The spring home season of the Alonzo King Lines Ballet featured two stunning musical collaborations, including a world premiere of “The Beauty of Dissolving Portraits,” which showcased Oakland native and Grammy-nominated composer and trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire. And a revival of “Scheherazade” with longtime collaborator, tabla virtuoso, and acclaimed composer Zakir Hussain. This dance marked the second Lines Ballet performance with Hussain’s enduring music since his passing last December, the first, a tribute to him at Grace Cathedral.
“The Beauty of Dissolving Portraits” was Ambrose Akinmusire’s first composition for the company and was performed live with recorded segments interspersed. His breathy trumpet playing sometimes resembled a foghorn, while at other times, it evoked a Miles Davis riff or the sound of fluttering birds. Against his atmospheric score, soloists emerged on a rectangular stage framed by fluorescent tubes. The choreography appeared tailored for each of the twelve dancers, as if the soloist had choreographed themselves. This series of portraits, one following the other, features Alonzo King’s signature ballet movements, punctuated by the daring twist of an ankle or a twirl that ends in a collapse to the floor, always with arms extensions and the bare backs of the men creating their muscular lines and patterns. Robert Rosenwasser’s muted-colored skirts on the men accentuated their defined torsos and swirled like waves around them. Rosenwasser clad the women in shimmering tunics.
But not all solos were created equal, and midway, Theo Duff-Grant commanded the stage with his stunning, porcelain physicality. He captivated with virtuoso movements as his ribbed torso arched into a near drop-back backbend before he swung his leg behind him, his foot inches from his head. Duff-Grant’s presence and beauty are immense. When he stopped, hunched over to catch his breath, Marusya Madubuko moved across the stage like a tumbleweed. At another moment, two male dancers joined him, as if to spur him on, leaving as quickly as they arrived. Reenergized, Duff-Grant triumphantly completes his task. The portrait is complete—a fine one at that.
Marusya Madubuko returned at the end of the piece in a frenzy, as if possessed by the trumpet’s blasting syncopation, her movements agitated as she danced over dancers strewn on the floor. The curtain descended on this final portrait with Madubuko still in motion.
As abstract as “Beauty” was, “Scheherazade” followed the Arabic classic narrative of “One Thousand and One Nights.” In that fable, the troubled emperor of ancient Persia, Shahryār, possessed a low tolerance for infidelity, which he dealt with by marrying a different virgin each night, only to execute her by morning. One night, during another marriage, his new wife, Scheherazade, begins to tell the king a story that never ends. Keeping him intrigued and herself alive, Scheherazade devises enough stories to last nearly three years. In the process, she saved the other women of her community and healed Shahryār’s male toxicity, transforming him into her lover; his heart broke open.
“Scheherazade” is a timeless tale about power, its abuse, its dynamic exchange, and the hope that love can conquer all. This story has endured through the centuries because it remains relevant, especially in today’s world, where a mentally sick ruler acts similarly to the tormented Shahryār.
When Alonzo King premiered his version of “Scheherazade” in 2009, it was a huge success, but hardly as relevant as today. Who would have imagined it could take on even greater significance sixteen years later, making the dance as timeless and powerful as the original Middle Eastern folktale?
Zakir Hussain’s score reinterpreted the original music by Rimsky-Korsakov, blending traditional Persian instruments with Western ones. This lush and dramatic, pounding score, featuring ethereal Indian vocals that wafted in and out, perfectly established the overarching ambiance for the dance—a power exchange of tension and grace between Shahryār (Shuaib Elhassan) and Scheherazade (Adji Cissoko).
Equally impactful were Axel Morgenthaler’s dusty, smoke-filled lighting and Robert Rosenwasser’s rust-colored floating silk or crinoline fabric sculpture that rose and fell, pulsed and drifted like a cloud, above the dancers. At one point, as Shahryār’s transformation deepened and he became softer, the stage darkens, as flame-colored, teardrop-shaped, cloth lamps descend one at a time, melting upon contact with the floor. The lamps look like oil lanterns.
The effect was mesmerizing as Shahryār and Scheherazade danced more as equals, no longer as enslaved woman and master as they had earlier, with Scheherazade’s ankle shackled. Where she had once allowed him to control her to win his trust, he now yields to her as if eating from her hand. Adji Cissoko and Shuaib Elhassan danced their roles perfectly, with a tangible chemistry and genuine passion. Their connection is as strong as their talents. Then the oil-like lamps ascended like flames as ghostly figures, as the emperor’s high official (Mikal Gilbert) dances silhouetted upstage.
The company performed solos between Shahryār and Scheherazade’s dances, one dancer in a peacock-feathered tutu in front of a peacock-feathered backdrop. At another junction, four of the men caught Mael Amatoul as he leaped from a run into their arms, before being carried above their heads like a prize. Amatoul’s dancing felt electrically charged, full of emotion and verve, which handsomely complemented his technical skills. He danced with a joyous abandon that was hard not to notice. When the troupe formed an upstage line, it became a barrier for the soloist to interact with and served as a moving fence, corralling soloists into tighter and tighter spaces, until they made their way to the sweaty conclusion, each dancer drenched from giving their all. “Scheherazade,” is Alonzo King’s master work.
David e. Moreno
