There are three of them: a beautiful woman, an ordinary man, and an older, striking one. They’re all dressed the same, minus the rather distracting adidas socks of the ordinary one, which marks him weirdly and seems incongruous – but, anyway, it’s their gestures and affect to which we are supposed to listen, the bold swoops of their arms, their encouraging eyes. Perched where we are, atop sounding speakers, we are given the impression that we are the orchestra, at least sort of, and indeed while this piece speaks to the causally complex relationship between music and movement, it still remains somehow oddly direct, puzzlingly elementary in its submission to the dynamic markings of the score. Only the old man, viz. the original, works precisely with the sharp four counts of conducting, and while it is gratifying to see him hit tempo marks before spinning out of control, what we still miss is movement that challenges what we hear instead of merely illustrating it in caricature. Her arm as the music emerges, fingers unfurl as it does, her shadow hits the
Review by Sasha Amaya for Viereinhalb Sätze.