One of the great virtues of Alonzo King's Lines Ballet is its commitment to collaborate with other musicians and dancers to produce works that allow each collaborator to maintain artistic integrity within a creative meld. This year the company celebrated its 35th year with the Kronos Quartet, the stellar string quartet that, like Lines Ballet, dwells at the contemporary forefront of its artistic form.
Both Kronos and Lines Ballet are based in San Francisco and this weekend’s world première performance of their Common Ground, opened at the city’s most prestigious venue for radical performance, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.
Common Ground begins with a short video by Jamie Lyons taken at San Francisco’s Sutro Baths, which filled the theater’s front scrim. It’s a moody panoramic view of the ocean from the coastline, focused on a craggy islet of rocks in the middle range, an eroding seawall in the foreground. We hear the sound of the ocean, the flight of birds.
A whitish line across the bottom of the image expanded upward from the stage and as it did the figures behind the scrim became just visible – ghostly presences. A woman dancing, a man. When the image faded and the scrim rose, the open stage repeated that cloudy darkness.
Upstage center, barely visible in the shadows, sat the Kronos Quartet, subtle light revealing their faces and the gleam of their instruments.
The first two pieces of five seamlessly presented sections had the entire company dancing in shifting groups, a trio of men with a female soloist, a trio of women and a male soloist, a duet, and so on – moving swiftly through composer Trey Spruance’s Séraphîta: II. Le Baphomet and shifting into Merlijn Twaalfhoven’s Play. The music was highly rhythmic with plucked strings and bows stuttering against strings; it suited Lines Ballet’s highly kinetic movement, which always placed the substantial materiality of the body in contrast to the fleet ephemerality of the music. In Play the musicians accompanied the dancers with their own stamping feet and slapping sounds along with the staccato of plucked strings.
In his widely ranged use of movement, King never missed the opportunity for dancers to move on all levels of the body, as they spun, intertwined, leaped, but just as often dropped to the floor, crawled and rolled. Here the body never defied gravity but pulled against it, visibly, and that struggle was as emotionally resonant as any idealized aristocracy of balletic forms.