In essence, American choreographer Trajal Harrell’s magnificent The Köln Concert reveals how dance can embody music and feeling. Performed by seven exceptional and exceptionally individualistic dancers, including Harrell himself, it doesn’t so much accompany Keith Jarrett’s celebrated 1975 free jazz musings as drink them in, letting the effervescent architecture and freedom of the recorded music escape through movement.
On a bare stage set with seven piano benches, the piece begins with four songs by Joni Mitchell that help the audience get its eye, ears and heart in sync with what’s unfolding. It’s a genius move, the gentle sweeps of arms and repetitive gestures, and a voguing fashion show of assorted mismatched garments, introducing the much more complex choreography that follows.
Now the dancers of the Zürich Dance Ensemble – New Kyd, Maria Ferreira Silva, Rob Fordeyn, Thibault Lac, Songhay Toldon and Ondrej Vidlar – are all dressed in black goddess gowns, each worn differently. As Jarrett’s Köln recording begins, Toldon enters, head clutched in hands, his limbs convulsing, hand shooting upwards as if catching the insouciance of the notes as they fall through the air.
Each dancer in turn responds to the sound, and the music seems to ripple through them. Sometimes their fingers pick out a flourish or a grace note; sometimes their entire bodies shiver, tremble and trip through the music. Lac, extraordinarily, throws his arms backwards like wings, stamping, jerking and turning like a person possessed, joy and sorrow surging through his whole being.
Harrell’s Köln Concert was made in 2020, with social distancing rules in place, so the dancers never touch. But by the close, they rise together, rearranging themselves as if in cascading harmonies, slowly forming a circle like figures on a Greek vase, models of grace and symmetry. The intensity of their listening, the beauty of their poses, seem to make the music visible.
