While we are here — Lisa Vereertbrugghen

The dancer repetitively checks her heartbeat, two fingers on her neck, breathing heavily, sweat drops running down her face. But for us, her sound is covered by the full-blown beat. The music is moving the spectators and so the bench I sit on. It’s a wooden bench sandwiched between two lines of plastic chairs and this set-up makes me smile. It echoes the idea with which Lisa Vereertbrugghen has brought the dancers Claire Godsmark, Dolores Hulan, Eimi Leggett and Castélie Yalombo Lilonge on the stage. Wood, something organic and real, is jammed in between a material that defines our age and is literally taking over the world while being alien to our ecosystems.

One of Vereertbrugghen’s aims seems to be discovering or forging a relationship between folk dance, something that has deep roots and history, with rave, something that is in constant flux and resists being captured. This opposition reminds me of the way Indian scriptwriter and poet Javed Akhtar described the relationship between tradition and revolt. He used a children’s toy as an example, a piece of string tied around a stone. As you spin this toy the stone gets further and further away but the string is still attached and the movement of the stone keeps the string tense. Without the string the stone can’t fly, without the stone the string is flaccid, bereft of movement, unable to extend into the future and connect to and with generations ahead. So can rave, despite its resistance to tradition, be a contemporary folk dance?

“What does it mean to move together, the past as well as the present, the body as well as the mind?”

In the dark, dimly lit hall the music is born out of repetitive thumping, similarly to Massive Attack’s mega hit Teardrop. Maybe that was Vereertbrugghen’s inspiration track she gave to Michael Langeder, who made the music for the play. The urge to dance is bringing the body of Eimi Leggett to life through tiny spasms, nods of the head. The gong is the cue for other women to enter the stage as well and join her in the dance. At first sight it looks like they’re raving, hands in the air performing choppy movements. But their feet are coordinated, something that looks like syncopated mazurka steps which accidentally bring the dancers in line. They meet in accord and disperse, their dance is fluid. This slow build-up of the music and the dance, the gong that cues the dancers, works meditatively. Even while the music is beating loudly, the distorted bass still has a soft likeness of a heartbeat.

Dolores Hulan gives a shout, the dancers regroup into an exceedingly coordinated dance that now involves jumps, kicks and claps. This shout evokes the mood of Swiss pianist Nik Bärtsch. He describes the style of his rhythmically complicated but repetitive play as ritual groove music and during his live performances he often gives verbal cues to the musicians he plays with. Ritual groove is a description that echoes Vereertbrugghen’s way of working on the stage. Both Vereertbrugghen’s and Bärtsch work with seemingly opposing energies – ritualistic repetitiveness versus groovy beats – and try to find release in movement rather than stillness. In this way, both artists manage to evoke a light state of trance during their performances.

In her career as a choreographer Vereertbrugghen has been working with hardcore techno music and intense dancing experiences, and bringing more dancers on the stage with her seems to be a great choice to expand on these ideas. Besides the similarities between a rave and a folk dance (i.e. mantric repetitiveness regarding steps and beats) inviting more people onto the stage allows for engaging and exploring one of their greatest differences. Even though in raves people dance in crowded places, they usually dance alone, only briefly interacting with one another. Folk dances, on the other hand, involve having a partner or a group to dance with. In juxtaposing these styles, Vereertbrugghen doesn’t only compare them, it’s also an invitation to dance together and get energy and inspiration from each other.

Vereertbrugghen tries to tie a piece of old-school folk string to a hardcore stone. During the play’s runtime she manages to build up tension in the hall, starting from spastic movements and music and bringing it to a climax where the dancers form a circle in the middle and finish the performance by singing a folk song. She captures the attention of a very varied audience and gives them an hour to breathe and meditate on delicate and overlooked subjects. What does it mean to move together, the past as well as the present, the body as well as the mind? There are no facts, no information and no answers given, there’s only the movement. When you think about it, it’s strange that on the play’s website the indicated language of the play is English. The language of the play is dance. I tied multiple strings to various traditions, and my mind danced with the dancers’ bodies.