The Sweet Science

The Vis-à-Vis Society had invited me to watch it rehearse, but it seemed dissatisfied with my just sitting and watching. It kept bringing me onto the stage. First to look at its vintage electric organ. Then to learn some polka steps. Then to try some clogging.

The Society (Rachel Kessler and Sierra Nelson, formerly two-thirds of the Typing Explosion) likes people to get involved. Its debut full-length production, this weekend at the Northwest Film Forum, is called We Are You: A Statistical Musical. It will present data (in song and dance) from the Society's survey questionnaires, with questions like: "When you sing, it feels like: (a) Pouring whiskey (b) Chopping onions (c) Gathering apples into a basket (d) Crying in the closet (e) Building a force field of feeling."

There will also be a "man-dance," featuring many men, who will probably dance awkwardly. There will be clogging to a Wings song. There will be a big polka dance party. "We did research on what increases the joy of living," Kessler said. "Drinking beer really fast or listening to accordion music or making out under a blanket. Listening to polka was the best. People went from zero to five in just 30 seconds."

The Vis-à-Vis Society will also unveil their new book, Who Are We?, which it describes as "a workbook for adults." As you might expect, a book from Vis-à-Vis couldn't just be for reading.

An Open Letter to Donald Byrd

Dear Donald: Never-Mind, the piece you choreographed to Nirvana songs, was two whole weeks ago. That's two lifetimes in the mayfly world of dance, but still, it must be said: Never-Mind was fucking awful. Awful. Insultingly, shamefully, wastefully awful. I say this as an admirer, Donald: Forget the cheap plastic laurels the P-I and Times threw at you last week. Don't let that piece out ever again.

Choreographing to Nirvana? Fine. (Though your picks were a little juvenile—mostly the abrasive tracks, as if you were less interested in exploring the music than making the dance fuddy-duddies squirm. Am I right, Donald?) The background dancers? Okay. (Though their upstage spasming and hurling through "Pennyroyal Tea" was silly and distracting.)

But the Kurt and Courtney characters? Awfuller than I can express. Those poor, capable, misused dancers. Never has so much technical ability been blown on something so vapid.

The bad wigs, the floppy flannel, the lip synching, the ripped jeans, the silent screams, the tepid choreography, the lame Courtney-killed-Kurt overtones (it's not shocking, Donald, it's tired), the boring-ass literalism (arm-scratching junkies, the shotgun blast as she shoots him up), the whole goddamned thing was an embarrassment.

You're great, Donald. A gutsy, shit-talking, my-way kind of guy. This town needs you. But walk away from this one. Act like it never happened. Pretend it was a fever dream.