“In ballet a complicated story is impossible to tell… we can’t dance synonyms.” -George Balanchine, ballet pioneer, on why my writing this column is the bomb, holler.

To detour briefly into the realm of current events: the arrival of the oil is depressing.  It is an exhausting experience on par with even the most miserable and obtuse operas or dances (hello Martha Graham’s Lucifer), but it’s worse than that because it doesn’t just denote a tragedy existing in a single fixed point in time.  The arrival of the oil is representative of the tragedy of the next several decades.  It’s not something anyone’s talking about in the media, and it seems to be the elephant in the room everyone is trying to avoid, but it’s the new reality and I think we’d all be better off accepting it if you, like me, have any intention of staying in the south over the coming years.  The oil is here to stay.  The plume is huge, hurricane season this year is predicted to be one of the worst in ages and will shift a great deal more oil into our waterways, and this is just how it’s going to be.  The cleaning of birds on the beaches, the picking up of tar balls on sand, that’s just sound and fury signifying nothing: those are jobs given by BP at the behest of the American and local state governments to keep people from being shiftless as they destroy the environment, to keep the peasants from revolt; as soon as the birds are clean or the sand made white, more oil will come, the same animals will get covered in tar again, many likely dying, and bigger waves of unrefined petrol will blanket the sand in even heavier doses of punishment.  In Robert Greskovic’s highly recommended book for beginners Ballet 101, he notes without irony that in a tragic ballet a heroine is meant to die “a pretty death.”  There will be nothing elegaic about the coming months, years, and extended decades.

Now I don’t mean to start this week’s column with such a sad coda, but it’s been on my mind and I imagine all of yours for most of the past few weeks, and the reality of the situation is that it will be there for many more.  This is a visceral experience.  Most experts and many fans of the various media agree that the greatest art comes from the stress of oppression or tragedy; just last week at a British art festival several of those in attendance noted that having a Conservative-led government in office and being broke as a nation would lead to brilliant art (yo, Thatcher, thanks for Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark).  It’s my sincere hope that people will be able to channel the sadness of what’s happened, and the overwhelming dread it will create with its direct consequences on economy and natural beauty, into depthful and thoughtful art. This is a tragedy that stirs passions, that creates in all of us fury and depression and madness at what’s been lost and what will never be recovered, and I look forward to seeing that reflected in writing, in drama, and in the visual arts.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, June 21 (not next Monday, but the one following it) is the first of the Mobile Opera’s four Night Of Song events.  These free-of-charge social events, located at The Wine Loft, will be a great way to meet others who share your love for alcohol and the classical sounds that permeate the higher arts.  I’m a bit of a recluse myself, but the punk rock ethos of my teenage years inform me that it is very hard to pass up a venue that lacks a cover at the door, plays music I like inside, and serves booze.  All are encouraged to go.

Another afore-mentioned event, Billy McLaughlin with the pretty, pretty hair, is happening on the 19th at the Saenger.  This event, put on by the Mobile Symphony and featuring guest performers Mithril, is another wonderful way to drown out the flurry of sadness the recent events have caused, the weight of which is finally fully being felt as we edge into what is normally a beautiful and carefree summer.

There are more events that will happen across the summer, and I’m very optimistic at what great things are going to materialize as we head closer to my beloved fall season of performance.  In the meantime, it’s time for me to continue the insanity I began last week to pass the time, our slightly insane ‘History of Ballet & Opera’ gibberish.  This series, aimed at those new to the theatre/theater/teeateur, is meant to just give a primitive (and meandering) overview of the great (and gonzo) in Ballet and Opera (and also maybe kind of meant to make you giggle at some of the absurdities of the arts).  Let’s dive back in to this nonsense.

A (Really) Brief (And Poorly Explained) History of Ballet & Opera: Part II

Last week I took a quick glance at some of the more famous stars of ballet during the twentieth century.  These dancers are the kinds of “star draws” the bring people to ballet who wouldn’t really like it otherwise, because of the lustre of celebrity.  While this isn’t meant to diminish any of their skill (of which they burst at the seams) there are a great number of ballet stars who aren’t actually “stars.”  These people toil in the underbrush of theater, never gaining notoriety outside of niche circles and those obsessed with the art of performance.  It’s hard to discover these lesser names (their names being lesser, certainly not their talent or beauty), but one of the best ways to do so is to watch a performance that lacks any of the Big Names in its playbill.

A newcomer to ballet might not know where to turn to find these ballets.  It’s easy to get started by watching Fonteyn exclusively as her work convers a good sweep of the ballet canon, but what if you don’t like government overthrowing gunboaters who experienced support from Fidel Castro?  What then?  Well, you start with the classic performances of ballet, and work from there.  It’s easy to pick a performance that has a famous face on its cover, but knowing these great ballets, why not search Amazon for one that has unfamiliar players within?  The worst it can be is “not great” as these are The Greats of ballet, and you’d be hardpressed to suck bad enough to drag them down too much.  Here are five of the most accessible and well-loved worth seeing in any variation:

5. Manon: Late 19th century, based on a book from the 18th, this is a Massenet story for the ages, his most-loved story and certainly many ballet fans’ favorite ever.  Set during the era of Louis XV in pre-revolutionary Paris, it is entertaining, the dancing is intense and articulate, and there is sex all over the joint.  An example of early liberalized attitudes in the dance world, which shatters the false trope that all ballet fans are prudes.

4. Swan Lake: This is “the famous one,” in that everyone has heard of it, namely because it’s made by Tchaikovsky.  A rather straightforward and easy-to-grasp story make this a great “first ballet,” although the real charm of this is that it can be staged in many version and variations; historically it has had alternate endings and productions so wildly different that they could almost be mistaken for separate ballets for those unfamiliar with the routines.  A Kafkaesque Natalie Portman film coming out later in the year called Black Swan will focus on the psychological breakdown of a dancer who struggles for and gets the lead role, Odette.

3. Romeo & Juliet: Prokofiev (a favorite) is behind this, and the story is already old hat to any child who attended any public school in America in the last eighty years, which makes it instantly accessible.  One of the very best bits of some versions comes at the end when [SPOILER ALERT] Juliet is pretend dead, and Romeo dances her body lifelessly across the stage.  It’s a strange dance, in that it requires the female dancer to both limply play dead while still supporting herself while she is “carried” to and fro, and one that gives me prickly hairs of excitement every time I see it performed with excellence.  Less famous versions abound and are worth seeking out, but this is a case where the Big Name production is the most entertaining, as Nureyev swinging Fonteyn in circles is nothing short of breath-taking.  I mean, homeboy looks like he’s going to fling her off the stage at any moment in his grief.  Amazing.

2. Don Quixote: A novel, an opera, an unfinished film, and here a brilliant ballet, this is a great one AND a weird one.  Has roving bands of gypsies in it as well, which is a selling point I’d think, and the second act if done poorly has the positive consequence of being completely surreal.

1. Giselle: At the start of this column, we talked about tragic ballet.  This is the apex of such a thing, and one of my absolute favorites.  In almost every productiong of Giselle, there is great styling, classical characteristics, and perhaps best of all, brevity.  Sometimes less is more, and this is a not terribly long ballet that packs quality within its smaller confines.  The story is gonzo as hell (vampiric creatures that kill out of spite, and force men to dance to death) and even the “happy ending” is still woefully depressing.  LOVE IT.

Now that you’ve got the essentials in your arsenal, it’s easy to go seek out unusual and less-famous productions for your perusal.  What makes these ballets so great is that it’s hard to turn brilliance into crap, and even the worst production still has a narrative that’s easy to follow, and styling that’s lovely to look at.  Next week we continue forward (hopefully with your columnist being less dejected about the environment and with more humor and satire in his pocket) by turning our eye upon the stars of opera.  I must tell you that there will be lots of discussions of sex and ladies who are pretty but also totally menacing.  Obvs, I’m sure this is a buzzkill.

‘Til then, try not to let the bastards get you down.  I’ll do my part to cheer the hell up.