An Inaugural Tap Performance
As requested, I arrived at 5:30 PM for the performance. The indoor gymnasium is located at the opposite end of the city from where I live, so I had left plenty of time to pedal my way over there. This national dance competition brought together groups from all over the country. There are 35 groups, mostly woman, and mostly teenagers. With the competition having begun at 11 AM, I had already missed most of the performances; however, I was there to perform myself.
I walk in the main entrance and recognize someone from the dance school. As I prepare my hello, she accosts me and demands if the owners of the school knew I was coming. I stammer out that I am there to perform with one of the owners. Pacified, she hands me my paper wristband – silver for participant.
The only people I know at this event are running it, so I make my way down from the spectator area to the main gym floor where the emcee and the judges are sitting. The gym design allows a lot of natural sunlight in; the day was warm and the gym is hot. I watch a couple performances under the categories of jazz, hip hop, modern, and musical theater; I note that the stylings are quite different than those I remember from my college dance days – perhaps that is due to the country … or the decade.
I had been rehearsing in the tap trio for over four months – not regularly, but intensely. I would characterize the style as rhythm tap; in comparison, my background is almost entirely in musical theatre tap. I have been informed in Germany on many occasions that musical theatre tap is not tap. I am told that my flaps are wrong, my pullbacks are bad and I work too hard to get my sounds. Germans are generally not known for a lack of opinions. Regardless, I have found myself to be the third-best tapper in a three-man group.
Our mission is simple: after the competing groups have performed, we are to set up our equipment and perform a five-minute number while scores are tallied and before winners are announced. Recall that this five minute number has taken four months to learn, many hours in a studio, and many, many personal hours rehearsing individually. The dance consists of mostly 16th note, sharp rhythms and a middle section for tap solos. Everything is choreographed to fit on these wooden boards, so nothing with much flare.
Step one is the set-up. I work with the younger man in rolling out the four tap boards and lowering them into their appropriate positions. He seems to be having trouble working with ratchet straps, so I assist him in removing them. While working with the most complicated board (one with seven partitioned parts triggering seven different midi drum sounds), the center circle falls out and detaches from the microphone. Shit!
The boss notices and is less than happy. He offers blame and then provides a detailed explanation about the proper way to set up this equipment while I smile and nod as everyone in the bleachers is watching and waiting. He further explains to me that “if this does not work, there is no point.” I suppress a shrug.
The stress I have been carrying for this performance has been enormous – the type one can feel as knots in one’s shoulders; last minute issues are expected, but not helpful. From a quick sound check, all piece are fully functioning. Everyone is stressed.
Eager to get things moving, as the setup took a bit longer than it should, the boss announces the group and starts the music. Four months of rehearsal and weeks of stress come to a point. It is 7:10 PM.
My initial thoughts make a comparison of our rehearsal space to this performance space. First, the boards now seem really tiny. Second, I find it difficult to connect with the audience who are all above me when I am needing to know where I am on that board. And, third, that one speaker is not loud enough, and its sound is being eaten by the size of the room.
We proceed through our choreographed number. There are times where I am behind the music as I can better hear the guys tapping next to me than the actual music being played. My solo sucks, but that was to be expected: I have never learned to play the drums, and our four months of playing with the drum board resulted in no miracles. I had already build up some apathy calluses for that part – smile and sell it.
For the brief seconds that I could look up to see the audience in the bleachers, eight feet above the gym floor, I could see people smiling. Tap is enjoyable to watch; our number was complex and very nuanced, but still visually appealing. I could only assume it was enjoyable.
The number ends, and we quickly bow and pack everything back up. As we change, the boss asks each of us our thoughts on our performance. I wince as this is never a good idea immediately after a show – years of musical theatre performances has taught me the gift that time provides on perspective. Yet, the two launched into a tirade of mistakes and problems – too little rehearsal, sound problems, no sound check the night before.
When they turned to me, I choose to point out that I had fun (well, more an unloading of stress) and reiterated that we accomplished something. I would have liked to journey into a tribute to hard work and trying something new, but I am not yet gifted in eloquence in my second language. I end my soliloquy with how we should be happy with what we did. Neither of them buy it.
Having worked at the bakery that morning, then having slept until 1 PM, I return home exhausted, relieved, and back asleep at 11 PM that night.
In other news, I have been recently approached about taking on a tenor role in a local opera premiere in Weimar. Maybe that will go better…
