Kyle Abraham’s “Live! The Realest MC”

April 14, 2019

Live! The Realest MC, one of MacArthur “Genius” Kyle Abraham’s earlier pieces (from 2011), showed me that Abraham really has been at his work for a while. Investigating issues of social relevance, Abraham creates dance that is well-crafted, choreographically specific, and musically resonant.

Self-described as “postmodern gumbo,” Abraham has developed what I consider a more specific vocabulary. Any astute viewer who has seen more than one of his works will notice: his use of sweeping, scooping, and framing port de bras; repeated jumps with the front leg tucked up like the front end of a stag jump, and the back leg extended out in a classic jeté position; and walking steps with interspersed moments of swagger and coyness. This Live! piece is the earliest of his that I’ve seen and confirms, for me, this Abraham-specific movement vocabulary, which was particularly beautifully showcased in numerous sections of unison, featuring groups of dancers performing classic Abraham movements in well-rehearsed sync.

Live! The Realest MC, originally created for Abraham himself and an earlier iteration of his company, unpacks and probes issues of identity, beginning with a focus on a somewhat amorphous outsider and then shifting more clearly to a queer man of color experiencing and responding to marginalization.

Abraham choreographs brilliant displays of the complexity of inhabiting this identity. In one particularly moving section, the lead man dances a trio with the other two male dancers in the cast. They remain intertwined and touching for most of the pas de trois, confusingly and complicatedly seeming to both be supporting one another in certain moments, and in others, forcefully pushing each other down. Convoluted relationships and identities are at play here among the three men—is this what it feels like to be finding one’s way in the world as a queer black man?

Later in the work, there is a heart-wrenching section in which the lead dancer exhibits, over and over, embodiments or performances of two disparate representations of black masculinity. He engages in an alarming and frenetic switching—shown through both movement and his spoken words’ content, pitch, and delivery—between a sensitive, sobbing character, the victim of bullying, and a gruff, assertive one—presumably the same person exposing two different ways of presenting himself. How does this man reconcile an identity he seems to feel more viscerally and authentically with the one he feels he must exhibit, whether for safety or acceptance or both? How does anyone?

The set design reinforces the exploration of this feeling of a dual identity. The upstage set piece features numerous vertical panels of fabric that can be rotated, and appear like a huge set of window blinds, which are inherently a design device that both hides and reveals.

A cornerstone of Abraham’s work—his diverse and compelling musical choices, usually featuring both classical and popular pieces—is apparent here. His choices range from the contemporary electronica of James Blake to jazz legend Bill Evans. This feature of Abraham’s oeuvre speaks not only to his wide-ranging and expansive knowledge of and attention to music, but also to his ability to connect a more sweeping audience base to his works. My partner, a professional musician (and my date to this show), often finds a particularly strong connection to Abraham’s work, in large part, I think, because of Abraham’s keen musical choices.

The piece finishes hopefully, with the lighting suggesting an apotheosis. The lead dancer takes the stage in the final moments, faces upstage away from the audience in a posture that suggests confidence, and reaches out to grip the microphone into which he has, minutes earlier, sobbed. He looks ready to take on what’s next—and I think he’ll prevail.

A.I.M dancers, including Jeremy “Jae” Neal bowing in the center, after a recent performance of Kyle Abraham’s “Live! The Realest MC” at NYU Skirball.