissy [Yoga]