Boy Blue returns to Lincoln Center with Blak Whyte Gray at Mostly Mozart Festival (photo by Carl Fox)
MOSTLY MOZART FESTIVAL
Gerald W. Lynch Theater at John Jay College
524 West Fifty-Ninth St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
August 1–3, 7:30
Festival continues through August 9
www.lincolncenter.org
boyblueent.com
London-based troupe Boy Blue’s Blak Whyte Gray consists of a trio of vibrant, electrifying works that fuse hip-hop, contemporary dance, and African movement while taking on the current state of sociopolitical tension in England, America, and the world. “Do we crack and break the system made for us? / rules give people purpose / can you tell them what they know is a lie?” Boy Blue cofounder, composer, and co-artistic director Michael “Mikey J” Asante asks in a poem printed in the program. “Inhale. Exhale. / You’re ALIVE / Wake Up / It’s REVOLUTION.” Blak Whyte Gray made its US debut last November at Lincoln Center’s White Light Festival, where it was such a hit that it’s back for a special return engagement at the Mostly Mozart Festival, continuing through August 3 at the Gerald W. Lynch Theater at John Jay College. It’s divided into three thrilling sections in which Asante and choreographer and director Kenrick “H2O” Sandy proceed from the subtle to the overt in making their case.
Michael “Mikey J” Asante and Kenrick “H2O” Sandy call for revolution in Blak Whyte Gray (photo by Carl Fox)
The evening begins with Whyte, with Gemma Kay Hoody, Ricardo Da Silva, and Nicole McDowall in white fringed dress that evokes both straitjackets and Japanese anime robots; the three dancers move like automatons, seemingly trapped in a white rectangular box, at one point their hands behind their backs as if handcuffed. On the screen behind them is projected a white box with black vertical lines that recalls a barcode or uneven prison bars; the barcode shows up again on the floor in a later piece. (The costumes are by Ryan Dawson Laight, the lighting by Lee Curran.) The dancers move as if controlled by rather than in response to the music, individually and in unison, eventually letting out silent screams. Gray opens with Theophillus “Godson” Oloyade, wearing a hooded winter jacket, sliding on his back onto the stage, soon joined by Natasha Gooden, Jordan Franklin, and others, incorporating hip-hop, African dance, and krumping as they rally together in an uprising, pointing unseen rifles and lobbing invisible hand grenades at the audience in a powerful statement of action rather than reaction.
Following intermission, the troupe returns for the scintillating Blak: A man falls to the ground, possibly dead, and is surrounded by others, who try to resuscitate him, lift him up, and get him to stand on his own. The community refuses to give up, and moments later they are wrapping him in an elegant red cloth, as if anointing him king, an indirect reference to Asante’s Ghanaian and Egyptian heritage, while masks descend paying tribute to their ancestors. The company, which also includes Dani Harris-Walters and Idney De’Almeida, is extraordinary, bold and physical, with exquisite control of their bodies. Blak Whyte Gray is an exhilarating experience, with a spectacular conclusion that is filled with hope for a new conception of individual and collective identity.
Fifty years ago, a film came along that perfectly captured sociopolitical changes taking place across America; the golden anniversary of that revolutionary tale is being celebrated on September 20 at Radio City Music Hall with a special one-night-only screening introduced by one of the stars and featuring songs played live by some of the original artists. Tickets go on sale at noon on August 2 for Easy Rider Live, a gala presentation of a newly remastered print of Dennis Hopper’s seminal film, which was named Best First Work at Cannes, with opening remarks by costar Peter Fonda and live performances by Roger McGuinn, John Kay of Steppenwolf, and special guests, produced by T Bone Burnett.
In 1966, Brooklyn-born photographer Jay Maisel moved into the 1898 Germania Bank Building on the corner of Bowery and Spring, purchased with a now astonishing $25,000 down payment. Nearly fifty years later, in early 2015, after decades of taking pictures and collecting tens of thousands of random items, he was forced to sell the graffiti-laden, six-floor, 36,000-square-foot property because of rising maintenance costs; at fifty-five million dollars, it was the largest private real estate deal in New York history. One of his protégés, Stephen Wilkes — who back in the 1970s knocked on Maisel’s door and showed him his portfolio — documents Maisel’s months-long exit from the landmark building as he and a team of assistants sift through the maelstrom and Maisel regales him with stories from his career, which has included shooting for advertising agencies, Sports Illustrated, New York magazine, and jazz legends. “Objects are there for you only if you really see them. If you don’t, they don’t exist. And a lot of people don’t see things,” Maisel philosophizes. “Before you’re going to be able to see, you have to look. And before you can look, you have to want to look. And art is, to some effect, trying to make others see what you see.”
