everyone needs to move in new directions once in awhile. to experiment with the unknown, tamper with the conventional, mingle with the impossible.
unusual movement to unusual music. extraordinary concepts and dancers that have worked till they couldn’t anymore.
on the 11th and 12th of august. at the lionel wendt theatre. box office open at the wendt now.
a left and a right. Your left brain is your verbal and rational brain; it thinks serially and reduces its thoughts to numbers, letters, and words……… Your right brain is your non-verbal and intuitive brain; it thinks in patterns, or pictures, composed of ‘whole things,’ and does not comprehend reductions, either numbers, letters, or words.
says twiggy. so it must be right, then. go check this one out, everyone. another absolutely artistic mind decides to get a blog…
the bottom is way below us, its reasonably deep. the rapids are strong, one need not do anything at all but lie on one’s back and get carried along swiftly by the rushing water. the life jacket has slipped over renu’s shoulders, it looks hilarious, like a little house. tracy and i hold hands, and laugh and laugh, caught up in the sheer retardedness of the moment, as we try to keep our feet up and head above the water. i keep yelling ‘don’t laugh’ in between loud shrieks and giggles, but we continue to do so, and consequently swallow alot of the river.
asvajit and his wacky antics. in his shades, in motion, at barefoot. photo by indi.
asvajit and i are partners for ‘kent’. it’s one of my favourite card games anyway. i literally can’t stop laughing long enough to concentrate on the game when he tells me his ’signal’. when he collects four cards of the same kind and frantically starts hitting the drum behind him, i’m hysterical. but even so, i manage to gasp out ‘kent! kent!’ and we win that round. we go on to win the entire game.
at coffee stop, one lazy afternoon. tracy and i.
we lie quietly, sleepily, in the dark on our low, single beds in kitulgala. tracy and i are trying solemnly to sleep at 2 am. the others, all in the room right behind our’s, are wide awake and a little stoned. the music is loud and the conversation is louder. we’re only separated by a thin wall. the music stops and someone asks ‘what to play next?’. there are random suggestions being thrown around. tracy and i are still quiet, trying to sleep. someone says ‘dancing in the moonlight’. tracy and i simultaneously go ‘YES!’ and everyone in the other room erupts in laughter. tracy and i giggle and giggle and wait to hear toploader.
hanni and i, at the new bar at barefoot. photo by indi.
hanni is roaringly drunk. she’s talking non-stop and crying and laughing and i don’t know what she’s saying. i hold her, and my mother looks at us suspiciously. i can barely believe my mother has to witness this. shit. ’stop talking’ i whisper viciously to hanni. but quietly, we’re giggling and i’m trying to keep her steady. i remind myself why i love her, because i do, oh so much.
hiran, twiggy, B, charlotte and yanik, in nuwaraeliya. photo by asvajit.
we decide to race, me on asvajit’s back, B on yanik’s. they win, but they’re cheaters. we switch partners. B on asvajit’s back and, er, yanik on mine. the results are disastrous. B and asvajit win,
obviously, and i manage to run a fair bit before yanik falls off me.
my soul sister D, and i. at the green path house. photo by iroms.
D wakes me up. i’m grumpy when i get woken up that early. her efforts are successful and persistent. she’s a morning person, cheerful and smiling. i want to kill her. i wait for her to leave the room before hauling myself out of bed. i go into the dining room, she stands there, her back to me, facing the garden. i put my hands to the elastic band of her pyjama bottoms, grab a hold of it, and yank downwards. i pull her bottoms right down to her ankles. her shriek of disbelief is satisfying, especially when we notice that we aren’t entirely alone.
us 6, together again. family from birth. brothers and sisters - sanjay and me, nanda and D, isuru and venu. at sean and tash’s wedding reception.
venu says ‘am i the only one that is still talking to my brother?’ and D and i nod vigorously.
indi and hanni and barefoot. i took this.
indi is eyeing some boy, seated one afternoon at barefoot. he’s a good looking boy, and i know him vaguely. indi is at a table with three girls, and we waste no time taking it to town. we giggle and peek and stand up to get a better look at this boy. we put a lot of effort into making it obvious and indi is embarrassed.
iroms and i, at the green path house. photo by D.
iroms and i are scaling the wall of the green path house at 3 am. we are drunk and scaling the wall. talk about a death wish, huh? i keep telling her ‘i’m going to fall and die’ and she keeps laughing. we’re trying to get in without anyone noticing. the ground looks far away from where i’m standing on the railing of the balcony upstairs. when i get in and open the door for her, we hug and enfolded in the hug, we’re laughing uncontrollably.
nanda, isuru, sanjay. outside the chapel after the ceremony at sean and tash’s wedding.
there’s 8 people in isuru’s car, humphrey. we’re full to capacity. when anushan decides to moon the van behind us while we’re steadily approaching a red light, i know we’re in trouble. i look back and forth frantically and yell ‘anush don’t! red light!’. he pays no heed and undoes his pants. great. there were little children in that van, you know.
dancing at barefoot. arun and i. photo by indi, who rightfully called it ‘i see you baby’.
arun and i are dancing at barefoot. i look at him in his ramones t shirt and blazer and think to myself ‘how long have i known this person?’. i wish i’d known him as well for longer, but i’ve been told it’s never too late. between arun’s killing sarcasm and dramatic ways, asvajit’s wacky antics, the incessent click of yanik’s talented camera, hiran’s true identity and twiggy’s blushing sweet-ness, these boys are too good to be true.
me, arun, tash and asvajit. maskerade, at h20. photo by indi.
if only. if only i could somehow file each of these moments, and so many millions more, away. safely. if only i could save them for sadder times and replay them, relive them, whenever i feel i need that boost in energy. because when we’ve left each other for our respective uncertain futures, this is all we will have left. a few blog posts, some photographs, and our memories. if only.
i just don’t understand cover songs that sound just like the original. what’s the point of covering a song if it’s going to sound exactly like it did before? tracy and i were watching VH1 the other day and saw a ronan keating cover of the goo goo dolls‘ song ‘iris’. what a disaster! the video is almost (almost) worse than the song itself. you can tell it’s just one of those songs that ronan keating has always wanted to sing, and he covered it for absolutely no other reason. perhaps that is a good reason to cover a song, but not if you’re an ex member of a quickly-fading-from-recognition boy band from the 90s that people knew for songs with names like ‘key to my life’.
some say a cover can never be as good as the original, but i must admit, personally, that there are a few covers that i’m tempted to like even more than i do the original. i was trying to think of cover versions that i like and cover versions that i hate and found a number of dynamics : there are covers that are utterly distasteful by artists that i absolutely love, there are covers i love by artists i wouldn’t otherwise listen to. there are good songs that have been mutilated by the artist that covered it and not-so-great originals that have been salvaged by their cover versions.
remember when madonna covered don mclean’s ‘american pie’ for the original soundtrack of that terrible film, ‘the next best thing’? that was a complete nightmare, especially for one that loves madonna as much as i do. following that, here’s a list of cover songs i really don’t like…
goo goo dolls’ iris, covered by ronan keating
sick sick sick. it’s not like ‘iris’ is a great song in itself, why cover it? why ronan keating?
the who’s behind blue eyes, covered by limp bizkit
fred durst is the last person that should be singing this song. his wounded, pathetic vocal style really doesn’t do this any good.
guns n’ roses‘ sweet child o’ mine, covered by sheryl crow
again, what a song to cover. i hate this song anyway, but the sheryl crow version is so much more hideous than the original one, which is saying alot. and i quite like sheryl crow. tragic.
berlin’s take my breath away, covered by (that slut) jessica simpson
what is with this girl and doing fucked up cover versions of good songs? even though she raped robbie williams’ ‘angels’ and nancy sinatra’s ‘these boots are made for walkin'’, this cover song of that stunning, sophisticated, sexy hit from the soundtrack of ‘top gun’ has to to be her worst crime committed (yet).
the rolling stones‘ satisfaction, covered by (that slut) britney spears
did that talentless hack honestly think she could pull this off?
on the other hand, here are some covers i really like…
j j cale’s cocaine, covered by eric clapton
people barely remember that this song isn’t a clapton original. an appropriate song to head a list of ‘good cover songs’ any day.
prince’s when doves cry, covered by ginuwine
here’s what i meant by ‘covers i love by artists i wouldn’t otherwise listen to’. still not better than the original, in which prince really capitalizes on his sex appeal and raw edges, ginuwine managed to hammer out a cover version of a great song that sounded genuinely ‘ginuwine’.
talking heads‘ burning down the house, covered by the cardigans featuring tom jones
oh how i love the cardigans. at the risk of being shot down by fans, i must admit i like the cover version of this song even better than the original. tom jones’ vocals really brings a lot of funk and flavour to the song, and combined with nina persson’s sugary vocal style and the jazzy-bluesy feel this cover has to it, it’s a lot more fun to listen to.
prince’s nothing compares to you, covered by sinead o’conner
what a fantastic voice. it almost seems as if this song were written for her. prince’s original is great, but o’conner really puts her everything into this one, making it one of my favourite cover songs of all time.
otis redding’s respect, covered by aretha franklin
it’s safe to say that it has become her most popular recording. her attitude is infectious and i think it works a lot better as a song of feminism than the original, in which redding asks for respect from a woman. she sings it full of zest and style and really makes her version difficult to forget.
red hot chilli peppers‘ under the bridge, covered by all saints
i always kind of liked all saints, especially their single ‘pure shores’ from the original soundtrack of danny boyle’s ‘the beach’. containing samples from the red hot chillie peppers original, particularly the distinctive guitar playing in the beginning and through out the song in parts, with the original lyrics slightly changed, the all saints recorded this cover because they liked ‘the overall sound and feeling of the recording’. great, great cover.
labelle’s lady marmalade, covered by christina aguilera, mya, li’l kim and pink
…for the original soundtrack of baz luhrmann’s moulin rouge! a fantastic combination of voices and talent, the four ladies work well together (and look good together too) in a quality remake of the soul sisters labelle’s hit. a tight and solid track.
the guess who’s american woman, covered by lenny kravitz
lenny kravitz is sexy. he brings all this sexiness into his version of ‘american woman’ and it works wonderfully.
U2’s one, covered by U2 featuring mary j blige
a beautifully sung cover of the U2 hit from 1992. bono really steps back and lets mary j blige own this song, and boy does she do that well. her vocals are amazing and strong, stomping out the lyrics and making the song her own.
…says cousin D.
i’m finally reaching out, getting what i want from my creative capabilities. moving beyond the realm of safety and familiarity and into the clutches of fluidity and imagination. finally, i am relieved.
i have danced since i was 7. that’s where i’ve met some of the nicest people i’ve ever met, and made some of the best friends i’ve ever had. this person, and this person, are living proof of that. since i made that commitment then, with my pudding-bowl haircut and my wide eyes, afraid of my teachers, thrilled about the experience, i was offered the privilege of being one with the family that was at the forefront of sri lankan dance theatre. i’ve been onstage countless times, and offstage, sharing the euphoria, wiping off the make up. over the years, we’ve become more than dancers. we’ve become family, we’ve become adults, we’ve grown as writers and administrators and wives and mothers.
my dedication wavers, with every time the going gets a little too tough and it becomes a little too time and energy consuming. this leads me to think i was never meant to be a dancer at all. perhaps i’ll grow up to be someone on the side lines, someone in the wings. a choreographer. a director. a stage manager. a set designer. a company administrator. perhaps i’ll never have anything to do with a stage after this phase in my life. because sometimes, just once in awhile, it bores me. and frustrates me. the same people, the same disagreements, the same shows.
and now i’ve gotten entangled in something so different, so new, that my enthusiasm is refreshed, my skills renewed. new people, new music, new movement.
my thighs hurt and my head is buzzing. for the first time in some time, i am reminded why i am a dancer. the music pulses through your insides. the sequence happens in perfect synchronization. cousin D’s right leg flies into my left side and i grab my waist in pain, and then we’re laughing.
i’ll see you at the lionel wendt theatre on the 11th and 12th of august. because i’m going in new directions.
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