SFDance Works Season Two: June 22-24

28 Jun

ODC’s BWayTheatre on Seventeenth Street in San Francisco was the scene of SF Danceworks Season two June 22-24 with nine dancers, six dances, one superb violinist, and a number of happy volunteer staff. That virtually all of the participants had some local connection, past or present, was to be expected and said fact intensified the pleasurable buzz.

I’ll make with the details first, impressions later. And while I am at it, let me recommend Toba Singer’s review in Culture Vulture. Eloquent evaluation.

To the list of admirable, thoughtful reviews, add Rita Felciano’s for Danceviewtimes, seen by me the first time June 28.

James Sofranko, SFDance Works’ artistic director and founder, both last season and this, has been canny in his choices, drawing dancers from three local companies, as well as two local choreographers. San Francisco Ballet, where Sofranko is a soloist, was represented by one present principal dancer, Jaime Garcia Castilla, and three former artists, Garrett Anderson, Dana Genshaft and Pascal Molat. ODC provided Steffi Cheong, Lines Ballet Brett Conway, and one-time Ballet San Jose-Silicon Valley Ballet’s Kendall Teague joined dancers Danielle Rowe and Laura O’Malley, now resident in the Area.

Choreographically, the major works included in the program were Jose Limon’s Chaconne, mounted by Gary Masters, as well as Christopher Bruce, CBE, whose Shadows was staged by Dawn Scannell and Tracy Tinker.

From Hubbard Street Dance Chicago, Alexandro Cerrudo’s Never Was opened the program with Danielle Rowe and Brett Conway, followed by James Graham’s Two Dimes and a Nickel in its premiere, danced by the trio Dana Genshaft, Garrett Anderson and Kendall Teague, probably representing the nickel and two dimes respectively.

Matt Miller’s lighting for Alejandro Cerrudo’s Never Was kept Danielle Rowe and Brett Conway in semi-darkness throughout the wonderful strains of Henry Purcell and George Handel. Branimir Ivanova’s mottled forest green costumes reinforced the now-you-see-it briefly quality of well-paired, elegant dancing.

From half-light to Jim French’s bright lighting for Two Dimes and a Nickel, dancers Dana Genshaft, Garrett Anderson and Kendall Teague moved to snippets of some eight pieces of music pieced together by James Graham, who apparently is a Gag exponent; my impression of the excellent dancing reinforced the name of the movement style.

Jose Limon’s Chaconne with Pascal Molat and violinist Rene Mandel preceded the first intermission with Danielle Rowe’s For Pixie with Brett Conway and Laura O’Malley immediately following the break. Christopher Bruce’s Shadows ended the second part of the program with dancers Steffi Cheong, Danielle Rowe, Garrett Anderson and Kendall Teague.

The program’s themes could be roughly divided into choreography inspired by music, choreography motivated by mood and/or situation and choreography which may have been mood and/or as a vehicle. What lingers is, of course, Limon’s Chaconne, with Molat’s quite different body size, providing in the quick steps and arm gestures the essence of what Limon brought to his solo. Once one registered the physical difference, one appreciated what Molat’s intelligence, generosity and pleasure gave to make his performance a triumph. And, of course, he enjoyed the superb violin support of Rene Mandel.

Christopher Bruce’s Shadows provided a portrait of frustration, attempts at escape, displays of restraint and ultimately the solidity of four individuals in departure. It is not the first time Bruce has dealt with the push, pull and hesitation that has seen danced in San Francisco. A Bruce work on the departure of Irish men was earlier danced by San Francisco Ballet with David Palmer as one of the departing. Here Bruce, using music by Arvo Part, presents with equal strength an urban view, featuring a table and four crude chairs, with Steffi Cheong and Kendall Teague as the young, most easily frustrated, with Garrett Anderson and Danielle Rowe as the experienced, pragmatic pair. In the end, all four lift suitcases and prepare for departure. Cheong and Teague reflected youthful frustration while Anderson and Rowe made me want to see them in a Tudor piece. The desperation seemed that Bruce was also familiar with Vincent Van Gogh’s portrait of The Potato Eaters.

After the second intermission, the final work was Penny Saunder’s Soir Bleu, using music of five composers, Paul Moore, Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Lera Auerbach amd Johann Paul Von Westroff. With Mario Alonso’s set design and Mark Zippone’s costumes, it brought Jaime Carcia Castilla into the roster of prior dancers, the work inspired by American painter Edward Hopper. There is a long explanation in the program notes that Hopper’s wife sacrificed her own talents to foster Hopper’s; this may have been registered by the frequency with which Steffi Cheong appeared in front of a paneless window structure down stage left. Interspersed were curving movements and lines of the male dancers in front of yet another structure, enhanced by the lighting, the semi-ghostly quality indeed reflective of the spareness of a Hopper evening. I remember Danielle Rowe sweeping past in a fitted garnet toned gown its wide skirt accented by her phrasing, along with the repeated look by Cheong, and Castilla following a curved line, his own body making a crescent as he moved.

Sofranko demonstrates taste and his discerning eye makes for a balanced program. Even when the final results raises some quibbles, it’s clear he knows how to assemble the provocative as well as the pleasurable in programming. That’s no mean feat; I, for one, want to see his decisions become a venerable part of San Francisco’s early summer dance calendar.


S.F. Ballet’s Student Showcase May 31, 2017

2 Jun

San Francisco Ballet’s Showcase began with Beethoven and ended with Tchaikovsky, and the choreographic prowess of Karen Gabay and George Balanchine. More specifically, this meant the first movement of Beethoven’s Seventh, the Pastoral, to showcase the entire student body of the school and for Balanchine, his opening work in the U.S., on students, the ballet Serenade. Both, in their own way, were savvy expositions of student capacities.

The Student showcase for years now has been held at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ Theatre over three days, one of which includes a dinner for major supporters.

Casts varied so I can only comment on the opener which saw many of the area’s reviewers present. I was sitting on the right aisle in front of Erik Tomasson, whose limpid photographic clarity has been such a pleasure for easily a decade. The rapid sound of clicks assured that some of the salient moments of each of the six works seen will be duly preserved and a few publicly shared. Also in the audience was Victoria Morgan, Artistic Director of Cincinnati Ballet and one-time member of San Francisco Ballet.She remarked she was celebrating her second decade there as Cincinnati Ballet’s artistic director.

While I agree with Rita Felciano that we missed seeing the individual levels display their competency, combining Levels 2 through 8 to the emphatic musical declaration of one of Ludwig’s happier compositions was Karen Gabay’s savvy choice to provide emphasis and energy to the aspiring professionals. Former principal dancer of some three decades with Ballet San Jose, Gabay is a certified trouper; she knows how to present dancers so they look their best and clearly enjoy so doing.

The curtain opened on all six levels seated, then kneeling and rising in gradated rows. To the musical whirrs, drums, woodwinds and strings, the older students moved at the back in lifts, the younger ones rising, pointing their toes, and expanding their chests with port de bras right to the beat. I found it captivating in this showcase that the music genuinely carried the dancers, down the last singular emphasis of the drums.

Myles Thatcher’s Panorama, to the music of Douve Eisenga, followed with six dancers, costumes milliskin with abstract color patterns. Wonderful work for the men, both technically and visually, though the music seemed to outweigh the amount of Thatcher’ inventions, one of those unfortunate situations happening using finished musical scores. Thatcher’s use of entrances, pairings, the center and breakouts demonstrate his growing inventiveness.

Following the first intermission, I wish the three-fold casting sheet had identified by date of Meistens Mozart , Helgi Tomasson’s 1991 setting for seven recorded songs. I remember reading somewhere that Tomasson’s first choreographic essay was for a student showcase. Though not this work, it is deft and complimentary to the capacities of young talent, mostly level 7 students arrayed in white.

Like other companies, S.F. Ballet is encouraging choreographic efforts with its trainees and corps members, supplying trainee Blake Johnston with an opportunity to present Filaementous to the music of Bryce Dessner for six dancers, and assistant by former SFB principal Wendy Van Dyck. Like Meistens Mozart a number of the dancers were drawn from level 7 with two I assume to be in the trainee program.

Before the second intermission Wona Park and David Preciado danced the Pas de Deux from Don Quixote, that time-worn warhorse which can excite when the two dancers possess verve and technique to spare. The recorded music was so dreadfully fast that Preciado could not preen properly and Park’s fan was missing in her variation. Her steady balance was notable and she recovered nicely from a stumble at the beginning of her fouettes in the coda. Had the music been more correctly paced, the fact that the venerable pas de deux is a wedding celebration might have emerged.

Following the intermission some level 7s and mostly level 8 students, along with some unidentified dancers who may be trainees, danced Elyse Borne’s staging of Serenade , Balanchine’s first choreography created in the United States in 1934, premiered 83 years ago this coming June 10. With Wona Park dancing the fated one, along with Maya Wheeler and Leili Rackow, and with Joseph Warton and Ethan Chudnow as principal partners, the results were appreciably correct, precise and filled with rediscovery for the audience. Whatever happens to the nearly thirty dancers involved, they can retain the satisfaction of a ballet well danced, with wonderful coherence, and an audience quite aware of their considerable accomplishment, an appropriate ending for a genuine school graduation program.

Theatre Flamenco at ODC May 19

26 May

Theatre Flamenco at ODC May 19

Theatre Flamenco has given its arguably first performance series since moving to a South Van Ness Location at the Bway Theatre of ODC. After a Cowell Theatre performance perhaps two years ago, the Carola Zertuche studio on McAllister gave way to a basement location near the United Nations Plaza, and from what I’ve heard, a difficult time for all concerned. This spring Zertuche’s classes and Theatre Flamenco moved perhaps two blocks away from ODC on South Van Ness, hopefully marking a very productive era. If what was presented May 19, it’s a fortunate signal.

Carola Zertuche invited Adela Campallo as a second soloist, two singers – Jose Cortes and Miguel Soto “El Londro’ and two guitarists Angel Ruiz and David Vargas. Three dancers, Bianca Rodrigues, Cynthia Sanchez and Radha Svetnicka, provided the corps de ballet for three numbers.

ODC’s theatre was stripped to the brick walls, exposing the giant Xes installed for earthquake safety. Three chairs with backs provided the scenery, their moving positions determined by florescent paint identified half way through the program because virtually all of the entrances occurred in dusky silence. While I have never seen flamenco in its native Spanish setting, the starkness, the severity of this ambiance seemed just right,

Zertuche’s talent lies as much in her conceptions as in her dancing, Tarantos, which opened the program. Dancing in black trousers and lacy blouse with ruffled cuffs, she seemed solemn, almost forbidding; as she moved forward and back, pivoting left and right, heels emitting complex responses to the guitar, I missed the swosh and grace of skirted movement, though I found nothing but admiration for her emergence behind the singer and her slow, deliberate development in the dance.

Zertuche’s three dancers joined her in Martinete, similarly garbed. For me this dance is enshrined in a 50’s era movie on flamenco where Antonio danced it in a quarry-like setting to the solitary sound of a hammer, a soulful number which the quartet reflected.

Adela Campallo’s Seguiriya vied in lengthy intensity with her tawny good looks.
She might be one of those smiling senoritas in a Seville feria poster inviting you to that special spring holiday, but her use of space, from the confines of complex taconeo to the sweeping stride around the space to arm stretched outward or upward in movement exclamation, she commanded attention.

The feminine quartet returned with a Rondena before Zertuche danced a bulerias, the musicians performed alone, Campallo’s focus pulverized a Romance, and the quintet of dancers completed the program with Cantinas.

Of particular interest to me was Radha Svetnicka, a Calcutta native, with the lingering ease of the Bengali native about her dancing, however accurate and precise her execution. I hope to see her regularly in the Theatre Flamenco programs.

A worthy program with David Vargas and Angel Ruiz as guitarists, Jose Cortes and Miguel Soto ‘El Londro” as impressive singers, I found myself musing how deceptively like conventional males one might observe on the street these artists appeared, making their collaboration that much more memorable.

David Gordon at ODC’s BWay Theatre, April 21

17 May

It wasn’t until I opened the program for David Gordon’s Live Archiveography    that I was aware the production was enjoying its premiere here or that its origins lay with the New York Public Library, supported by  some of the best dance funders currently active and utilizing dancers long involved with his productions. Gordon is so clearly a New Yorker, belonging to a generation of dancer/artists enjoying the solidifying national interest in the performing arts. As a member of this group, he also springs from family ties clearly captured in family pictures of the women in youth and maturity from which Gordon doubtless drew considerable strength and encouragement.  Now 80, this Gordon production is permeated with that spirit, and, like family, it is both sequential and jumbled as memory can unavoidably be.

The production relies on one large screen and two small screens whose tensile strength relied on black cord, somehow managing to emphasize the evocation of a family photo album, although much of this included sequences from prior productions, duly identified by name and date. As the audience filed in, David Gordon was seated in front of the right tier of seats, reading aloud from a text displayed on one of the side screens. There a few minutes later Julie Potter, recently named director of the ODC Theater, made the usual announcements about production, safety exits and cessation of cell phones.

Nostalgia and reminiscence I get, the choreographic means only sporadically, but the salutation of a lifetime of activity, I applaud every inch of the way. With Valda Setterfield moving in the space as the audience filed in, and later disclosing she lost her red hair to Gordon’s belief white hair would be more electric, I confirmed my belief she was a major contributor to Gordon’s continued success and ability to improvise. She, Karen Graham and Scott Cunningham contributed immediate movement while videos behind on the two large screens recorded the earlier versions.

I never made it into the circle of admirers of the Judson School which sent “modern” dance off in a direction almost opposite to the trio of dancers, Graham, Humphrey and Wiedman,  who emerged from the Denishawn school. Setterfield danced for a decade under Merce Cunningham until an accident forced a change in her allegiance, and is a dancer I find compelling.

Godon’s ability to mixture, rework and comment is lively and unique.  His works have been numerous, vigorous and have enjoyed remarkable fiscal and institutional support.  This production is no exception and is a salute to grit and, clearly, a theatre mensch.

Alonzo King’s 2017 Spring Adventure

16 May

Alonzo King’s 2017 Spring Adventure

Ten dancers were responsible for realizing Alonzo King’s latest adventure, closing the ensemble’s spring season at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts Theatre in a 5 p.m. performance Sunday afternoon May 14.  King is noted for seeking new inspirations and collaborators throughout the life of his ensemble and this time his focus was the inspiration which words can provide.  The non-intermission piece was titled Figures of Speech.

And not just any words, but the lexicon of twelve languages either moribund or held by special groups such as the Basques and the Sephardic Jews who still use Ladino in their lives.  Six of them belong to the North American Indians; three from the mid-West plains, Cheyenne, Comanche and Kiowa, and Mountain Maidu, Nisenan and Ohlone from two areas of the California Sierras and the mid-California coast. Hawaii is represented, Hokkaido, the Northern Territory and Tierra del Fuego.  These brief utterances come from the resources of Bob Holman’s recording collection.

Also credited in the program are David Finn, lighting and video designer; David Murakami, video designer; Colleen Quen, listed for salwar design; Alexander MacSween, composer and Phillip Perkins both composer and audio design.

The 50 minutes presented were marked by twenty-nine separate passages, commenced by Yujin Kim in gauzy off-white with black tracery [presumably language] followed by the full company, the women in short costumes, mixed tones of brown, another with fringe-like yellow and green layers, yet another rust and brown. The men wore trousers, tights, one a skirt, all bare-chested. Behind them at various times were horizontal bands of lights which appeared to be replicas of the languages, or tv-like squares and various lighting effects from the flies, particularly noticeable in the two Theft of Fire passages.

My guess is that the passages represented, spoken, chanted or sung represented rituals important to the given language groups, and, clearly, the most likely to survive.  I felt that King’s choreography with its penchant for struggling, stretching by arms and legs and the sometimes tortured nature of a pas de deux emphasized, if not illuminated the languages. Indeed, the program indicated  one prayer song from the Kiowa, A Comanche Hymn, and Aia la ‘o Pele from the Hawaiian. A tad more explanation might have helped.

As usual, I was swept away by the quality and beauty of the dancers, and just how King has helped them to become his eloquent instruments. It’s not hard to see how their physical eloquence has forged such a following both here and in Europe. Rita Felciano’s review for Danceviewtimes, referring to Ingmar Bergman’s Dance of Death in The Seventh Seal, was an apt summation for the near unrelenting choreographic contest framing the winnowing of these tribal communications.

For all the starkness of theme, the warmth of the almost capacity audience was matched by Alonzo King when he presented retiring Ballet Master Arturo Fernandez with a bouquet and proceeded to scatter rose petals on him and the stalwart dancers.

Cinderella Closes San Francisco Ballet’s 2017 Spring Season

14 May

First, let me confess that Alexei Ratmansky’s Cinderella for the Maryinsky Ballet captured my fancy when I saw it at Zellerbach Auditorium; I already seen the Wheeldon take on the fairy/morality tale in this dual company production.  There are samenesses in the Wheeldon version, but with all the prodigious production effects, one can easily get lost in the “how” of the production rather than the “why.”

In the Prelude Cinderella, her father and mother are together, until a coughing fit and a red-stained handkerchief tell the audience the mother is not long for this world.  The Fate figures appear and carry her aloft and into the mists of several screens. Father and daughter embrace in grief.  Then a tree begins to emerge from the tombstone and suddenly Cinderella, danced by Doris Andre, is seen at the grave side.  While she is there, the two step-sisters, Jahna Frantzkonis and Julia Rowe, appear; there is an initial greeting before the Stepmother, danced by Lauren Strongin, appears on the arm of the father. Ruben Martin-Cintas.  In the stillness of her appraisal, Andre conveys the rapid thought process of the new reality, but when Step-mother in a proprietary air, offers a bouquet, Cinderella grasps it briefly before allowing it to fall to the floor.  “Uh o,” one thinks, and one step daughter picks it up, thrusts it into the heroine’s hands before dashing it to the floor, the relationship defined.

Meanwhile, back at the Palace as the Queen leads her newly adult son, Guillaume [Carlo Di Lanno], along the wall identifying the generations of royal females, one knows what’s on the regal minds.  The Prince is scarcely enthusiastic and turns to his friend Benjamin, [Angelo Greco], for support.  Both are Italian, Italian trained and exhibit clear rapport, Greco being the ebullient replacement for Pascal Molat, possibly Basilio, Mercutio, and, one hopes, Colas.

The King, Ricardo Bustamonte, presents Guillaume with a pile of invitations for the ball.  Guillaume turns to Benjamin who suggests they trade places so that the Prince can appraise the distribution incognito.  All of which leads to the dysfunctional household where Cinderella is scullery maid.  She, of course, treats Guillaume, looking as if in training to portrait Jean-Louis Barrault as mime, with food and civility;  Hortense [Lauren Strongin] makes it her business to evict him, her attention getting distracted by Benjamin, scarlet coated, and the pile of invitations gets diminished by four.  Guillaume teaches Cinderella the basics of dancing; there is clear chemistry, but she rebuffs his approach and sends him on his way.
There is the usual ballroom preparatory fuss, accented by Hortense tearing up Cinderella’s invitation and tossing it into the fire.  Next come the golden masked Fate figures. The scenery disappears to reveal the tree grown from the mother’s grave before which the four seasons and their retinue perform and Cinderella emerges garbed in golden tutu and mask before the Four Fates appear , sporting wheels, making up the carriage over which Cinderella’s cape billows as the curtain comes down.

Act II is the ball with the regal Albert and Charlotte entering upstage center with the guests  attired in magenta, blue and teal. I found their assignments, understandably filler material, rather pedestrian.  I suppose some minor flirtations would have been distracting.  Guillaume appears in a romantic sleeves white shirt to Queen Charlotte’s dismay, and, clearly the disinterest of Hortense, Edwina and Clementine, until he disappears to return with his regal jacket.  Benjamin begins to have romantic feelings towards bespectacled Clementine.

Wheeldon I believe has taken the liberty of placing some of world-wide hunt for the mysterious princess into the ballroom scene, so that Isabella De Vivo and Jennifer Stahl double their assignments, first as Spring and Winter and then as Spanish and Russian respectively, joined by Amy Yuri as the Balinese princess. These latter variations are deliberately hokey, and almost irrelevant to the chemistry, lifts, swirls, entrances and exits between Guillaume and Cinderella.

At any rate, Guillaume is entranced, the monarchs are happy and everything looks hunky dory until the clock begins to chime midnight when confusion very cleverly reigns, Hortense lifts Cinderella’s mask and Guillaume is left with a golden-hued toe shoe as the curtain falls.

Act IV opens with a string of gilded French style chairs lowered from the flies, to be filled  by  a varied cast, from two huge ugly paper-mache characters, Mme Mansard, to the foreign princesses and others, trying to fit into the golden toe shoe as Benjamin attempts to serve as fitter. Failure and the line of empty chairs are hoisted towards the ceiling, forming an arch over the fateful kitchen in which Cinderella reflects on her brief joy and sequesters her shoe on top of the fireplace.  Almost immediately Edwina appears with the skeleton hoop skirt dismissing a night time companion and imperiously orders Cinderella to maintain silence.

When Benjamin and Guillaume arrive, Mother Hortense makes a great show of trying to hammer the solitary toe shoe onto Edwina’s foot.  Then the Four Fates lift Cinderella so she retrieves her shoe and is carried to a chair where she slips into the missing footgear, and is rewarded by a radiant Guillaume.  Hortense is utterly abject, but Cinderella approaches her and kisses her before the scene changes to the wedding ceremony under the magic tree.

I had no trouble believing Di Lanno’s prince nor Andre’s Cinderella – adults concerned about human happiness, belief in dreams being fulfilled – admirably portrayed and technically up to the challenges of the roles.  I just wish there had been more about them and less about the production, although I admit it was both fun and masterfully realized.

The 2017 Bi-Annual Taylor Visit

5 May

You could almost make a ditty about that heading. Something about Paul Taylor’s choreography and his marvelous dancers remind me of a world which shaped me, and I expect helped to mold Taylor’s view of the world.  It was the ‘Thirties and The Depression which was the subject of his plaintive, evocative closer of Program B, April 27 and April 28. Unlike many modern choreographers, Taylor possesses many of the spare qualities forming the American mind-set in the early-Thirties, as well as an almost ineffable sense of whimsy, a droll regard for cliches which he manages to present slightly askew. Somehow, he manages to make me, at least, feel right at home,in the right place, and breathing contentedly, making of a swallow a wisp of satisfaction.

There were the usual three programs, with Programs B and C being repeated; Program A had the only local premiere, The Open Door, as well as an early classics, Airs, to George Frederick Handel’s music.

Program B opened with Book of Beasts, a 1971 work set to E. Power Biggs using a pedal harpsichord, the familiar tunes rendered with a somewhat remote sound with tinny accents. The costumes by John Rawlings echoed Taylor’s whimsy, calculated down to the last streamer. Both costumes and music provided a perfect foil to the dancers, women and men, black garbed up to their tilted berets, marching on stage with pointed arrow-ends to white staves.  They marched, moved in formations, inter-twined, moved through their lines, thrust their staves to the ready when a white ghost with flame steamers flitted on stage; abandoned the stage when Michael Trusnovec danced Phoenix to the strains of Mahler, glittering in gold-sequined body suit, head band, red streamers as hand accent; staves utilized as game holders to Saint-Saens Swan; staves creating a halo behind Michael Novak’s Deity to Beethoven as he bent, bowed and twisted with glacial Le Roi Soleil demeanor. The staves provided weapon support for the de Falla Devil danced by Robert Kleinendorst, pointing dark blue cellophane straw claws at his victims, swiveling his hips, encased in a blue/black unitard of glistening sequins, all knowing gleeful naughtiness. For the finale, what but Tchaikovsky’s notes for the Russian divertissement in the Nutcracker’s Act II.  Such a send up!

The 2007 Lines of Loss left me more or less neutral, occasionally nodding, though the dancers, in spare off-white Santo Loquasto costumes, were their usual excellent selves.  My principal reaction was admiration for Taylor’s adroit patterns and groupings.

Black Tuesday is now sweet sixteen, created in 2001 to songs of The Great Depression, the set and motley costumes of mix and match by Santo Loquasto apt echoes of survival under the Third Avenue El, still in place during my brief Manhattan sojourn in 1952. The tinny quality of the musical renditions provides the exact ambiance of momentary cheer and inevitable despair. There is a knowingness about the women’s dresses, accented by black mesh stockings whose black banded tops could be seen all too often, heightening the anbiance of “So what’s it to you?” Parisa Khobdeh’s about-to-deliver baby bump awakened empathy as she hopped, twirls and jumped around the self-absorbed figures in her space.  Michelle Fleet and James Samson gave no-cost cheer in”Slummin’ on Park Avenue,” while Heather McGinley left no doubt about her seedy means of survival, stretching her lengthy limbs or being carried and tossed by fellow survivors iin “The Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”

While each of the eight songs conveyed its own message of the era, Michael Trusnovec’s “Brother Can You Spare a Dime” formed the finale, phrases like “Once I built a Railroad….”with added references to early skyscraper construction, being a World War I doughboy, and “…Al, I’m Your pal.” The phrase “Brother Can You Spare a Dime,” finished each sequence as Trusnovec, in khaki, spun, gestured or jumped.  The bitter sweet, tender exposition of those years of Taylor’s childhood, [I too remember them], closed with the company’s hands illuminated with the words “Can you Spare a Dime?”