Witty but respectful interpretation
Scottish Ensemble/ Andersson Dance Barbican Theatre
Some great musical works cry out for a choreographic interpretation. Bach’s Goldberg
Variations, an hour-long set of keyboard variations on an aria of rapturous beauty, is one of them. The work is full of intricate interlocked patterns, often with the hands chasing each other in a dance of “follow my leader”. And there are character dances everywhere: pompous French overtures, high-stepping gigues, graceful allemandes.
It’s easy to imagine a cool, modernist choreography made in response, with dancers in plain leotards forming chastely formal patterns, with here and there a sly nod to the dance patterns of the baroque, and the keyboard player safely tucked away in the pit. Instead, we had a thrilling reinvention of the entire piece, jointly conceived by Jonathan Morton, leader of the Scottish Ensemble, and Orjan Andersson, director of the Swedish company Andersson Dance.
The 10 string players of the Scottish Ensemble performed the variations in Dmitry Sitkovetsky’s brilliant arrangement. It’s hard to bring off even in a straight concert performance, but here the players had to think about their role in the choreography, which was huge. After just the final bars of the aria were played very gently somewhere offstage (a nice touch), the 10 players and five dancers of Andersson Dance came in one by one, in silence, filling the space. As the springing energetic first variation began, one of the dancers began an amusingly sassy, bottom wiggling movement in response, weaving in and out of the other bodies on stage. Gradually, her movement infected first the other four dancers and, finally, the players, until the stage was in a state of happy near-anarchy.
This was the opening gambit in a show that was always witty and sometimes hilarious, as in the variation where one dancer repeatedly laid out three cushions and then collapsed on to them, while various games with stepladders, ropes and a long plastic tube were played out nearby. In fact, there were some coolly formal moments, as in the variation where players and dancers formed crosses and lines in motion, just by walking. And, at times, it was even moving, as in the expressive solo dance by Danielle de Vries in response to the tragic minor-key variation. At the end, on an empty stage, Diane Clark, the double bass player, played the bare bass line that Bach places underneath all his variations, as if to say – we’ve had fun with this masterpiece, but we also respect it.