By Emmanuel Gutierrez |Asst. Features Editor|
The percussion trio and their instruments were bathed in a surreal light fusion of orange and yellow, much like that of an oversaturated sunset.
A male and female dancer swayed on stage, reminiscent of the ancient martial art of the praying mantis.
“It was an interplay between dance and music. It was lovely,” said student Nicole Lopez.
The dancers spouted grand epics with wordless dialogue; the snare and bass drums composed the backdrops to their graceful fables.
Their twisting, spiraling bodies, combined with flailing ponytails and raised hands conveyed the image of meditative prayer, shaping the words they dared not speak.
Each dance sequence expressed an individual, self-contained story and theme.
A standout performance was between a shirtless man in black slacks and a sable leather belt plunging onto the arms of a woman in a nude-hued nightgown.
“The dancing was so passionate. They, themselves, were instruments with the music,” said student Brian Lundaverde.
They contorted their bodies in swan-like stretches, only to clash neck to neck—literally—with one another.
This violent exchange of blows, like deer or other horned beasts colliding, signaled a struggle for dominance.
The art of interpretive dance is motion conveying emotion, often telling a story.
This dance seemed to portray the primal darkness that exists within each of us, displaying how we may be overwhelmed with conflicting thoughts that contradict our even more powerful sentiments.
These feelings elude our comprehension—perhaps making them even more dangerous.
Between the dances, three masterful percussionists from Switzerland performed groovy, psychedelic pieces with exotic instruments.
These percussion instruments, such as a horizontal harp struck with metallic sticks, rang like the first droplets of a spontaneous drizzle.
When struck, the tortoise shell-shaped metal, echoed in tinny, yet heavenly tintinnabulations.
The percussionists were perhaps the most entrancing element of the performance.
They breathed life into the collaboration, imbuing an imaginary environment with forces of nature exclusive to the temporal setting.
I have always been overly critical of percussionists, often making condescending remarks to my fellow woodwind members in school jazz and symphonic ensembles.
As a multi-instrumental student—having played clarinet, alto sax, piano, and the occasional Guitar Hero—I constantly devalued percussionist’s contributions, equating their technical prowess to that of over-glorified whack-a-mole-aholics.
This musician proved me wrong, utilizing his hands and palms—each individual finger became its own instrument with great —finesse in one of the most technical applications I have ever witnessed.
For the final performance, a dancer cat walked across the stage before rows of twisted bodies in stilettos of Dorothy’s ruby red hue.
She was soon accompanied by another stiletto aficionado, prowling on stage in rhythmic precision with the percussive drums rumbling and whimsical chimes.
It was fierce, oozing of confidence, but still graceful.
On that high note, I couldn’t help but agree with fellow student Mary Bucayu, “The performance was unique. I’d invite all my friends to see it.”