The Odd Couple

[April 9th, 2003] In the '60s, the Judson Dance Theater, lead in part by Yvonne Rainer, staged a dance coup. Consciously defying movement leaders, their revolution threw out the modern drama of Martha Graham and the frozen smile of ballet until they were left with dance for dance's sake. Their style, as Rainer famously wrote, says "no to spectacle, no to virtuosity, no to transformations and magic and make-believe."

Although this legacy marks postmodern dance's rigorously pedestrian style to this day, the majority of the actual works that sparked the movement have fallen by the wayside. Choreographers Linda K. Johnson and Shelley Senter will act as "dance mediums" this weekend as they revisit the pieces that started it all, including Rainer's seminal workout Trio A. But a powerful echo of Rainer's thoughts on dance is also voiced by another more unlikely ally, a man who once created moves for rappers Run DMC--hip-hop master Rennie Harris.

Johnson and Senter's bill of postmodern classics, Works [1966-2003], holds court at Reed College, while across town Harris breaks it down with his newest stage work, Facing Mekka.

After securing Rainer's permission, Johnson and Senter set out to capture the original intent of some early pomo gems. "We want people to remember what the roots were so that dance continues to keep these physical ideas alive," says Portlander Johnson."There are things that need to be saved."

Senter tackles excerpts from Trisha Brown's Glacial Decoy and Foray Forêt as well as performing Remy Charlip's charmingly open-ended Airmail Dance. Johnson takes on Miller's fervent solo Rain, Trio A, and a new solo of her own.

As staunch as Rainer was in her quest to define what new dance shall not be in her day, hip-hop pioneer Harris is hesitant to define any limits on expression: "All dance is worship. I don't want to tell a story, and I'm not trying to make [the audience] come away with anything. The most I can hope is that people will come to share instead of being entertained."

After more than 20 years of performing and choreographing hip-hop routines for entertainers like Salt 'n' Pepa and Kool Moe Dee, Harris' in-your-face stage mix of the bawdy bard and street-thug cheek in 2000's Rome & Jewels had critics fawning like, well, critics. And now, Mekka, a body-quaking spiritual quest complete with a 17-member crew of dancers, percussionists and DJs (as well as a Harris solo connecting hip-hop with Japanese Butoh) seems to seal Harris' fate as the dance world's hip-hop superstar.

But Harris, 38, is committed to moving the typically flashy, ghetto-fabulous image of hip-hop away from entertainment, focusing on a positive shockwave of energy.

Not that he thinks he's the Messiah of some "new dance." "If I thought I was actually doing something, I'd probably be wack at it," he insists. "There just doesn't need to be any specific elements in dance. Just the freedom to be doing your thing and to create whatever you want to create--that's hip-hop."

To have the autonomy to create movement as you see fit without presupposed limits or conventions--now that sounds familiar.