The Scales of Memory

The Scales of Memory
If I ever have daughters, thanks to the Urban Bush Women, my girls are taking dance. Tonight I watched The Scales of Memory performed by the Urban Bush Women, a Brooklyn based dance troupe, featuring a Senegalese all- male dance troupe. U.B.W. is a performance ensemble “dedicated to using dance as a cultural expression and a catalyst for social change.” This performance was exactly that. During the night, you are taken on a journey from ancient days in Africa across the Atlantic on the Middle Passage into modern day sophistication with the same recurring themes of gender roles, Diaspora and oppression.
In the opening scene, the lights dim on a prop less stage as the entire cast forms a triangle and one by one yelling over the last person, they recite their names and chronic logically their own personal family trees. Next is a beautiful interpretation of three souls who have fallen or jumped overboard during the Middle Passage. The dancers lie on the floor, their bodies swaying as if in the ocean. Blue swirls from overhead lights and the sound of waves were the only accompaniment. There was always a very minimal set. The only thing the dancers carried at times, were simple wooden benches (two at the most) that aided in telling the dramatic history of Africans who became slaves and then African Americans.
At times it was way too abstract to follow but the music and the dancers were so beautiful, I allowed myself to get lost in the undulating backbones, the popping hips and the arches of perfectly pointed toes. And then all of a sudden I got it! The bench was not just a bench. It was the auction block where slaves were sold as two men and three women marched towards it with their heads hung, turning around slowing. Then that same bench became a lynching post when the same men and women clasp each other’s hands and step off crumbling on the floor. In the days of slavery, while wearing torn rags, they would occasionally tear at their faces trying to rip off he proverbial mask. However in later scenes, representing the Harlem Renaissance maybe, they would pat these masks perfectly back into place making sure all appearances were well. During party scenes, women would carry the men around or push off the ones that were being too aggressive.
Although I didn’t always know what was going on, I left the auditorium that night, fulfilled and well entertained. It wasn’t like the trips to the museum where you should stand in front of the same painting for hours and walk away saying only “ I didn’t get it.” It was art the way art should be. It evoked emotions and made you laugh with out feeling guilty and it taught you something.