Every now and then a patient or classmate finds out I used to be a dancer. Sometimes they ask what I loved about it. I loved almost everything about it, but lately I miss the music.
One of my main sources of energy during class was the pianist who played for us every day. Over the years Ellen, Otis, Reggie and Robert added so much joy to my day, and the relationships I built with them were really special. There’s something about live music that’s electrifying. It’s so much easier to jump a little higher, be a little bit more expressive, or truly become a character with a person, instead of a machine, playing music. I can look back to many times where a pianist (and probably the events going on in my life) brought me to tears. We performed with symphonies many times, but my thoughts always go to our pianists who we saw every day. They were part of our family, not strangers who we caught vague glances of during tech week in the theater.
I miss how they could pick the most random yet perfect pieces to play. Music at barre could consist of a Jim Croce song, a few Broadway tunes, Willie Nelson’s “Crazy”, the Turtles’ “So Happy Together”, a piece from “Don Quixote” and a rag. Such a strange combination, but it was perfect for the exercises and movement. It provided the best flow of energy and emotion, too.
When I was about 19 I started to pay attention to Miss Ellen in the corner, beautifully and fiercely knocking out any type of music at the drop of a hat. I believe my love of dance deepened and really matured when I began to really appreciate the music. I looked for musical cues on how to phrase and execute steps. I developed my characters and my personal storylines from the music. One of the compliments that’s meant the most to me was from Ellen. After several years there, when I was about to leave, she told me that of all the dancers I grabbed her attention the most during classes and rehearsals. She said I was a very musical dancer and she could tell I loved to dance. I told her that it was her playing that inspired me every day during those years.
I’ll always remember a very special class we had days after 9/11. My ballet instructor decided that instead of wearing our usual dress code of black leotards and pink tights we would wear any blue or red leotards we owned. During class we had a quick warm-up at the barre and did something shocking. We didn’t do a center. Instead, we learned the finale from “Stars and Stripes”, and Reggie played Sousa perfectly. His playing was so passionate and inspiring. In the grand scheme of things it’s not that ground-breaking or significant, but it was exactly what a bunch of 18 year olds who had moved away from home weeks earlier needed. He lifted our spirits and made us feel so patriotic and hopeful. I’m so thankful for that memory.
Of course, I have to remember the not-so-favorite or funny moments. When I was at the Kirov my teacher couldn’t speak English. Everyone associated with the school had been in the States for over a decade but refused to learn. The pianist could speak a bit and translated anytime the teacher wanted to communicate anything other than ballet terminology or, “You are terrible! Why? Why you do this?” with the most disappointed and disapproving expressions. Anyway, the funny part is that Sizova and the pianist hated each other and fought like cats and dogs. She thought he played songs inappropriate for certain movements and his tempo was never what she demonstrated or wanted. They would start arguing in Russian in front of the class. The pianist would bang his head on the piano and tell us she was a hag. Finally, the fight would escalate and Mrs. Sizova would grab her white shawl and leave the studio in a huff. Class was over.
Ellen was a fabulous pianist, but she had a habit of becoming engrossed in the music. That isn’t a bad thing, but when it changes the tempo, it’s very bad. We would be doing a petite allegro to “Maple Leaf Rag” or something similar to it, and she would get so excited that the tempo just got faster, and faster, and faster. It was brutal. Or on the other extreme, during an adagio, she would become slower, and slower, swelling certain notes at beautiful moments. The worst part is that she always seemed to retard during a ponche. A ponche is a movement where your leg is extended at least 90 degrees behind you and your arms are extended in front and to the side of you. You keep the same line and position, but your upper body bends forward as your leg extends into the air trying to make 6:00 (as in the hands of a clock…one long, vertical line) with your body. It isn’t the easiest movement, and it takes a lot of strength and control to not fall out of it. Ellen always choose that time to really feel the adage. It literally felt like an eternally controlling a ponche while Ellen played. I cursed her name during adagios. I think she knew was she was doing and secretly enjoyed watching us squirm.
Without ballet and music there’s a massive, gaping void in my spirit. I run with music. I do Power Yoga with music. I lift weights with music. Nothing can compare. I can’t find a substitute. Maybe someday I will figure it out. For now, I have my fabulous memories of dancing with great music, amazing artists and wonderful friends.
The Cat's Meow 