.dancing.the.unexpected.

In life, things happen that completely derail a plan, sending a person into tailspin of the unexpected that, depending on your reaction and subsequent actions, can be wonderful or horrible. And when creating art...well...you just have to expect it.

Quite frequently, and with growing frequency, I've been dancing with live bands. It's something I love, much much more than canned music. Live music is a living breathing thing, and the energy from the crowd is tangible - already built up by the musicians, which can make a dance performance much easier and more beautiful. However, it also carries with it the unexpected. Live music does not sound like the recorded version of the same song. Aside from the acoustics being different - the timing changes, the inflection of vocals can become completely flipped, and you never really know what's going to happen just while you're on stage. Maneuvering around band members, dealing with the occasional audience member in your space, thrown objects, stage blindness.

Basically, when dancing with live musicians, you have to be able to adapt to anything at a moments notice, and keep dancing. Choreography, unless you have the fortunate circumstance of being able to rehearse ad nauseum with the band (along with a huge amount of floor room for the actual performance) is almost impossible.



Two weeks ago I had the joy of performing with Kila at the Kansas City Irish Festival for the second year running. This year KCIF asked me to perform with the band both days, which brought in the added bonus of getting to do the same set twice - hopefully to the benefit of the second day. I had a preliminary set list from Kila - found the songs on iTunes, and also found the same songs on YouTube so that I could compare the recorded sound with the live. And then I practiced to it all - not choreography, but getting acclimated to their rhythm and sound and intonations, and variations on all of the above.

The Saturday evening show went well - the songs they played had changed order, and a few other songs had been added in. At one point while I was dancing on stage, one of the boys pulled a young girl up to dance on stage as well. But no catastrophies.

One of the songs was not something that was recorded - it was a slow sad piece, dedicated to a girl who'd died in Afghanistan. Hearing it, it sounded perfect for a sword dance, both in tone and mood, as well as tempo. I spoke with Kila, and they thought sword to that song sounded like a beautiful idea, and we rolled with it.

And then...
Sundays performance was much better attended - mostly for the lack of rain. At some point during the show, the same girl from the previous evening was dancing at the front of the audience again. I'm not sure exactly what happened - the band seemed to be acknowledging her and applauding her dancing - and then suddenly she was there, on stage with me as I'm about to begin dancing with my sword.
My antique sharpened Persian sword that I chose for it's lighter weight.

I was horrified. I'm still horrified. While I was dancing I asked the boys near me to keep her farther forward - but they were also occupied with playing their music, and the show must go on apparently. I spent five minutes spinning and swinging this sword, trying desperately to keep an eye on this small blond girl who seemed determined to keep backing up into me.

After the fact, the band loved it. Because it was a song about a girl who died - and the image of a child dancing despite the danger made a beautiful poignant image. However, it still makes me queasy - though it might be a lovely idea for a planned choreographed piece with another trained professional dancer.

Obviously everything was fine - or I'd be in jail, and you'd have heard about it on the evening news.
But that's the lessons - anything can happen. And anything will happen. And you just have to keep dancing, keep working, and try your best not to hurt anybody in the process.