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What we know mostly as movements within suites--minuet and gigue, allemande and sarabande, gavotte, musette and bourée--once denoted movement itself, as dance and music went hand in hand through the courts of Europe. Dance notation never achieved the universality of musical notation, however, so though Baroque music remains popular today, the art of Baroque dance is largely forgotten. Portland Baroque Orchestra offered a rare glimpse of the lost world of courtly and theatrical dance last weekend in an intriguing program performed with the Ken Pierce Baroque Dance Company. Pierce is a choreographer and scholar of early dance who, along with ensemble members Susan Liu, Bruce Roberts and Melinda Sullivan, presented dances of early opera and courtly ballet to music of Handel, Purcell and French composers of the time of Louis XIV. The pieces were not historical reproductions--Pierce has restaged centuries-old dances, but there is no extant choreography for the works on the program--but they drew on a deep understanding of the steps and styles of the period. Compared with the drama and muscularity of ballet as we now know it, Baroque dance is subdued, and the artistry of the dancers correspondingly less conspicuous. Of the genres with which modern audiences might be familiar, it is mostly strongly reminiscent of contradance, only more restrained, and highly refined. Upward movements generally come on strong beats, lending a light, airy quality. Steps are intricate and symmetrical, requiring a high level of concentration; as the soft-spoken and erudite Pierce said in a talk before Friday's performance, "Errors in Baroque dance are glaringly obvious." Grace and subtlety are less obvious (which explains why they are often held in such low esteem), but the company's performance exemplified both. Pierce's dances, like the music that accompanies them, have a liveliness that keeps their refinement from seeming effete, and the dancers' technical ability adds to the effect: The angelic Sullivan executed an intricate solo, landing from her many light jumps without the merest whisper from her shoes. Equally impressive was the way that dancers and orchestra complemented each other, strengthening the impression of dance and music intertwined in a single form. In addition to the dance numbers, the concert featured soprano LeaAnne DenBeste in portions of Handel's Alcina, Purcell's The Fairy Queen and Lully's Les Festes de L'Amour et de Bacchus, as well as in Louis-Nicholas Clérambault's obscure Le Soleil, vaiqueur des nuages, a meteorological allegory of the power of the Sun King. After a shaky beginning, DenBeste sang impressively, particularly in the hairpin ornamental turns and vocal leaps of Purcell. Her voice, pure and lithe but with a rawness in the lower register, is well suited to the ensemble, from which Monica Huggett elicited a typically tight and energetic performance. The dancing master was a common figure in the households of the nobility, and the rise of the bourgeoisie saw an overall technical decline in dance. Not far into the 18th century, Baroque dance music came to take on a life of its own; J.S. Bach's cello suites, for example--Yo-Yo Ma's recent multimedia interpretations notwithstanding--are late adaptations of the forms not intended to be danceable. But an experience of the physicality of those forms such as Ken Pierce's company gives can change how we listen, even if we happen to be seated spectators rather than active participants. |
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