It might seem abstract, but dance is extraordinarily specific – an ultra-precise instrument of physical poetry. You shouldn’t even think about adding music unless the link is umbilical, unequivocal and clear. There are passages in Leaning Tree – a meeting of Dansk Danseteater with the Copenhagen Phil – which are utterly, mesmerizingly inspired: when the union of the aural and visual isn’t a union at all, but a single thing. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough of them.
Choreographer Fernando Melo’s signature style is slow, legato, un-rhythmic. His group of welded human bodies often behaves like a dollop of lava, moving with a sluggish certainty. It’s hypnotic to look at but absolutely unmusical. Maybe that’s why Signe Lykke’s score for Leaning Tree so rarely channels what we’re seeing.
Or is Melo not listening to Lykke? She speeds up or shifts gait; he can’t. Her throbbing, cooing spatial orchestral score can resemble Bent Sørensen without the fragile melodies. It livens up when congealed low brass and winds squeeze themselves into almost spectral harmonies. Tension skyrockets, but it counts for little on stage.
Then the »leaning« – the stunningly beautiful, anti-gravitational choreographic conceit on which it all rests. It’s about 30 minutes before we see any real leaning. But gosh it’s exquisitely done, worth the wait even if it makes a lot of what went before seem like padding.
The culmination, a vision of leaning bodies like swaying reeds, gets right into Lykke’s score. Or maybe vice versa. It’s not just glissandos we’re hearing, but elasticated harmonic movement – music composed with extraordinary delicacy of texture, harmonies built from the exacting placement and movement of individual instruments. Leaning Tree needs more of this sort of thing.