There’s something so satisfying, so fundamentally fulfilling watching (and listening!), to David Schmader as he sets up the hallowed arena of OTB’s stage for a game/set/match of a tortuous, surgically precise rib tickling. With his own dapper clown self being the main target, he lobs a great volley of clever essay eviscerating the Grand Arts Tradition. The inevitable metamorphosis into his day-glo doppelgänger of a nasty/sweet surprise will make you piss yourself. I hero worship.
Coleman Pester / Tectonic Marrow Society has built an architectural landscape of shifting light and shadow. A cubist refraction of weight, design and precision. Watching the three perfect dancers felt to me like being enfolded in the flow and fold of a bustling city’s action and reaction. Made me homesick for NY.
YOU…are AMAZING! And in case you had any doubts to the contrary,...
Last night I attended the mainstage show at Northwest New Works, and just like last week, I saw many things.
I only think I’ve ever heard Schmader on the radio; or perhaps the lilt of his voice lends me to falsely remember this. Indeed the lilt and practice of his voice is what he was calling attention to in his subject matter and the matter of his subject. With repetition and improvisation he assures us that he is in utter control. And then a special guest appears, who somehow brings the whole thing to a moralistic sense.
Tectonic Marrow Society
Coleman Pester and his dancers have drawn a line between three points. The structure in the middle of the stage already splits the playable area into a series of triangles while the audience is observed closely. A monolith, an audience, and the...