Author: Nico Grant

The new punk rock exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art does its best to document the genesis of punk rock music in New York City, but in the end, its inauthentic feel and disorganized presentation make this exhibit fall flat.

On the surface, the exhibit seems satisfactory. There are many pictures, videos, and album covers around, including Laurie Anderson’s notable “O Superman,” in which she uses lots of imagery for symbolism. “Edit deAk” by Paul Dougherty and Walter Robinson is also on display, an abstract video with images of New York from the early days of synthetic punk. “Hey Joe” and “Piss Factory” by Patti Smith offer comic relief with their aggressive, sexually charged poetic lyrics set to music. Coleen Fitxgibbon’s “Time” includes lots of white noise with sporadic words, and set to a blinking video of random black and white images–certainly not for the novice on the punk scene. The exhibit even included Queens’ own Ramones, with their minimalist “Rocket to Russia,” which offered some of the most charismatic rock in the entire exhibit.

The museum curators did their best to document the era of punk through clothes, records, pictures, video, and music, but made a serious misstep with the organization of the exhibit. Frankly, there’s too much of it. The exhibit is in a pristinely white and orderly space, with everything tidy. While the curators included notable talent from the time listed above, they ignored everything that talent said and felt. The curators forgot that punk came about to go against the tidy and the neat and the pristine. Subsequently, the entire exhibit feels more inauthentic and bourgeois than raw and real. “O Superman” can’t really be appreciated in a room than feels more like the Met and than MoMA.

The word “jazz” has a soothing quality to it. Compare that to “hip hop,” which sounds like one wants to run away from it. The musical genres actually transpire in similar ways. Which hip hop can be abrasive and unsavory, jazz feels less like entertainment and more like therapy, a relaxation that accompanies saxophone solos.

Juliard’s jazz performance lived up to the sterling reputation of the genre. Listeners will be most impressed by the merging of sophistication and soul in the performance, and jazz in general. There is an irreproachable coolness to jazz, a particular intellect that comes along with appreciating it, yet jazz is also a visceral experience that expresses much more than its notes can explain.

Jazz at Juliard decided to do a tribute to Count Basie, and made a wise decision as a result. They celebrated this tour de force in jazz with songs as eclectic as “To You,” “Tickle Toe,” and “Freckle Face.” There were many finger-snapping, upbeat tunes, but there were also slower ones that allowed listeners to interpret, relax, and decompress in an organic way. There was the sense that there was a song for everyone, and that if the present one playing wasn’t for you, the next one surely would be.

Those who understand the high-brow nature of Juliard need not be concerned about jazz losing its lustrous flavor in the institution’s hands. Listeners go in expecting everything will be rehearsed to perfection, and find that there is an improvisational, almost casual nature to the playing of the striking, powerful music. This improvisational aspect is essential to the nature of jazz, which is all about live performances, and expressing what one can’t articulate on the whim, so that others may understand one’s life experiences. The combination of the piano, clarinet, and saxophone, among other instruments, creates a set of sounds wildly appropriate for the aforementioned purpose of jazz. The combination has the potential to sound everything from bubbly to morbid.

At Juliard’s performance, most will be struck by the fluidity in the music, the fluidity between musicians. There is seamless, aural art all around, tickling one’s ear with its genius. Jazz is all about how certain instruments, certain sounds, and certain musicians can come together, and flow in a natural way that suits the music. But just as in the Juliard performance, jazz oftentimes consists of many solos as well. One might consider these innumerable solos each man’s interpretation of life and the world. After all, jazz is about expressing what is not said. It is especially useful for illuminating human moods and the human condition. With different instruments, different musicians can express their own takes, and offer insight as only they and their instruments know how. The performance at Juliard retains the essence of jazz by sticking close to the formula of high soul, high sophistication, and a medley of music and musicians that is virtually unbeatable.

In short, not quite.

Under the vaulted ceilings of the City Center theater, viewers found themselves observing a variety of styles in one universal medium — dance. Viewers new to this sort of performance quickly realize the boisterous enthusiasm of all those in the audience. This excitement stems from either extensive knowledge of dance or the appreciation of movements that look, in a word, difficult.

The Australian ballet, “Le Spectre de la rose” won points for limitless extensions and poised sophistication. However, there was a clinical quality to its execution, like it was supposed to be respected rather than enjoyed. It is true the crowd responded well to this performance, but that’s because it felt like a classic. It would have seemed blasphemous if there was no fanfare for it.

Another notable performance was Snow, which took the cake as the most esoteric performance of the night. While many appeared to appreciate it as a social climber appreciates a fine wine, there was quite a bit of head scratching going on. Snow was supposed to be an internal journey to…it is unclear what or where. It was a ‘hit or miss performance,’ achingly bold, with dancer Sang Juia often dancing out of the sight of peripheral viewers. The performance was also long, which didn’t do any favors to the controversy surrounding its complexities. On a high note, the snow was beautiful. It added much-needed imagery to an otherwise drab stage.

FInishing the show was Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s Revelations, which revealed that the average man can enjoy himself at a chef’s sample of ballet. Where other performances were dark and introspective, Revelations was bright and extroverted. It filled a much-need void in the round of performances — it put a smile on people’s faces. People enjoyed clapping their hands along with the soulful gospel music, all the while taking in the movements, how the dancers timed large movements with crescendos, how they remained still in the absence of music. This performance was a gem, a feast for the eyes and ears that was unforgettable. The bright lighting and uniform costumes added to this sense of occasion. The Alvin Ailey dancers knew that though their moves lacked a certain complexity found in other performances, grouping dancers on stage, in uniform costumes, with uniform movements, infuses vitality in a dance performance. Viewers felt like they were transported to a southern baptist church during Revelations. It was the most unexpected performance of the night. It was a revelation.