Monday, September 20, 1982
Daily Nebraskan
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Shearing: Sophistic
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Page 12
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By David Wood
The ground floor of Pershing Auditorium was sprucely
arranged in rows of folding tables Friday night. In con
trast to the putting-green color of the painted concrete
floor were red paper tablecloths.
On the tablecloths were plastic wine glasses, partially
filled bottles, an occasional candle, nice-looking picnic
baskets and coolers, beer and pop cans and September
Pops placematprograms.
Around the tables sat well-dressed men and women,
Lincoln's "beautiful people," and around the ground
Concert Review
floor, filling maybe a quarter of the grandstand seats,
sat more.
Imagine my companion's and my surprise when we
traipsed in on what we had thought was a three-headed
heavy-metal monster concert, which would have been
the previous night, had it not been canceled because
ludas Priest's truck broke down.
"Look at all them pickanic baskets, Boo Boo."
"Let's introduce ourselves, Yogi. 'I'm hungry, and
he's ravenous.' "
"H & R. We stock up."
In truth, we knew the performance was to be the
George Shearing Duo and the Lincoln Symphony Orches
tra. But Boo Boo and I, casually attired and sitting at the
only vacant table on the ground floor, seemed as out
of place as two confused Iron Maiden freaks at a pops
concert.
There was a conspicuous scarcity of college-aged
persons in the audience. It was unfortunate. Graceful,
emotive music filled the arena despite the periphery
of empty seats.
The Lincoln Symphony was the opening act. The
show began with a sustained crescendo, "Fanfare for
the Common Man" by Copeland, followed by "On
the Trail" from the "Grand Canyon Suite" by Grofe
and "An American in Paris" by Gershwin.
Though not everyone may know the tunes by name,
no one can mistake their familiar ring. A clopping Walt
Disney mule pops into mind listening to "On the Trail."
"An American in Paris" evokes Broadway and Fred
Astaire. Indeed, a working definition of "pops" for
the neophyte might be "classic or classical pieces that
have become part of shared reality by their appearance
in popular media, in movies, cartoons, commercials."
Next up was the George Shearing Duo. Don Thompson
led Shearing to the center-stage piano, then picked up his
upright bass. Shearing is 63, blind, has 55 records to his
s w
fi Yi" 1 VS5 i . i '
Staff Photo by David Hood
Don Thompson, left, conductor Robert Emile and George Shearing
credit and tinkles the ivories with marvelous, tender,
playful passion. His brand of jazz is called "sophisti
cated." I can think of no better label.
Frills and fills waft listeners instantly into Shearing's
artful world of the unexpected. Thompson and He, toying
with anticipations of the ear, keep the listeners attentive
and pleasantly surprised while the music climbs, soars,
swoops, glides and rests between shifting moods. The
talented Shearing and Thompson can duel licks like
savvy nightclub veterans or break into ornate fugal
counterpoint like crown-commissioned chamber musi
cians. In the course of the set, Shearing introduced Thomp
son as "the finest bass player I have had the pleasure to
know," "the fine pianist" and "the fine composer."
Thompson is fine on all counts but incredible on bass.
The bearded musician's slender, extended fingers batted
the upright's strings with blurring, unerring brilliance.
I was sorry to see him leave the stage for the pianist's
solo, the only piece with voice in the show, even though
Shearing's singing was wholly engaging.
In the third and final part of the performance, the
orchestra joined the duo. Shearing's virtuosity is unques
tionable, as jazz and classical flavors mixed deliciously
together through the commonality of good taste. For
instance, a charming jazz rhapsody was made of a theme
by Paganini, a 19th-century longhair, in one Shearing
adaptation. Conversely, the nursery air "English Country
Gardens" was rendered as a cathedral canon.
I wanted to hoist a flaming Bic. But this was not a
Judas Priest concert, and there was no encore. Instead,
the closing fare was Sousa's "Stars and Stripes Forever,"
as conducted by the highest bidder in the audience.
When Boo Boo and I split, careful not to make any
sudden movements that the auctioneer could mistake
for a bid, the going price was $600.
Pilobolus dancers evoke organic-illusion wor
By Terry Field
This weekend at Kimball Hall, UNL
was treated with the unique, fascinating
choreography of the Pilobolus Dance
Theatre. The six member company can
put a smile on the face of even those who
don't think they enjoy dance perfor
mances. Pilobolus's sculpturistic style is not
classical ballet, nor is it modern dance.
It is a style all their own. The Washington,
Conn., -based company s imaginative use
Dance
Review
of the human body brilliantly gives
meaning to both abstract and literal
forms of movement.
The company's style apparently led
to its choice of name. Pilobolus is a type
of phototropic fungi. The dancers,
throughout their routines, contort and
shape their bodies into the oddest of
form, much like fungi.
The company's first of two perfor
mances opened Saturday evening with
a piece titled "Molly's Not Dead." It
is a famous, humorous highlighter from
the company's repertoire. It begins with
two men wrapped together, one draped
over the other's back and shoulders,
ambling about the stage.
Colorful costumes
The costumes were full body and
coloreJ yellow, maroon and orange,
l ike the costumes, the lighting was sim
ple and without any special effects.
Later, gnome-like creatures were formed
by each pair of dancers. They took on
genders and played seemingly boy-girl
games. The humor gave way to a more
serious theme when the men returned
with their limp partners in their arms.
The comedy resumed when they mouth
the words over the music, "Pa, Molly's
Dead. She ate some leaves."
In the end, the men carried off the
women's bodies high over their heads,
the bodies moving in the air like rip
pling ocean waves. The music continued,
"Molly's not dead. She's only a-sleepin',
patiently waiting for Jesus to come."
When the audiences laughter ended,
there was a feeling of calmness.
Slapstick dance
"The Empty Suitor," another slap
stick, took place around an old wooden
park bench. The music opened with an
almost African jungle mood. Two men
with long poles and dressed as if they
were oarsmen slid and maneuvered across
the stage. The polies in turn became
spears, oars and shovels. Against the
blue stage they soon disappeared in seem
ingly slow motion, precise aerial turns.
There was an oversized man on the
bench with a grotesque huge stomach.
Out of his long black over coat appeared
a woman in a long black skirt. Her mischie
vous teasing made the man in the over
coat appear foolish. Two men reappeared
in black coats and top hats. There is a
sexual confrontation with the woman,
each man appraching her for a bite of
the apple she holds in her mouth.
A comical section follows. As the music
of "Sweet Georgia Brown" plays in the
back ground, he stumbles and trips, trying
to regain his balance and his hat which
keeps falling off.
As music takes on a whimsical quality,
the quick and percussive form becomes
more subdued and motionless. The men
with the poles roll out a large pile of
newspapers across the stage.
The woman, as if forgotten, rolls along
engulfed by the newspapers. The men
join the others on the bench while the
woman stalks the men with her large skirt.
She lifts the skirt up revealing her bare
legs and covering the rest of her body.
She then disappears under the skirt while
sitting on the laps of the men. With only
her legs visible, the illusion that they
are the men's is created. They stretch
out and cross over one another. As each
man possesses the legs, his facial expres
sions convey his obvious pleasure.
New Wave rock
The final piece, "Day Two", one of
the group's most recent works, is set to
the new wave rock sounds of Brian Eno
and David Byrne of the Talking Heads.
The piece is extremely open to inter
pretation, yet themes of creation were
apparent throughout the piece.
The costumes for "Day Two" were
of the bare essentials. The men wore
flesh colored G-strings. The women wore
flesh colored leotards without backs.
As "Day Two" began, the roar of
thunder could be heard before the cur
tain opened. The pulsating music pounded
through the audience. All four men ap
peared in a slight diagonal, on their knees,
suggesting worship. Their bodies bobbed
up and down with quick percussive
motion.
Out of all of all the piecss, this dance
seemed the most danced and abstracted
in nature. When the women appeared,
bodies were spun both high and low,
women swinging men, men swinging wo
men. The movements are both sexual
and asexual. This dance differentiates
the bodies by their own strength, balance
and flexibility, not by sex.
In "Day Two," there is a wonderful
illusion using two long poles. The women
appear suspended and drift in the air
while the men carried them above their
heads with the poles. Treading through
the air, they all began to slow down,
creating the feeling of what it might be
like on the moon.
As organic as the piece is, it was
especially wonderful when the dancers
began crawling under the rubber floor
covering. Clumping to the middle of the
stage, the mass grew larger until it broke
out of its shell.
When all seemed to have been finished
and the curtain finally closed, the thunder
could be heard again, and the audience
seemily baffled continued to applaud.
The sound of the thunder increased, the
stage curtains flew open, and the music
started to pulsate again.
Suddenly one of the dancers slide
across the stage, on his back. Creating
the illusion as if it had rained, the
stage floor turned into one giant horizo
horizontal water slide. One after the
other, dancers slid with ease, not only
on their backs, but on their stomachs,
feet and fannies.
The Lincoln audience enjoyed the
performance by Tim Latta, Carol Parker,
Josh Perl, Peter Pucci, Cynthia Quinn,
and Michael Tracy. It was Pilobolus at
its finest.
