The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
the b-side
Thursday, March 12, 2015 — 3B
Dance Mix a medley
of styles and genres
By VANESSA WONG
Daily Arts Writer
In 2001, six University dance
groups — FunKtion, EnCore,
RhythM Tap Ensemble, Impact,
Indigo and Element 1 — performed
a show together, fusing tap, lyrical
and hip hop genres together on one
stage. And the next year, it hap-
pened again. And again and again.
This year, Dance Mix celebrates its
15th anniversary.
Dance Mix began partly to give
performers a venue. It requires a
great deal of planning and finan-
cial resources to put on an indi-
vidual show, which can prove a
daunting hurdle, especially for
young groups.
But more than that, Dance Mix
sought to showcase the dizzying
variety of dance at the University.
What were originally six groups
flourished into a broad-reaching
collaboration between upwards of
a dozen dance and musical groups
on campus. The five core groups,
still active since that first perfor-
mance, plan and perform in Dance
Mix annually. The rest of the line-
up consists of six or seven rotating
guest groups.
“We try to find a good balance of
entertainment and diversity,” said
Meredith Njus, an LSA senior and
member of this year’s 13-person
organizing team.
For the performers, Dance Mix
fosters a tight-knit and lively dance
community. Put 200 people who
are fiercely passionate about the
same thing on one stage, and it’s
only inevitable that they bond.
“I didn’t really start dancing
until I came to college. I grew up
mostly with music and singing,”
LSA senior Jay Park said. “So
what dance means to me is just an
entirely new opportunity. It really
encompasses my entire college
experience down to one medium
of expression. Dance to me means
community, it means family.”
In the month leading up to the
show, groups take to Mason Hall’s
Posting Wall and practice for an
average of six hours a day, increas-
ing to upwards of 12 as the per-
formance draws closer. The time
commitment may seem stressful,
but preparing for a show is one of
the fundamental rites of being a
dancer.
“You’re forced to be there, but
you’re with such a great group of
people who love the same things
as you do that it’s really such an
unforgettable experience,” Park
said. “And this is something that
I’ll take with me for the rest of my
life and I’ll look back on so affec-
tionately.”
That same adrenaline becomes
a shared experience among those
in the performance, widening
the niche, genre-based dance
networks and connecting the
overall dance community at the
University.
“As soon as you have a Dance
Mix semester and you go through
a Dance Mix, you start seeing all
of the groups and you’re all back-
stage, and you’re all amped about
the show, and I think that you
start to get to know everyone in
the other groups,” Njus said. “So
you start seeing them at the Post-
ing Wall or you start seeing them
around campus and you’ll see peo-
ple wearing Dance Mix shirts and
you’re like, ‘Oh hey!’ ”
The sense of camaraderie in
Dance Mix is what draws in so
many guest performing groups
to apply each year. It takes the
passion that the dancers have for
their individual dance groups
and directs it outwards, making
the show a sort of meeting of the
minds.
Business senior Suhind Kodali,
a captain of Michigan Izzat dance
team, performed at Dance Mix
last year and will do so again in
the upcoming show. His team
mainly performs at competitions,
so Dance Mix offers a chance to
showcase their talents to their
peers.
“For us, it’s like, “Oh wow, look
at all these dance groups on cam-
pus and we can show them our
style and they can show us theirs,’
” Kodali said.
The enthusiasm for dance — in
all its forms — is evident in the
audience. The groups perform-
ing in the show don’t just do it for
themselves; they eagerly support
whoever commands the stage.
“It’s just the energy, that’s what
we like best,” Kodali said.
Which is why after 15 years, the
core team still devotes so much
time to keeping Dance Mix alive.
Following the show’s unified spir-
it, two to four members from each
of the original core dance groups
also come together to form the
core organizing team.
“It’s
a
very
collaborative
and democratic process,” Park
explains.
The core team starts the plan-
ning process as early as the fall
semester each year, meeting twice
a month for preliminary brain-
storming. Winter semester brings
the bulk of the work, and the core
team must buckle down to run
auditions, figure out timing, make
up themes, make T-shirts and set
up the venue. The show is entirely
student-produced, carried on the
backs of the 13 dedicated core team
members.
Having not only performed,
but been members of the core
team throughout their four years
at Michigan, Njus and Park wit-
nessed Dance Mix’s evolution to
keep up with the rapidly changing,
technology-ridden culture, espe-
cially through social media.
“(Social media is) a big way we
can reach out to a lot of people,
reach out to our alumni, and just
get people excited about the show
very early on this semester or even
early on in the year,” Njus said.
“Before, it’s been, ‘Your friends
come or whatever,’ but now we
have alumni that are flying in from
all over the country; all over the
world. And I think that was always
a thing, but now we have an easier
way of reaching out to them and
being like, ‘Guys, it’s Dance Mix
season again. Come back!’”
Dance Mix has also benefitted
from the growing popularity of
performing arts in media. Reality
shows like “So You Think You Can
Dance” and “America’s Best Dance
Crew” have driven a wider appre-
ciation for dance. More people
unaffiliated with dance are willing
and interested to learn more about
it.
“We’ve been able to use that and
connect it with the integrity of our
show which has stayed the same,”
Park said.
He stressed that ultimately,
while Dance Mix has blossomed
into a larger event over the past 15
years, it still retains the original
roots behind its inception.
“This is all fun, this is some-
thing that a lot of dance groups
look forward to all year. You’ll see
us practicing in the Posting Wall
for hours, hours, in the weeks lead-
ing up to the actual performance.
And I think that’s just what we
want to keep. We want a very sim-
ple message, a simple approach:
the unification of dancers and hav-
ing fun with it all.”
VIRGINIA L OZANO/Daily
Dance Mix members practice in Mason Hall.
SINGLE REVIEW
The word “evolution” is
thrown around a lot when
critics yak about an artist’s
career. Is the band “naturally
progress-
ing?”
Are
they
con-
sistently
improving
from album
to album and
transforming
their sound?
It
seems
to be coded in our DNA: in
order for an artist to remain
relevant, the aforementioned
changes must take place —
if not to appease the critics
than to keep the artists’ fans
shocked and interested (and
the band from getting bored).
It’s fun to hear new stuff, but
too much change is a turn-
off for even the most pious
groupie.
Enter Mumford & Sons,
that group of British lads
with
the
signature
fast-
paced, folky banjo sound.
They built their reputation
on throwing it back and strip-
ping it down — no machinery
required. Their latest release,
“Believe,” sheds all Mum-
fordian quirks; it’s a slow-ish,
techno-infused fantasy bal-
lad a la “Fix You” by Coldplay.
It starts out eerie, weirdly
synth-y and blossoms into
an electrically charged cry
for help. Lead singer Marcus
Mumford’s smoky vocals are
the only thing connecting the
old to the new, and he sounds
handsome as always.
It’s interesting, futuristic
and melancholy; Snow Patrol
and all the other I’m-a-vul-
nerable-man pop-rock groups
would be proud. Mumford
& Sons, however, shouldn’t
be as thrilled — sure, this
new schtick is catchy as hell,
catered to pop radio and all
its listeners looking for a bit
of vanilla passion during
their morning commute. But
it’s been done before. We hear
it on the radio all the time. Is
the band truly “progressing”
if they’re walking the exact
same path as so many others:
a mediocre, dead-end street
of pseudo-rock (think: Life-
house) melodies? Not exactly.
Bring the banjos back.
-MELINA GLUSAC
GLASSNOTE
C
Believe
Mumford
& Sons
Glassnote
STYLE RECAP
When Carol Lim and Hum-
berto Leon joined KENZO in
2011 as Creative Directors, they
sought to fuse their revolu-
tionary flavor with the house’s
heritage. That isn’t to say the
original label, started in 1970 by
Kenzo Takada, didn’t have the
spunk and color for which Lim
and Leon have become known.
It did — in fact, it toyed with
stripes, brights, loudness, all of
it. The new CDs have expand-
ed KENZO’s scope, at once in
sophistication
and
pattern-
making. There’s a lot going on
here, which is likely the result of
the duo’s creative synergy over
solitude.
If Rick Owens centered his
pieces on shoulders, KENZO
draped in particular from the
neck up. A navy knit hoodie that
could double as a turtleneck for
an entire head obscures an elec-
tric blue cap and cuts diagonally
through the torso. The muted
hoodie gets louder with a green-
yellow tribal printed maxi cape
that barely hits the floor. Base-
colored fishtail anorak jackets
float atop schizophrenic striped
trousers, as a matching rolled
scarf keeps the face front and
center invariably.
There are doubtless nods
to the serenity of nature, here,
with its hearty greenish hues,
but never deviating too distant-
ly from its around-town urban
wearability. Maroon suits with
a mild sheen and snow-white
shearling coats with misplaced
oversized epaulettes feed into
its more urban, spontaneous
history.
-ANDREW MCCLURE
KENZO
MUSIC COLUMN
Dusty old songwriters
still relevant
L
ast week I was listen-
ing to Van Morrison’s
“Cyprus Avenue” —
the live version, one I absolute-
ly love and have written about
before, and
I think to
myself, This
song is life-
changingly
great, but
the one thing
that’s miss-
ing is the
harpsichord
that’s in the
studio ver-
sion of this track. And I keep
thinking about that for the rest
of the song: what if we also had
the harpsichord in there? But
then another voice barges into
my head and tells me, Adam,
this is a 45-year-old song about
a street in Belfast you’ve never
been to. You wouldn’t even have
heard of if it weren’t for this
singer. How is this relevant to
you? Why are you spending so
much time on this? What does
the presence (or lack thereof)
of a harpsichord possibly mat-
ter to you, an American teen-
ager whose parents couldn’t
even walk when this song was
released?
I’m on a kick where I’m
listening to tons and tons of
singer-songwriters
from
a
very specific era — your Joni
Mitchells, your Paul Simons,
Van the Man, even a little Bob
Dylan — and I keep thinking
to myself why is this relevant?
I’ve never felt the need to
justify what I listen to, but
with
this
brand
of
music
that’s very quiet, very white,
seemingly pretty detached from
the modern world, I’m really
questioning why I can’t stay
away from it, why I should be
returning again and again to
these old songwriters instead of
searching for the next big thing.
You
see,
the
answer
to
the
question
of
relevancy
for almost all other kinds of
music is obvious. Many years
ago, Public Enemy’s Chuck
D called hip hop “the CNN
of the streets,” and while I
don’t think there were any rap
songs about missing airplanes
last year, the sentiment still
stands: hip hop is still where
minority experiences are most
visible
and
understandable
to many Americans. Hip hop
is where a young, oftentimes
Black person — someone whose
voice is far too often silenced
by the mainstream — can step
into the spotlight and amplify
his or her voice for all to hear.
Considering
Ferguson,
Eric
Garner and disproportionate
poverty as well as centuries
of racial discrimination and
cruelty
towards
minorities,
it’s probably America’s most
relevant genre (more on this
next column, after Kendrick’s
new album drops).
But there’s room for other
types of music, too. Punk grew
out of the disenfranchisement
of the British working class,
and still today functions as a
space where rebellion, anger
and
protest
can
run
wild
and untethered (think Pussy
Riot).
Jazz,
once
dominant
and
controversial,
still
exists today as a magnet for
some of our most talented
musicians; hearing them play
is as impossibly breathtaking as
watching an Olympic gymnast
nail
every
element
of
her
routine. Beyoncé and Taylor
Swift, meanwhile, have both
this past year reinforced what
we already knew very well:
pop music is the simplest, and
possibly the best, way to unite
everyone
you
know.
Even
rock music, lately the most
conservative of genres, has for
decades brought together folks
of different races, broken down
gender norms and served as an
inspiration to suburban kids
that they, too, can form a band
with their friends, write a song
and hit it big.
So
what
is
this
singer-
songwriter stuff good for? It’s
old, it doesn’t change the world or
bring millions of people together, it
doesn’t give a voice to the unheard
and, though oftentimes beautiful,
the
instrumentation
typically
isn’t particularly virtuosic. What
value does it have? What purpose
does it serve?
I think a lot about music as a
social experience, a force that
connects us and allows us to
be in each other’s’ company,
sharing
in
the
pleasurable
sounds we hear. What I and
many others don’t think about
as much, it seems, is music in
isolation, music that we listen to
with nobody else around, with
no distractions other than our
own thoughts.
I’ve been thinking, too, about
the times Joni Mitchell and Bob
Dylan and Nick Drake were
living in — the late ’60s into
the ’70s. Back then, when you
were alone late at night, you
truly were alone. You couldn’t
fall down a YouTube rabbit hole
of old Steve Yzerman goals,
or check Twitter to see what
people in other time zones
were up to, or even consume
any media that you personally
didn’t own a physical copy of.
That sounds so different
from the world I live in. But
then I picture where I’m at and
what I’m doing when I listen to
these great singer-songwriters.
When
I
was
listening
to
“Cyprus Avenue,” my house was
dark, I had finished everything
I had needed to do for the day,
and was just calming down
before going to bed. I listened
to all of Joni Mitchell’s Blue the
last time I had to shovel snow.
Nick Drake and even the more
contemporary
Elliott
Smith
are perfect when I’m writing.
And even with I’m with people
and listening to these types of
artists, it’s never more than one
or two close friends, and we’re
always lost in thought or deep
in conversation with each other.
Even though I live in a world
where I’m constantly plugged
into my phone and the Internet,
when I find the time to turn all
that off, Joni Mitchell and Van
Morrison and Nick Drake are
there to provide perfect music
for me. It’s music to explore the
mind to.
So why does it matter if Van
Morrison
is
accompanied
by
a harpsichord or not? I don’t
want to take anything away
from contemporary artists, and
I certainly don’t think I should
spend all my energy parsing the
past instead of looking to the new,
relevant music of the future, but
when I hear Bob Dylan’s half-
detached sarcasm, Joni Mitchell’s
hopeful longing, Nick Drake’s deep
sadness, Van Morrison’s ecstatic
celebrations of life and I can
identify with it and feel what the
artists are feeling, try to think what
they’re thinking, I’m reassured
that music is greater than time,
that the most important emotions
can be communicated across
generations, and that sometimes,
one voice is all that matters. When
you can express yourself with as
much feeling as these artists can,
when you can make somebody
from an unimaginable future care
about your small musical choices
and subtle emotions behind the
lyrics you sing, even if they don’t
always understand why, you’ve
done something immeasurably
valuable.
Theisen has dusty old
people on his mind. Send him
yours at ajtheis@umich.edu.
ADAM
THEISEN
So what is
this singer-
songwriter stuff
good for?
It’s music to
explore the
mind to.