Author performs at the Ibis in NYC
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Gilded
Serpent presents...
From
Cabaret to DJ
Bellydance in New York: An Overview, 1988
- 2007
by Nina
Costanza (Amar)
Subheadings-
Controversy: Changes
in Dance Style
The End of Cabaret
Changes in Venue = Changes in Style
The Other Belly Dance Booms
Finding
Center
Habibi
Magazine,
in existence for approximately 30 years – and once a major
dance publication – not so long ago altered its format
and content from that of a more culturally conscious and
academic
journal to one, modeled after contemporary yoga publications,
that focused on fitness. In one of its last issues, the
magazine featured a cabaret-clad exercise guru – a non-dancer
– Kathy
Smith on its cover. A national magazine, Time, fairly
recently featured an article, “Belly Dance Boom,” chronicling
a new fascination with an old Arabic art form as a great
form of exercise. Crunch, New York Sports Clubs, Reebok,
Equinox all have classes in Middle Eastern dance during
lunch hours and after work. Classes are packed with (mostly)
women
of all ages seeking to learn bellydance, become the next
stars of local hot spots, or acquire a new aerobic regimen.
Bellydance teachers of varied experience, and sometimes
questionable professionalism, abound. When I was hired
to start the bellydance
program at New York Sports Club in 1998, I was hesitant
(and a bit snobby): Why would I want to teach a dance art
in a gym? My generation learned in dance studios. Today,
the motivation to learn dance and to perform is slightly
askew
from what
personally inspired me; but apparently that is no matter.
As the author of the Times article stated: At least
it gets them in there. Bellydance is now popular and “mainstream”
. . . in some respects. Not so long ago, New York dancers
could actually make a living as performers.
But
the primary forums for dancers, the major New York nightclubs,
have closed their doors. Cabaret is gone; it is the era of
the DJ. And the new dancer has to have another job.
This
article is based mostly on personal experience as a New York
cabaret dancer (since 1988). I was in a sense a “transitional”
dancer in New York dance history. I had the opportunity to
perform in the night clubs (Ibis, Darvish, Cedars,
etc.) as part of their “staff” at the tail-end of their existence
and was a long-time member of the Yousry Sharif Danse Ensemble.
Also, as editor-in-chief of Arabesque (1989-1997, under
publisher, Ibrahim Farrah) and associate editor
of Habibi (1998-2005 with publisher, Shareen
el Safy and subsequently Jennifer James-Long), I
learned from wonderful, established artists, many who pre-dated
me, and was continually exposed to many of the beginnings of
those transformations that have brought us to our current dance
world. As a dancer, instructor, writer, choreographer, and
director of my own troupe, I continue to witness and be directly
involved in the dance’s progress from an artistic perspective
as well as in its commercial implications.
Controversy:
Changes in Dance Style
When discussing recent changes in dance styles, typically
noted as lacking in genuine Middle Eastern sensibilities, often
it is new dancers or newer teachers that are fingered: new dancers
who have (inadvertently) compromised (unknown) standards and
new teachers who have barely studied themselves and seem to have
little relationship to the cultural milieu from which the dance
is derived. The dumbing-down of criteria is proclaimed, along
with blaming the mainstreaming of the art form (once sought after
as a measure of artistic elevation and acceptance). These changes,
however, of which many experienced dancers are legitimately concerned,
are not initiated by new dancers or new teachers or club managers
and DJs, who have little exposure to the indigenous riches from
which this dance developed and little opportunity to experience
the “authentic feelings” of live performance within an Arabic
context. Newer dancers are not purposely ignoring what came before
(and not so long ago), they just don’t know about it, experientially,
and they have little reference even to recent New York dance
history; so it is difficult to place all the responsibility at
their doorstep.
It
is also not about the new versus the old. In art, there is
no old-new dichotomy. Artistic development is a continuum
of genres which borrow concepts across historic categorizations
and from all available influences.
Fusion
is not to blame either. Fusion is neither a detriment nor new;
it is an exploration due to colliding social forces, one being
the right of an artist to investigate new voices. Even Mohammed
Abdel Wahab used jazz and Western harmonies in his
now classically-acclaimed Oriental compositions, dating
back to the 1950s.
But
which comes first: changes in style (based on personal choices)
or the socioeconomic and global-cultural environment that necessitates
adjustment and engenders change? I suggest that change in dance
style is an inexorable result of the modern temper. I could
say, it’s the economy, stupid (does not sound very civil,
though a frequent cliché); I prefer, it’s the context, baby.
A
significant manifestation – and perhaps a fundamental cause
– of recent changes in styles is the transformation of primary
performance forums in New York City.
The
move from cabaret to DJ, a major change of venue, contributes
significantly to what is being perceived – critically by some
experienced dancers – as a change in dance style. I suggest
that the change in venue necessitates a change in style and
reflects changes in audience “imaginings,” that is, what the
audience wants from a performer. Changes in available
venues alter everything from audience population, musical choices,
dance styles and interpretation, to a dancer’s motivation and
objectives. The immediate cause of this transformation is economics.
Clubs that started with a seven to ten piece “orchestra” gradually
whittled it down to a keyboard player and tabla (no
wonder CDs, with their more elaborate orchestrations, have
taken over – they are affordable and widely accessible). The
other causes are complex and refer to the sociocultural world
we inhabit:
Tastes
in music and dance inevitably “progress” through globalization
and its partner, fusion, which habitually arouses controversy
and the perpetually-argued ambivalence about preservation
and evolution. Additionally, recent and younger immigrants
from the Middle East want to be part of cutting-edge, more
universal, trends and began to view the established clubs
as a place their parents would frequent – not them.
Author performs at Cedars in NYC. click for larger image
Musicians: Ramy Nasser, Maurice Chedid, Hana Mirhije and Gaby Tawil
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Where a
dancer performs is paramount. Changes in venue inevitably influence
who dances (who is selected and hired) and who wants to dance
(the performer’s motivation). The where involves more
than just physical space (though that is also significant).
It inevitably affects many performance aspects of the dance,
a sort-of trickle-down effect: How it is taught and choreographed;
how it
is perceived; who can maintain interest in seriously pursuing
and studying a dance with a now-limited potential
as a life-style – and what kind of interest; and how
dancers can acclimate their expressions to different kinds
of spaces. Performers now, for example, are more often dancing
between tables than on a stage, and typically not for a patronage
who really “gets” the dance (as part of their culture), but
for those who want to “groove.” A certain, frenzied momentum
is expected, and volume must be high, not acoustic. Pianist Van Cliburn stated that no performer can
be 100% onstage: he/she is 50% onstage and 50% in the audience
(or of the audience).
This transaction means that who comprises the
audience affects the performance, at least to some degree.
The
dancer today, then, has no choice but to be other than
the cabaret dancer.
She
will not be doing the five-part show. A real beledi will
not likely arouse the crowd. How many new dancers have had
a chance to dance to a live mizmar taksim, for
example? How many have the opportunity to hone their unique
expressions and fine-tune their entertainment skills through
daily performances, establishing on-going and vital relationships
to the music working with the same musicians on a nightly basis,
and a recurring audience? Performance-repetition – and knowledge
of dance history – is imperative in developing and maintaining
a professional, dancing life and in becoming a strong dancer.
The
End of Cabaret
The closing of the New York Arabic clubs (by 1998, approximately)
did seem sudden, traumatic, and difficult to comprehend. Few
limped along in New Jersey, a couple lingered in Brooklyn, and
some kept opening and closing within short periods of time, hoping
to recapture what was lost. But New York’s financial empire won
out, and this small slice of an authentic, immigrant subculture
evaporated. Many still ponder why? Was it 9/11? (No.) The magnitude
of these closings was unpredictable, and its repercussions –
unforeseen at the time – are still being felt particularly by
dancers who know how different and more exciting it is to dance
nightly, to improvise to a live band in a specifically Middle
Eastern milieu, in a dramatic atmosphere where the dancer not
only had to exhibit prettiness and glamour, but had to be good,
have a signature dance personality, comprehend the Middle Eastern
vocabulary and sensibilities, and know how to entertain and relate
to musicians and the club’s largely Arabic audience. The dancer
was hired as staff, which meant a monthly schedule of regular
performances.
Today
is not the first time belly dancing has been in vogue. During
the 1980s, belly dancing was also “booming” but in an entirely
different way.
It
was one of those “best kept” secrets, practiced in Manhattan’s
Middle Eastern nightclubs. This dance “scene”
was tremendously popular to a New York subset, a subcultural
phenomenon that brought American dancers into an Arabic world
and where “regulars” — customers from all over the Middle
East — intermingled with American celebrities, such as Anthony
Quinn, Chita Rivera, and Robert Plant,
and a New York intelligentsia, who relished “pretending”
they were in the “Orient”. Arabic night clubs, such as Club
Ibis
(East 50th Street), Darvish (West 8th Street)
and Cedars of Lebanon (West 30th Street)
were packed every night till the sun rose —and not just on
the weekends. Sometimes the entertainment continued on, with
wealthy customers inviting the entire band and dancer to
perform at an after-party. The live bands were replete with
experts
on the kanoun, keyboard, accordion, nai, mizmar, tabla, def, tabl,
violins, and oud, some straight from Egypt’s Mohammed
Ali Street. We were able to work with such fine musicians
(who cared about dance and the show) such as Eddie
Kochak, Simone and Nagib
Shaheen, Hana Mirhije and his brother Michel
Merhej, Ramy Nasser, Tony Hajjar, Nabouiyah, Tony Albajian,
Maurice Chedid, Gamal Gouma, Gamal Shefik, and Hammoudah
Ali (to
name a few) and renowned singers including Charbel
Saab, Tony Frangia, Youssef Kassab, and Fahim
Dendan. Many had performed with famous dancers – Sahar
Hamdi, Nagwa Fuad, and Sohair Zaki –
before venturing to newer opportunities in the West. Often
famous artists from “over there” joined the band on select
evenings. There were usually three-four shows per night,
with different singers and dancers, or with the same artist
booked
for several shows that evening. Those who actually danced
in the clubs at that time comprised a relatively small population
. . . maybe ten dancers, accepted as models of Middle Eastern
dance style, who frequented all the clubs. Except for Ibis,
which was more commercial and Las Vegas-like, most nightclubs
were family-oriented. It was not unusual for a couple to
bring
their newborn to the shows, even if the music was loud and
it was after 1 AM. The nightclubs were the best learning
experience. We could learn from experienced dancers, great
musicians, and
the Arabic ambiance.
During
that time, a dancer would work all weekend (and even all
week), traveling from club to club and party to party (sponsored
by Arabic customers who knew the artists personally and their
styles). Dancers did not have to advertise or have websites;
once a dancer was accepted into the nightclubs, it was an
automatic ticket to engagements at parties and shows.
Customers
would see the same dancers each week, and vice versa, and would
hire dancers they knew or dancers they had just seen perform.
It was a small enclave where everyone knew each other, a small
town in a large city, and it was exciting. Shows were often
designed particularly for each dancer, permitting performers
to perfect their show while experimenting with new moves or
expressions. Dancers could establish long-term artistic relationships
with the musicians: The musicians would know an individual
dancer’s strengths and musical preferences. Except for the
weekends, the “big” night was Wednesday. Frequent visitors
from Saudi Arabia or Japan contributed large enough tips in
one evening that could possibly pay a dancer’s rent for one
or two months, and club owners were raking in the money. Dance
classes and studios, in the mean time, where American dancers
could learn the traditions of the cabaret, proliferated, taught
by masters who had learned “over there.” Many performers
frequented Fazils Dance Studio (soon now to give way
to new construction in the ever-expanding tourist center of
Times Square) and were protégés of Ibrahim Farrah or Yousry
Sharif or from Serena’s popular studio.
Our studies did not seem derivative. With the nightclubs populated
mostly by the Arab community, Americans dancers ventured into
a world that replicated the night life of the Middle East.
The
generation of dancers before mine (late 60s to early 80s) had
even more opportunity to perfect their shows. Musicians and
dancers actually regularly rehearsed in the clubs prior to
shows. (That is real artistic development!) The dance was regarded
more as a real show, crafting complete reviews (the original
Ibis and Darvish). Gradually, the clubs became more interested
in making money and less interested in expending for rehearsals
and special presentations. Subsequently, the art of performance
became one dependent completely on the improvisational instincts
and training of dancer and musician. The clubs started to short-change
artists monetarily and aesthetically in deference to the commercial
interests that eventually contributed to their demise. This
coincided with the beginnings of what Ibrahim “Bobby” Farrah
called, “the three-year career girls” – dancers who became
momentarily enamored with the “scene,” were hired for their
looks to keep a burgeoning and regular Middle Eastern crowd
amused, and eventually quit or were let go after the audience
tired of their ineptness. Dancer and musician still were close,
but it was an intimacy established onstage and in performance.
For me, who did not have the opportunity to rehearse, the surprises
and challenges of live performance were stimulating. Thinking-on-your-feet
in real-time was an amazing experience that truly depended
not only on instinctive talent but also on considerable, preliminary
training. Bottom line still was: you had to be good and you
had to dance and comprehend Middle Eastern style if you were
to establish any kind of career-longevity.
This
magical slice of Middle Eastern life in Manhattan — enormously
captivating, regardless of the frequent fights (usually over
a woman or padded checks), which sometimes resulted in short-term
police closures, and all the soap opera and related gossip
inevitable in a close-client community who socialized nightly
— is gone.
It
was a wonderful time-warp when American dancers collided with
an acculturated Arabic scene, where the dancers submitted passionately
and totally to the dictates of this mini-Arab culture (in terms
of art of dance – studied and practiced daily – and accepted
social behavior, for the most part), and the Arab audience
accepted the American dancer as a provisional representation
of their culture. As American dancers, transported to a Middle
Eastern milieu and heavy nightclub environment, we could always
safely move back into our American culture by day. And then,
seemingly suddenly, in the late 1990s, though the signs were
already there, the clubs disintegrated. Disks supplanted the
orchestra.
Other
developments contributed to the end of the cabaret: New casinos
in Atlantic City provided free entertainment of the top singers
for Middle Easterners (Lots more fun to gamble, look rich,
and see famous Arabic singers for free); Gentrification and
real estate greed, with its dismantling of affordable residential
and commercial rents, are continually and quickly changing
the social fabric of a once immigrant-rich New York. New York
is less and less affordable or welcoming either to immigrants
or artists; additionally, those who managed the clubs also
often mismanaged, attempting to make quick financial gains
which amounted to corruption typical in nightclubs and often
led to the club closing for illegalities. The Gulf War, several
intifadas and 9/11 further reduced interest in Arabic entertainment
– only to some degree. A Palestinian friend, stating understandable
empathy to the trials of relatives and friends after the more
recent intifada said, “We cannot have dancers at our parties
any more. We do not feel like celebrating. Besides the dancers
now are just about sex.”
The
end of the nightclubs has modified the dance scene in New York
(and possibly beyond) irrevocably. One famous Egyptian teacher,
who resides in New York, stated: “It goes in cycles. The clubs
will come back.” But I don’t think so. Vaudeville is gone forever,
and so is the Middle Eastern cabaret in New York.
Changes in Venue = Changes in Style
My observations here are generalized and are more about questions
than answers. Most new dancers do not know what it is like to
dance 20-40 minutes to a melodically and rhythmically intricate
five-part composition for a knowledgeable Arabic audience. Most
do not know how each section correlates to a different mode,
rhythmic variations from different geographic areas, or how to build an
entire dance composition. Most will never see dancers of their
prior generation construct a complete dance composition of more
than ten minutes. The sensual art of Middle Eastern dance is
now more about sexy MTV imitations or acrobatic technical executions
to an underlying, synthetic, four-count American drum beat than
it is about conveying that subtle, dynamic and visceral sensibility
with all its rhythmic changes that is Middle Eastern – because
that is what is known, seen, heard, and shared. The period of
the New York Arabic cabaret was immensely intriguing, with artistic
objectives seemingly without end. We, as dancers entered
“their” world. Now, the audience enters the dancers’ world, wherever that
may be. While
the closing of the clubs is due to a complicated combination
of reasons; primarily, it is the economy that initially forced
the clubs to close; and economy has forced alterations. When
the venue changes so does the art form. Space affects movement.
Money affects length of show: A ten-minute show costs a lot
less than twenty minutes; A DJ costs a lot less than an orchestra.
Hiring DJs instead of musicians automatically changes the construct
of the dance composition. Audience population affects the type
of show.
In
a world where sound bites have more impact than documentaries
and jingles are more memorable than symphonic themes, dancers
performing in brief segments have more chance of keeping
up with the shorter attention span of a younger, more American
audience, than those performing the dramatic, climatic, more
introspective 20-40-minute compositions.
Aside
from spatial and economic considerations, the aesthetics and
content of performance adjusts to different “imaginings” of
the audience. Presentations of the dance today are more about
audience participation: Everyone wants to be of the
party, not just a voyeur. In cabaret, initially, the dancer
did not invite audience members to dance with her/him, except
for certain segments. In fact, we were asked not to do so.
(There were many explicit and non-spoken social rules of behavior,
dictated by remnants of the cultural context.) If an audience
member joined in, it was usually to throw money, dance a short
while and respectfully leave the stage so the dancer could
execute her or his show. If (usually a) “he” did
not leave, the manager would intervene and politely escort
the transgressor from the stage. Arabic audiences came to see
the singer and dancer and to celebrate symbols of their art
and homeland. For the American audience, it is certainly also
a celebration, but the social dictates are completely different:
American audiences want to perform (think karaoke),
and adhering to this, managers will request the dancer to make
sure there is ample audience participation. All of this adds
up to an entirely different process of performance. Choreography,
too, is an entirely different art from improvisation, and dancing
to CD is an entirely different process than dancing to a live
band. These alterations signify a necessary change in dance
style.
Yousry and his ensemble with Amar
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The
Other Belly Dance Booms
Belly dance is presumed to have been introduced to the United
States first through a World Fair in Philadelphia and subsequently
in the 1863 Chicago World’s Fair where Sol
Bloom brought “Little Egypt” to perform the “hootchy-kootchy”
considered scandalous as it was not presented as a cultural representation
as much as a titillating, sexual display to accrue audience attention
(and money). Hence, belly dance started in the US as a semi-burlesque
form of dance with a fabricated history of the harem girl or
myths of “Little Egypt.” Hollywood loved the scenario, and old
films abound with harem girls dancing to entrance the male species
and other goddess-nonsense. And then, there was the “Dance of
the Seven Veils,” not
really of the Bible, but imaginatively
translated into legend by Oscar Wilde. All this
— seen by some as denigrating and a platform for protest — is
mostly a playful stereotype based on rather natural human whimsies
of sex and entrapment.” Bellydance fit a pre-existing fantasy.
Much like Sicilian mob stories: Is the mafia a criminal organization;
a righteous, political protest; a fabrication demonstrating prejudice
against Italians; or a romanticizing of primal spirit of family
unity and loyalty – all of which fascinates both fans and its
detractors? How many seek to become bellydancers because of its
myths which permeate our collective psyche? It’s a little bit play.
None of this is so grave, if those who are serious keep the real
stuff distinct, potent and alive. Belly
dance encompasses many of the paradoxes of human sexuality
and the spirit of women, archetypes of human imagination
and desire. Yet, aside from the universal element of belly
dance, which entices male and female alike, it must not be
forgotten that this is a dance, not just an imaginative
concept, rooted in Middle Eastern culture, derivative of
the sexual and social conflicts of that culture, and ultimately
a theatricalized version of Arabic folklore. It is here where
belly dance harbors its heart.
New
York in the 1960s to late 70s/early 80s, as the Mecca of immigrants
it used to be, a city that welcomed ethnic diversity, was resplendent
with Mediterranean-oriented nightclubs. The night clubs on
Eighth Avenue, referred to as “Greektown,” were frequented
by Middle Eastern and Turkish immigrants and featured live
orchestras, immigrants from “over there” who lived here and
worked together night after night with dancers who were primarily
of Turkish heritage and/or American. The bands were an eclectic
group from Greece, Turkey, Armenia, and the Middle East who
played music mostly of an Armenian-Turkish flavor. Apropos
of New York then, the customers also were a mixed bag of Arabic,
Greek, Turkish, Armenian, Persian, Israeli, and American heritage. Serena
Wilson, Morocco,
Jemela Omar, Ozel Turkbas, Sabah Nissan, and Soraya
Melik were among the famous American dancers who meshed
this dance with their own individualistic expressions. They
were (and are) marvelous performers who knew the Arabic vocabulary
and used the technique to create their own personas, fashioning
wonderful recreations of Middle Eastern dance in America. “They
had faces then.”
In
the late 60s, Serena Wilson and Bobby Farrah opened the first
schools in New York: Bobby, the first to teach Middle Eastern
dance in an accredited dance school, at the International
Dance School at Carnegie Hall (Elena Lentini, Phaedra,
and Jajouka, principal dancers in his company
and soloists in their own rite, joined Bobby’s teaching staff)
and Serena at “Stairway to the Stars.” Shortly thereafter, Anahid
Sofian and Morocco followed with their own studios.
Bobby founded the Ibrahim Farrah School of Middle Eastern
Dance at Fazils and, in 1981, engaged Yousry Sharif as
a major instructor. When Bobby retired (around 1996), Yousry
created his Egyptian Academy of Oriental Dance to continue
the legacy of teaching dance and how to perform. When a student
attended these classes, she/he was privileged not only to learn
the theatrics of cabaret but the folkloric foundations of the
dance. It was imperative that the student pursuing a professional
career not only acquire the entertainment values of costuming
and glamorous appearance, but also knowledge of Middle Eastern
music and technique. If lucky and talented, a student could
be asked to join the instructor’s troupe, which meant dedicated
time for rehearsals. All the leading teachers established active,
wonderfully talented troupes comprised of members who were
soloists in their own rite; the most renowned being Farrah’s Near
East Dance Group.
In
the mid 80s, a newer immigrant wave of Arabs from Lebanon,
Syria, Saudi Arabia, Palestine, and Egypt became predominant.
Middle
Eastern clubs with a more Arabic flavor opened and flourished,
culminating in the immense popularity of Club Ibis, Darvish,
and Cedars of Lebanon. But still, this was largely an “underground”
culture, known mostly by the immigrant community and serious
dancers. There were satellite “circuits” that coincided with
these centers: a few, still well-attended Greek and Turkish
clubs that engaged dancers trained in that style; and the
restaurant circuit which, at the time, mostly hired beginner
dancers,
hobbyists, or those not selected to dance at the clubs. Club
management, unlike today, knew the difference between new
and experienced dancers and usually scheduled dancers appropriately,
with new dancers getting fewer monthly dates till they learned
their craft. There were always exceptions, of course – like,
if someone dated the manager. The
dance has gone through many evolutions in its history on the
American soil. Its latest derivation — sports clubs and DJ
nightspots — signifies less of the Middle Eastern flavor and
more of a fusion between East and West and a mimicking of other
disco moves. This new interest, or, more precisely, “renewed”
interest, in “belly dance” has created some controversy in
its ranks: It has been embraced by new dancers and chastised
by many of its established professionals who are perplexed
or disturbed by the emergence or divergence of “bellydance”
from “classical” Oriental dance. Belly dancing today, along
with its inseparable companion, Middle Eastern music, inevitably
reflects globalization and gentrification.
What
results is a fusion of Western and Eastern sounds and movement
– both across geographical borders and musical genres (hip-hop
and rap have been incorporated into Middle Eastern sonorities
and vice versa) – the best of which is novel and compelling,
the worst of which is an insipid mess or just plain boring
in its repetitive shallowness. And the music impacts the
dance; so does the performance venue. Newer dancers can’t
help it.
Today’s
world music exhibits continual sharing of ethnic genres. Amr
Diab, Cheb Mami, Alabina, and Hakim, as
prime examples, blend Western harmonies in their songs. One
can hear them on American radio and even on the loudspeakers
at record stores, which at first completely shocked me. Shakira implements
Middle Eastern dance moves in her songs. (Many beginning students
have said to me they want to “dance like Shakira.”) El Clon, a
popular television series in South America, included Middle
Eastern music and dancing. The results of these global inclusions
have exposed Middle Eastern music and dance to a more widespread
audience, and it has been electrifying a cross-cultural interest.
Many new dance students not only come to the sports club for
exercise, but also have been influenced by these pop singers
and El Clon. (Another “context”: worldwide media
exposure.) Others, who become impassioned with the dance,
may venture forth into dance studios that offer a more serious,
in-depth study of the dance, its music, and Middle Eastern
culture and find teachers who they recognize as having knowledge
and artistic depth.
Finding
Center
While beginners flock to classes, full of naive exuberation
and anticipation of unexplored sensual and glitzy frontiers;
knowledgeable and experienced dancers despair over a lack of
standards in its teaching, presentation and interpretation: its
watered-down fusion-laid vocabulary, disconnection from its folkloric
foundations, t-and-a orientation, and pseudo-sensationalism,
all of which advocate artificiality at the cost of genuine artistry.
Others welcome its natural evolution, viewing its latent popularity
as a positive development that merges cultures and ensures longevity.
So herein lays the eternal question or paradox between popular
and “high” art. The
cabaret genre in America has been reassigned from its former
position of cutting-edge (“popular”) new presentations of
Middle Eastern song and dance – an active part of the lives
of Middle Easterners in America and the dancers who participated
– to the role of the classic (“high”) relic – something to
be mimicked and studied in an American environment, but with
little to no opportunity to live it and actively explore
it.
If
I were to be starting today, I probably would not. The Arabic
component in the venue is essential for me. For me, the Middle
Eastern subculture, being privy to participate in their world,
is what attracted me to this art. I wanted to be it,
not act it. I personally am not moved by what I consider
the “appendages” of the dance – exercise, acrobatics, myths,
costumes, allure – these components, while lovely and important,
are now out of context. What inspired me I presume likewise
stimulated my colleagues (and those before me): an opportunity
to learn the specific technique attuned to the unique Arabic
feeling and to develop one’s own special style – within
that context. The change in venue obviously attracts a
different kind of dancer and exemplifies a different motivation
to dance. Bellydance is essentially a solo art, and narcissism
and ego manifestation, as in all performance art, are basic
elements of communicating art expressions. But only a
part of it, if one truly wants to disseminate the art. In our
modern temper, however, narcissism reigns supreme (American
Idol, Reality TV), and the desire to be star, even for
only fifteen minutes, is an imperative for self-definition
and acknowledgement. New dancers are attracted to the bling,
the glitter, the sex, the attention, the accessibility of stardom
in the local watering hole – the appendages – as those components
are now more accentuated and accessible than comprehending
the original culture: New venue, a new context, new motivation.
And
so, this art can be taught
in a gym. I am not knocking this:
I am observing it. It is an adolescent stage.
The
bellydance community today is sometimes described as being
fragmented; but I think the real issue is that it lacks a “center.”
Without a “center,” establishing standards
and criteria that
experienced artists adhere to, wish to incorporate for the
newer community of dancers, and to forward for preservation
of this dance art, is extremely difficult. There is little
in the way of frame of reference for new dancers or for experienced
dancers to congregate. There are only a few worthy dance publications.
Anyone can make themselves “famous” through advertising:
vending videos, YouTube, and internet sites. Another more serious
liability
in the current dance world is that dancers are beginning to
look the same, doing the same movements. They are robotically
expert, but devoid of the rugged edges of individuality that
make each artist distinct, simply because newer dancers have
access to all the same video sources and little access to what was.
The prolific-ness of dance videos and instructors, while marvelous
on one hand, is devoid of cohesive criticism and few know what
to choose, what is valuable. With the loss of Bobby Farrah,
New York lost a crucial “center” for critical aesthetic assessment.
Thankfully, there are still active and knowledgeable instructors
in New York who maintain their own and remain deeply invested
in propagating the art, through new choreographies, on
an international scale, at seminars and concerts – Yousry Sharif,
Elena Lentini, Phaedra, Anahid Sofian, and Morocco, amongst
others.
New
and experienced dancers, if serious, have responsibility
toward Middle Eastern dance. Newer dancers need to take the
time to learn about the foundation of the dance so that their
fusion is created from an informed basis and to learn from
dancers who have preceded them. Without regarding those who
preceded them, there is no depth and no possibility of creating
a new “center.” Experienced dancers need not only to educate
and present this foundation but also to welcome its inevitable
transformations.
future fusion fantasy princess |
As
the social fabric changes, the art form is reflective of
that transformation. These changes are not consciously driven,
but
evolve. Rather than be critical of these forces, it is most
productive and most interesting to observe these changes
in the dance itself; try to comprehend what elements circumscribe
the new bellydance and its so-called “boom”; examine why
they
occurred; adjust; and re-direct, if needed. All involved,
living artists must respond to the changing atmosphere, those
developments
which we cannot control; and most dancers, who want to remain
“progressive,” have. While many have worked hard, over decades,
to bring Middle Eastern dance to the forefront as a legitimate
art form; this works inevitably hand-in-hand toward making
it mainstream.
Once
mainstream, elitists either have to relinquish some of their
critical stronghold on its maintenance or accelerate
it.
In
becoming mainstream, something is lost and something is gained.
One thing that has been gained is a proliferation
of dancer-sponsored workshops and shows, theatre productions,
and new studios. The “scene,” once controlled by the Arab
nightclub community and management, is now more dancer-directed.
From
the closing of the clubs and diminishing of “real” opportunities,
dancers are learning to create their own venues – outside
of what was formerly mostly a Middle Eastern enclave – often
re-creating
their own semblance of the cabaret. I
am continually impressed by both new dancers who forge ahead
in an economically-challenged profession, making adjustments
they do not even know they are making, courageously doing their
art in a virtual, cultural vacuum; and experienced artists
who perpetually re-invent new ways to keep the art alive, the
classical culture invigorated, and novel means to bring their
art to broader audiences. With the advent of more dancer-directed
programs, theatre productions have increased. The dance is
bigger than the individual and bigger than the era we live
in. But, still, – in New York – what can replace that rugged
terrain of unadulterated, artistic exploration that was the
cabaret?
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Check the "Letters to the Editor" for
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Ready
for more?
5-20-03 Loving
Remembrance & Requiem: the Best “School”That
Ever Was, Part 1 by Morocco/ Carolina Varga Dinicu
I looked at
her & said, “If I can’t do better than that, I’ll
hand in my feet!”A case of having more guts than brains.
2-28-08 How
the Recession Affects Your Classes And What You Can Do About
It by Mira
The
major issues with attracting students are ever-present. They’re
just more pronounced during hard times. Here’s what you’ll
likely start hearing from your current and prospective students. 5-6-07 How
to Charge What You Are Worth by MIchelle Joyce
The
first step to becoming an effective negotiator is to emotionally
detach yourself from the outcome. If you can’t walk away from
the deal, you have already lost it.
3-5-08 Learning
Matrix: A Long Journey, The Belly Dance Scene in Taiwan,
by Lisa Chen
Sometimes,
one might have to admit that learning only choreographies might lead
students and dancers away from learning the essential elements of
traditional Belly dance.
3-17-08 Photos
from Carnival of Stars 2007- A-Z Page 3 Casual photos by
Carl Sermon, Duane Stevens, John Kalb, Murat Bayhan,
and Lynette Harris
Novemenber
10 & 11, 2007, produced by Alexandria and Latifa Centennial Hall
in Hayward,
California
3-15-08 Love
Stories…The Choreographies of Raqia Hassan,
by Astryd Farah deMichele
A
new feeling emerged about how the music truly is the dance, it
creates the dance…the feelings behind Egyptian music, the
soul of the music, are that which we experience as artists and
dance to; for performers, so that it can be visually displayed.
3-13-08 Enduring
Open Criticism: A Student’s Question about Feeling
Humiliated by Najia Marlyz
What
is wrong with our form of dance today is a direct result of the
current trend for treating dance students as if they were in therapy
or grade school (or both). |