HISTÓRIA DA DANÇA DO VENTRE NOS EUA II (Jamila Salimpour)

Texto postado no Tribe Net, por Andre Khoury, pai de Isabella Salimpour (neta de Jamila Salimpour)

http://balanat.tribe.net/thread/acc57811-42f2-4066-9937-8ecb77cb90ea

Quando chegou o dia para ver a famosa "Rosemarie", gravadores pesando uma tonelada, foram levados para o teatro. Naqueles dias, eram poucos os que poderiam se dar ao luxo de possuir um. Pegamos assentos no centro, de frente, bons lugares para um auditório, onde se sentam cerca de três mil. 

Fomos cedo e as luzes ainda estavam acessas, assim olhamos em volta para ver quem estava sentado onde, antes do show começar. Era quase a hora de começar e, exceto pelo nosso grupo, havia cerca de vinte pessoas no balcão do teatro. Lá embaixo, havia um punhado de pessoas, e havia chegado do show começar. Esperamos, esperamos e esperamos, percebendo que algo estava acontecendo, e que talvez poucas pessoas compareceriam. Quando se tornou evidente que não haveriam mais pessoas, os que estavam no balcão concordaram em ficar no andar de baixo, mais perto da música. 

Não me lembro muito sobre a dança de Rosemarie. Eu tinha mais ou menos 24 anos. Ela foi a primeira dançarina que vi em pessoa. Ela não tocava snujs. Tio Vahan disse que ela estava chateada quando ele gravou seu show, sem um acordo de antemão, e que precisaram negociar para que ele pudesse manter a fita. Zetrac a convidou para sua casa para uma noite musical, e fui apresentada a ela como uma aspirante a dançarina oriental. 

A seu pedido, dancei para ela. Ela foi gentil em suas críticas sobre a minha "coreografia" e fez sugestões sobre meus braços, atitude e etapas. A única coisa que ela me mostrou, e que eu não poderia fazer, era uma figura de um oito indo devagar até até o chão e todo o caminho para cima novamente. Perdemos seu paradeiro, exceto por um breve visão dela em um clube recém-inaugurado na Sunset Boulevard, chamado de "Mil e Uma Noites", onde ouvimos que ela estava trabalhando. Eu nunca a vi dançar novamente.

Houve outros programas Orientais de tempo em tempo. Um dos mais memoráveis foi de Shah Baroviano, um músico de tar, armênio persa, que se apresentou no Wilshire Ebell. Ainda posso ouvir sua bela versão de "Naz Bar". Parecia que todo o público cantava junto. Foi por volta de 1950 ou algo assim. De Fresno, Richard Hagopian, um jovem virtuoso no Oud, estava sendo comparado ao grande Oudi Harant. Passariam mais alguns anos até que eu dançasse com sua música em uma boate em Fresno.

O Town and Country Market em La Cienega abaixo Melrose, tinha um restaurante Oriente Médio que tinha música e dança popular nos fins de semana, mas não havia dançarinas do ventre. Nós fomos lá algumas vezes, e nos juntávamos ao dabke, entre as mesas. 

Haviam programas em que uma mulher chamada Khanza Omar, que fazia proezas, que precisávamos ver para crer. Dizia-se que além de ser uma grande dançarina, ela poderia fazer backbends maravilhosos e levantar cadeiras com seus dentes, levantando e continuando a dançar ao mesmo tempo, mantendo a cadeira entre os dentes. 

Vídeo de Princess Raja, cerca de 1904, mostrando a dança onde as dançarinas seguravam a cadeira com a boca.

Nos anos mais tarde, vi um documentário sobre bailarinos do Egito, que tinha uma sequência feita em uma tenda, do fora das pirâmides chamado The Balloon Café, ou algo parecido. Uma das dançarinas, vestida com Assuit da cabeça aos pés, e tocando enormes snujs, desceu até o chão em duplos shimmies, inclinou-se, ainda mantendo o tempo da música com seus snujs, e pegou uma mesa com os dentes, equilibrando-a alto no ar, enquanto dançava. Eu fui a uma apresentação da amada Khanza Omar. Para surpresa de todos, ela morreu no fim de semana antes de a comunidade árabe apresenta-la em um show chamado "ExtravaKhanza". Diziam que ela era uma princesa marroquina. Ocasionalmente, ela trabalhava como figurante em filmes. Outra dançarina Orientale chamado Delalah Mur, residia em algum lugar em Los Angeles, ensinava e tinha uma trupe. Nunca vi o ela dançando.

Tinha por volta de vinte e seis anos, quando eu decidi aprender a tocar Oud. Encontrar um professor, era história aparte, e novamente tenho que agradecer Anoosh, por encontrar o Sr. Levonian, que estava disposto a me ensinar a tocar Oud. Eu queria muito aprender estilo egípcio, mas Levonian tocava o estilo turco. Mas era ele ou nada. Lembro-me dele reclamando sobre uma dançarina chamada Karoon Tootikian, que queria que ele compusesse uma música para ela. Incomodava-lhe que ela queria que ele colocasse a harmonia em sua composição, e ele diria que a nossa música é inocente, que ela deve deixá-la em paz! 

Do que eu consegui reunir sobre sua dança, ela era uma dançarina folclórica armênia interpretativa. Ouvi que sua especialidade era um dervish rodopiante , o que era fácil para ela dançar, pois tinha uma doença ocular, que tirou sua visão. Uma vez, que ela calculou mal as dimensões do palco no Wilshire Ebell e, durante a apresentação de seu dervish, ela caiu no fosso da orquestra.

De Boston, vieram histórias de dois clubes, onde o negócio foi crescendo: Khayyam e Club Zarra, que tinha apresentações de música e dança do Oriente Médio.

Histórias da briga em curso entre a cantora libanesa Morrocos e a impetuosa dançarina argelina Bedeah eram relatados semanalmente pela imprensa, que estavam sempre incitando, na esperança de criar uma briga. 

O Greek Village abriu em Hollywood Boulevard. Eles contrataram meus músicos, mas não queriam uma dançarina do ventre. Os proprietários eram da Costa Leste. A esposa do proprietário cantava e dançava um Cifte Telli em roupas de normais (não figurino). Tinham uma filha que se parecia com Sophia Loren. Ela usava blusas de corte baixo e acompanhava os músicos com um tambor de conga. Não importava se ela sabia tocar ou não. A visão dela, valia o preço da entrada.

Tradução livre por Carine Würch

Fonte - http://balanat.tribe.net/thread/acc57811-42f2-4066-9937-8ecb77cb90ea

RETORNO AS RAÍZES

On one of my periodic visits and returns to the San Francisco Bay area where I was born, I was being driven to some now long-forgotten gig by a friend of my salad years, Robaire. Robaire was, and is, among other things I’ll go into later, a dumbec player. We knew each other when we were young and idealistic, both children of that infamous and much-studied decade, the sixties.
Right across from San Francisco, over the Bay Bridge, lays Berkeley, home of the first student revolution in 1964: the shot heard round the world which inspired many other student revolutions that changed much of American opinion and thought (ie., Kent State), inspired the French student revolution, and eventually spread to far-away Greece where the student revolution at the University of Athens was instrumental in bringing down the Junta. It was also the hotbed of other revolutionary cultural ideas which were later accepted by greater America, and even commercialized upon.

Rhea and daughters dancing at Human Be-in, San Francisco, mid-sixties.

Together, San Francisco and Berkeley were the vanguard of what was “happening:” hippies, rock groups, the human “Be-In” (one of the many precursors to Woodstock), LSD a la Timothy Leary, etc. Manifold events occurred, filled with zest, verve and flair. Ken Kesey (author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest) was caught in a real police car chase outside of Candlestick Park (not to be equalled until O.J. Simpson). President Kennedy had been murdered and conspiracy theories abounded. I was living with Phil Marsh, a rock and roll musician (then leader of the Cleanliness and Godliness Skiffle Band, later to play with Country Joe and the Fish).
Robaire lived in a belly dance commune, one of the many communes that proliferated in Berkeley at that time. I had broken into belly dancing before it became a fad, and was beginning to ride the crest of what was to become a tidal wave of popularity for this ancient artistic and liturgical art form. I had formed a dance troupe based on the model formed by my teacher, Jamila Salimpour, and was anxious to promote and display good, technically competent and soulful dancers.
Robaire and I ran into each other at performances at various sit-ins, be-ins, love-ins, happenings and stop-the-war demonstrations that were the hallmarks of that era. Robaire had long hair and a beard. I had only recently begun shaving my legs and underarms to dance in nightclubs and only wore a bra on stage. Our audiences were joyous and stoned, ecstatically communicating with the higher gods which we, with our temple bodies invoked and called forth. We didn’t just dance. We communicated. We communed. We danced for love, not money. “Make love, not war.”
Here Robaire and I began to part company (but not spiritual communication). He, being a gardener in the daytime, could afford to love it up at performances. Being the divorced mother of two small children (exuent rock and roller, enter first Greek), I preferred to stay home in the day, work at night. Even we belly dancers who danced for higher spirit, joy and love hoped and dreamed of working as a “professional dancer” at one of the then myriad night clubs that existed in the greater San Francisco Bay area. We would edify the general public by showing that our dance was on a higher plane than just sex and eroticism.
We were also going to knock the socks off the Middle Easterners: “But I cannot beleeve you dance like thees and are not from our country!” We would show that we American girls could go the Arabian girls one better, thus spawning “Ameraba” music and dance, enabling Eddy Kochak and others to buy houses in the upper echelons of New York property values.
I started at the Bagdad on Broadway for $5.00 a night in 1969, and gradually worked my way up to being one of the top-earning dancers in the area. San Francisco was then coming out of the “beat” era, but still retained that seedy but European quality, mixed with an exotic Oriental feeling. Tourists were coming from all over the country to see the hippies in-situ (Haight-Ashbury), the first topless dancers ever in America, and, of course, a show, a jazz club, a famous comedian (e.g. Mort Sahl), a play, the biggest Fillipino club outside of Manila, Alcatraz Prison, the cable cars, Golden Gate Bridge. But to cap off the night — Broadway, North Beach (Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”) and the belly dancers. Many clubs closed their doors at regular closing time, but inside things went on until dawn.
One of my chief regrets in life is that such times die. You can make a movie, you can write a documentary, but you can never re-capture the feeling of such times. Even as I write, my heart constricts to think of the revelling innocents we were, naturally believing such a life could continue, now lost to each other and the selves we used to be, cruelly separated by changing times and tastes.
Rather than elaborate on the decline of Broadway and “legitimate” entertainment in all major American cities (by the encroachment of television and later, video), let me now leave America and arrive in Greece in 1976, broken-hearted, broken-dreamed, but with those same two children to support.
I went to work on the “Athens by Night” circuit which proliferated around Acropolis in Athens, Greece. My dance was well-received by the tourists and I continued to grow and change. Robaire, who had by this time formed his own troupe, inherited some of my dancers, and formed a lovely synthesis. And synthesis was to be the key word now. To shore up the dwindling dance student supply, producers of dance seminars now had to co-operate more if their seminars were to be a success. This spawned week-long workshops with many teachers teaching. My old friend, Robaire, went on to co-produce the mother of all belly dance workshops, Rakkasah, where people travel from all over the world to meet with each other, dance for each other, and sell and buy things from each other.
Meanwhile, poor old Rhea, the performance addict, continued to dance in various cities in Europe simply because night clubs presenting belly dancers which paid decent living wages still existed there.
Now let us go back to the night Robaire and I are in his panel truck on the way to some long-forgotten gig. As is the custom when we are together, we were verbally sparring in a jovial and affectionate way. I was talking about my oldest daughter, Piper, and some of the places where she danced in Athens.
“Now Piper,” says I, “in her act…”
Robaire, with his customary panache, cut me short. “Act?” says he. “I thought it was a dance!”
Well, that started us on a merry verbal chase that passed the time quickly. Although the gig I danced at and who the contest winner was, are erased from my memory, that conversation still stands out. My opinion at that time, which is still my opinion today, is that to be a successful performer and to be able to find and keep work as a dancer, one has to be able to do more than just dance. A moderately good-looking face and body, dynamite stage make-up, and effective costuming are all part of the “act.” Familiarity with Egyptian, Turkish, and Greek music, not to mention Armenian, Lebanese, and other Middle Eastern countries’ music, and the ability to emotionally interpret that music, are also important ingredients for success.

Rhea in Greece, 1994

My “act” has expanded over the years (at 52 I am still fully booked, thank God!!) to include not only the traditional cabaret dance, but also what I call “Art-Interpretive” dance. One example: Rhea and company at an “in” coffee/wine bar under the Acropolis presenting a performance with Antonis Kazantzoglou on recorder playing “O Glikee Mou Aer” and “Saranda Palikaria” (originally danced with veils by Irene Pappas in a monastary in one of her movies). All musicians sing “Hava Nagila,” first as a dirge in minor key, and slowly building to a joyous crescendo in major key with audience participation. Antonis Kazantzoglou on flute plays a “taxim” while I do a snake-inspired floor dance. Antonis plays “Ave Maria” on the electric organ as I explain to the audience that this dance is a celebration of womanhood from matriarchal times, and Maria is the mother of Christ whom we would like to honor with our more ancient dance. The audience has no problem with this. We finish our show with Aikis, the eleven-year old son of Lazarus (the meanest Zembekiko dancer in all of Athens) playing the Bouzoukee. Aikis plays a pure Tsif T’Tele and “Glike Mou Tyrane” (My Sweet Tyrant) after I explain that our aim is to incorporate this ancient, traditional instrument into our repetoire, played by an eleven-year-old futurepalikari (strong man), once more linking past with present with future. Throughout the show, we are accompanied by Evy and Yiorgos on Darboukah and Ivan Fainmel, retired flamenco dancer, on castanets. This performance was repeated at a seminar for the Dora Stratou Theater with the inclusion of an Indian Tabla player accompanying me as I did a Katak-inspired dance, bells on ankles and pelvic area. Slides were later introduced by Anna Lazou, showing the connection between ancient Greek dance and Oriental dance. Anna has now asked me to participate with the Dora Stratou study group as it delves into Eros and Dimitra (Demeter)…and so it evolves.
What is “art-interpretive dance?” It is the stuff you love to do but don’t get paid for.
Perhaps this is a criteria for judging whether it is a dance or an act: do we “dance” for ourselves, for the love of the activity itself, or are we “acting” for others to produce an effect. Webster’s treats the verb “to act” this way: a. to represent or perform by action especially on the stage, b. to feign, simulate, c. impersonate. As a noun, one of the definitions is “a display of affected, insincere behavior.” Few of us would admit to such unworthy motives. Much of dance throughout history was done for others, as an “act” of some form or other.
Why did the ancient, archetypal, nomadic, prehistoric, tribal, matriarchal, cave-dwelling woman dance? For whom did she dance? Gina Shephard threw some light on this issue through the ages in an article published in a paper originating out of Berkeley (Express, May 28, 1993):
“Dance, of course, originated as a holy art. Most of it was done in groups, with simple hypnotic steps used to induce altered states of consciousness. Later, religious dance evolved into folk dancing, which was more social and still mainly done in groups. This, in turn, split into two separate strands of dance: dance as a solo art form which was to be observed rather than participated in, and dancing as a court-ship ritual.”
The first human activity recorded on cave walls was not hunting or war, but dance. The first dances done by humans were of a ritualistic nature, imitating an event seen in nature either to provoke or to forestall its occurence. The first dances, then, were like prayers, invoking unknown forces which could not be explained. People danced for rain, for a successful hunting foray, for fruitfullness of crops, and certainly for the continuation of humanity, which ancient people assumed to be the sole role of women, not knowing how babies originated. It is safe to assume that belly dancing, or some form of belly dancing, was the first dance, done either as a ritualistic celebration of the creation and delivery of a new life, or as a precautionary talismanic invocation against the untimely termination of that life. It is likely that it was done by women who were invested by the matrilineal society with a special power to invoke the gods; thus, the delegated practitioners were regarded as priestesses. This was a dance both hierarchic and hieratic.
Was it an act? Although the pejorative implication of “act” as being insincere probably was not present, it certainly was an imitative ritual performed for others (society, the powers of nature, the goddess, etc.), to produce an effect. It was a liturgical act. Just as in modern liturgies where the priest’s true feelings are unimportant, the dancer had to go on no matter how she felt.
People gradually gained a less superstitious approach to life, and dance was eventually relegated more to a purely diversionary or celebratory function. Although dance lost its holy aspects, and was practised for other reasons, the ritualistic movements of the ancients are still found in modern belly dance.
As dance moved into and through the stages of being an art form on the one hand, and a courtship ritual on the other, it became more of an individualized dance, a direction which was completed in the sixties:

“The age of couple dancing ended with the coming of the beat era, and later the hippie years. Dancing stopped being something you did with someone else. Dance was now self-expression. It was the era of free-form, acid, the Grateful Dead, the barefoot boogie, the granola shuffle. Like so many things during those years, dance was both democratized (anyone could do it) and vulgarized (the art taken out of it).” (Gina Shepherd)

Those of us who learned belly dancing in the sixties are familiar with how this attitude prevailed in the “hippie” belly dance scene of the era.
In short, popular dance (the cultural expression of youth in our society) has now moved more toward the personal end of the continuum, dance for the dancer rather than for other (ie., society, a god, a mate, or an audience). But how many of us as professional Oriental dancers have been able to hang on to the “purist,” internal approach espoused in the sixties. It has gradually faded with the passage of that era, and the greater technical proficiency and professionalism achieved by those who have stayed with the dance all these years. We are on the stage, we do “perform,” it is an “act” for others… no matter how much we enjoy it, no matter how much of a “personal” expression it is. Yet, how many of us would continue the dance if it were purely an “act,” a profession done for a living, without a heavy dose of the personal enjoyment, the “dance for the dancer,” as a strong motivator to keep us going.
I remember a rallying statement which my teacher, Jamila Salimpour, said in 1968: “When I get old, I will be proud to say, ‘I was a belly dancer.’” At that time I thought, “Meee, too!” I didn’t realize then that I would last so long. Now I have to modify that statement slightly: I am proud to say that “I am a belly dancer!”
Rhea began her belly dance career in San Francisco under the expert guidance of Jamila Salimpour in 1967, where she taught and danced in Bay Area during the early seventies. After a soul-changing visit to Greece and Egypt in 1976, Rhea moved with her two daughters to Athens, where she still teaches, choreographs for her troupe, and performs throughout Greece. Rhea currently speaks, performs, and conducts seminars throughout Europe and the United States. Under the profound influence of Athens neighbor, Nelly Mazloum, Rhea’s understanding and thinking about belly dance has deepened as she explores its more metaphysical and spiritual aspects in both theory and practice. www.daughtersofrhea.com

HISTÓRIA DA DANÇA DO VENTRE NOS EUA I (Jamila Salimpour)

Texto postado no Tribe Net, por Andre Khoury, pai de Isabella Salimpour (neta de Jamila Salimpour)

http://balanat.tribe.net/thread/acc57811-42f2-4066-9937-8ecb77cb90ea

Para falar sobre o movimento de dança do ventre em São Francisco, tenho que descrever a cena que estava acontecendo nos Estados Unidos e em Los Angeles, que, creio eu, precedeu os clubes profissionais e shows de cabaré que, eventualmente, tiveram lugar em São Francisco.

A partir do final dos anos 1940, até o final dos anos 1950, a música do Oriente Médio e sua dança eram praticamente desconhecidos para os norte-americanos. No entanto, ela floresceu em pequenos bolsões onde os imigrantes representantes de diferentes países do mundo árabe, que se reúnem para celebrar os costumes sociais ou religiosas. Suas nacionalidades eram um elo comum, e, sempre que se encontravam, música e dança eram incluídos em suas festividades.

O que os EUA sabia sobre música do Oriente Médio e sua dança era através das produções musicais distorcidas de Hollywood. Yvonne De Carlo e Rita Hayworth foram destaque em vários blockbusters bíblicos, coreografados por dançarinos de Hollywood do jazz moderno, que interpretaram dança do Oriente Médio em espasmos convulsivos que eram doloroso de assistir. Depois de ver Rita Hayworth em Salomé, eu pensei: "Seria o único que sabia de filmes egípcios estavam sendo mostrado mensalmente em Los Angeles? Ou será que ninguém estava interessado em autenticidade?"

No final dos anos 1940, minha família egípcia conseguiu sobreviver nos EUA, mas eles não se misturam com os americanos. Eles trabalharam entre os americanos e quando chegavam em casa, sua língua prncipal era armênio, (eram armênios do Egito), a segunda era turco, (quando eles não queriam que seus filhos soubessem o que eles estavam dizendo) e a terceira o árabe, quando falavam com amigos do Egito. A casa estava cheia de música árabe: Mohammed Abdel Wahab, Om Kalthoum e similares foram tocadas repetidamente em nos idos de 78.

Uma vez por mês, assistíamos os filmes egípcios em La Tosca Theater. Discos das músicas dos filmes eram vendidos no lobby. Quando chegávamos em casa , colocávamos os discos e tentávamos imitar os dançarinos que tínhamos visto nos filmes. Aprendi sozinha a tocar snujs. Minha senhoria Anoosh, fez um traje e eu estava pronta para dançar sempre que a ocasião aparecia. Eu tinha cerca de 21 anos de idade na época.

No final da década de 1940, antes que houvesse clubes do Oriente Médio em Los Angeles, eu fiz algumas apresentações, nos poucos locais que apresentavam Orientale Danse, como era então chamado pelos nativos. Uma vez por ano eu dançava na festa de Ano Novo Turco, mensalmente dançava no Armenian Old Age Home, para o AGBU, Armenian Great Benevolent Group, e em festas particulares e similares. Não haviam músicos profissionais de verdade na cidade. Grupos se reuniram porque a música era o seu passatempo e não sua profissão. E eram estes meus músicos  que consistiam a Hanna Brothers Orchestra, mecânicos de dia, e os músicos por escolha, sempre que uma ocasião os chamava para tocarem. Se eles precisavam de um músico extra no Oud, Kanoon ou Derbake, eles sabiam que algum amador gostaria de participar. Eles não eram Abdel Wahab, mas eles tinham alma.

Por volta de 1947 e pelos os próximos dez anos, qualquer notícia sobre música e dança do Oriente Médio vinha do Oriente Médio. Todos os domingos, uma estação de rádio de Fresno, transmitia um programa de notícias e música que abriu com músicas familiares que todos nós cantarolávamos. 

Harout's Har Omar, um restaurante armênio na Rua Ivar e Sunset Boulevard, contava com os irmãos Hurach e Florence Yacoubian no violino e piano. 

Uma vez por semana em KFAC, Mr. Yegeshay Harout apresentaria uma hora e meia de música da Armênia e do Oriente Médio, que incluíam tanto música popular e clássica. O locutor era conhecido por sua voz dramática e o programa começaria com: "Debaixo de um arbusto, um pão e uma garrafa de vinho e os meus poemas: tudo o que preciso. E tu, que ao meu lado cantas no deserto, e o deserto se torna, então, no paraíso." Outras citações de Omar Khayyam embelezavam o programa que cada armênio ouviria, estando dentro do raio do transmissor de KFAC. 

Zetrac, que possuía o Café Turco na 6th Street iria entrar em sintonia com Harout, assim como Zabelle, que costurava para celebridades na comunidade armênia e assim como Annoush e sua família, inclusive eu. E assim foi com meses de antecedência de sua chegada nos Estados Unidos que a comunidade Oriente Médio era ouvir do futuro aparecimento de "Rosemarie", dançarina oriental, cantora em seis línguas, vinda do Egito, acompanhada pela conhecida orquestra Hanna Brothersat, no Wilshire Ebell Theatre. 

Finalmente, fomos vê-la ao vivo, dançando ao som de música ao vivo. Compramos nossos bilhetes com suficiente antecedência, para que não houvesse dúvida que nossos lugares foram reservados.

CONTINUA...

Tradução livre por Carine Würch

Fonte - http://balanat.tribe.net/thread/acc57811-42f2-4066-9937-8ecb77cb90ea

JAMILA por Sola Stroll

Solano Stroll in California, Albany with Belly Dancers from Suheila Troupe, and sitting star Jamila Salimpour.

after Jamila Solimpour:

“When I was young he [my father] used to imitate them [Egyptian dancers] for us. In the late 40s my Egyptian landlady and I would go to the Egyptian movies every month. We saw many dancers, including Tahia Carioca and Samia Gamal. We would come home, put on Abdel Wahab and Farid Al Atrash records, and dance, trying to remember every move we’d seen. And so, from my father’s recollections, my landlady’s firsthand knowledge, and from the movie’s examples, this was how I got my dance information.
I first taught Oriental Dance in the early 1950s to old 78, three-minute Cife Telli records. Not having a dance vocabulary yet, I repeated the music as I improvised the dance. My students watched and imitated me, asking questions which often I couldn’t answer.

http://wozski.tumblr.com/post/61004993931/solano-stroll-in-california-albany-with-belly

Histórias de Maria - Sempre há tempo pra recomeçar!

Focalizadora em Danças Circulares Sandra Carvalho

O único limite para os sonhos somos nós mesmos! Recomeçando aos 60 anos...

by Maria Badulaques

Ontem foi o aniversário da minha mãe, 64 anos de estrada. Nem sempre a dança esteve em sua vida, muito embora a paixão por ela fosse uma constante. Um belo dia, após vivenciar as Danças Circulares lembro de ouvir de mamãe: é isso que quero para o resto dos meus dias, dançar. Não levei a sério...afinal, mudar tudo? Drasticamente!!! Aos 60 anos? Fala sério!

 

Trupe Gira Ballo
 

 Com uma profissão cartesiana, jamais imaginei que a coragem de mudar o rumo da vida fosse ter tamanha intensidade. Afinal, não basta determinação e vontade, há eminentemente que se ter coragem para dizer; isso não me faz feliz e vou embusca do que pode fazer, jogar tudo pro alto e recomeçar!

 

Assim foi, sem olhar pra trás!  Mamãe começou sua formação em Danças Circulares, vários cursos depois e o certificado de focalização com Renata Ramos, hoje vejo que não há desculpas quando realmente queremos algo, nem todas dificuldades são capazes de mover-nos em trilha oposta a um sonho se aquilo é uma verdade insofismável. Fundou a Trupe Gira Ballo de Danças Circulares, com quem se apresenta em vários eventos de dança e onde sentimos haver uma conexão que vai além do dois pra lá - dois pra cá, balança-balança, até porque o perfil da Trupe é fogo na roupa. :)

Gira Ballo - Danças Circulares

 Para minha alegria...danço ao lado da minha mãe, várias vezes divido o palco com minha filha Marina (6 anos) e minhas irmãs da trupe... é uma sensação que as palavras não podem expressar com exatidão, afinal estamos falando de uma ancestralidade resgatada.

 

A paixão pela dança não ficou "restrita" a seu campo de formação e hoje ela começou seus estudos de ATS(r) - American Tribal Style. Ou seja, a dança é democrática como sempre digo. Não há limites a não ser aqueles que criamos para nos boicotar, óbvio que há diversas dificuldades e fatores "brochantes", mas não são capazes de deter e acorrentar os sonhos.

 

Como dizia Raul "sonho que se sonha só...é só um sonho que se sonha só...sonho que se sonha junto é realidade..." -  tamo juntos neste sonho chamado DANÇA.

 

Parabéns Sandra Carvalho por sua jornada!!! E como disse Carolena, let it gooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

 

Xeros no pulsante!

Maria Badulaques.

 

English Version

 

The only limit to dreams is ourselves!by Maria Badulaques
Yesterday was the birthday of my mother, 64 years of road. Not always the dance was in his life, although the passion for it was a constant. One day, after experiencing the Circle Dances remember hearing from my Mom: that's what I want for the rest of my days dancing. Do not take it seriously ... after all, change everything? Dramatically !!! With 60 years? Be serious!
With a Cartesian profession, I never imagined that the courage to change the course of life would have such intensity. After all, not enough determination and will, there eminently who have the courage to say; this does not make me happy and I will embusca what you can do, throw it all away and start over!

So, without looking back! Mom started his training in Circle Dances, several courses and then the focus certificate with Renata Ramos, today I see that there are no excuses when we really want something, not all difficulties are able to move us in the opposite track to a dream if it is a undeniable truth. Founded the troupe turns Ballo of Circle Dances, who performs in various dance events and where we feel there is a connection that goes beyond the two over there - two over here, balance-scale, because the profile of the troupe is fire in clothing . :)
To my delight ... dance beside my mother, several times divided the stage with my daughter Marina (6 years) and my sisters troupe ... it's a feeling that words can not express exactly, after all we are talking about an ancestry rescued.

The passion for dance was not "restricted" to his training camp and now she began her studies ATS (r) - American Tribal Style. That is, dance is democratic as I always say. There are no limits except those we create for the boycott, obvious that there are several factors and difficulties "brochantes" but are not able to stop and chaining dreams.

As said Raul 'dream you dream alone is only a dream ... that dream alone ... dream you dream together is reality ... "- tamo together in this dream called DANCE.

Congratulations Sandra Carvalho for his journey !!! And as Carolena said, let it gooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

 

A HISTÓRIA DA DANÇA DO VENTRE NOS ESTADOS UNIDOS

Uma declaração pessoal de Jamila Salimpour por Jamila Salimpour

http://ads.bhuz.com/articles/articles-JamilaSalimpour2.asp

O primeiro clube de sucesso a abrir em Los Angeles, que tinha um toque oriental, foi a Greek Village na Hollywood Boulevard. Foi por volta do início dos anos 1950, uma época em que atrizes italianas dominavam a tela do cinema americano... Sylvia Mangano, Anna Magnani, Gina Lollobrigida... decote generoso transbordando sutiãs acolchoados. Todas usavam blusas com os ombros de fora, o tanto-quanto a nudez era permitida naqueles dias. 

Mostrar o umbigo era considerado "arriscado" e ainda um não-não. 

Então, quando meus músicos foram contratados pela Greek Village, e eles perguntaram aos proprietários se eu poderia me juntar a eles, a resposta foi não. Eles não queriam uma dançarina em um traje curto! 

Os donos do restaurante tinham uma filha que era um belo atrativo. Eu acho que eles eram gregos da Costa Leste, ouvindo muito música turca. A esposa era a anfitriã, e cantava em grego, turco e um pouco de árabe. A filha, que parecia com Jane Russell, usavam blusas reveladoras de ombros de fora. Ela tocava atabaque, e o comprimento da blusa era um pouco abaixo do busto. 

Em uma época de inocência, era uma grande atração e tema de conversa entre muitos dos clientes, predominantemente do sexo masculino. Assim, eu ia ao Greek Village como um cliente, ocasionalmente levantando-me para dançar por insistência dos meus músicos, mas sem ainda nenhuma oferta de emprego.

Originalmente, o Greek Village foi dividido em duas partes, a parte traseira era fechada quando o negócio ainda era novo. Como os negócios aumentaram, a divisória ia sendo movida cada vez mais para trás, até que toda a loja mostrou-se como um grande retângulo. A mensagem se espalhou pelos marinheiros gregos sobre o Greek Village, e quando seus navios chegavam ao porto, eram apresentados com algumas das melhores dança grega que já vi. No início, o palco era de centro-frente, mas como a nova audiência de clientes-artistas cresceu, o palco foi transferido para o meio do retângulo no lado da mão direita. 

Uma lâmpada nua pendurada diretamente sobre o palco e tornou-se um concurso semanal internacional para ver qual dançarina poderia chutar alto o suficiente para bater a lâmpada. A dança de exibição favorita era Zabek. O Ouzo (bebida grega) fluia livremente, como uma águia, um após o outro abria as asas na dança ritual. Homens gregos gostam de dançar. De vez em quando uma mulher se levantar e fazer um recatado Cifte Telli*. Ainda nenhuma oferta de emprego para mim. Os negócios, no entanto, estava começando a crescer.

* O Tsifteteli (em grego: τσιφτετέλι; turco: çiftetelli), é um ritmo e dança da Anatólia e dos Balcãs com um padrão rítmico de 2/4 [1] Em turco, a palavra significa "dupla de cordas", tirada do estilo de jogo de violino. que é praticada neste tipo de música. Há sugestões de que a dança já existia na Grécia antiga, conhecida como a dança de Aristófanes Cordax. [2] No entanto, é muito comum na Grécia e na Turquia, mas também em toda a região antigo Império Otomano.

Meus músicos foram substituídos por músicos profissionais importados diretamente da Grécia. O primeiro contingente incluiu a escandalosa Betty Daskalakis, cantora, sedutora, e designer de vestidos estranhos, com fendas em todos os lugares errados, os quais geraram muita fofoca entre as "pessoas morais", despertando a curiosidade de toda Los Angeles. Assim como na Feira Mundial de Chicago, em 1893, quando os dançarinos, ofenderam a sensibilidade do que era considerado a "moral", os clientes do Greek Village, vinham em grande número para ver o ofensor em primeira mão, a fim de passar de forma mais eficaz seu julgamento. A caixa registadora mostrava os lucros, os manifestantes ficavam a maior parte da noite para assistir Betty, e verificar se a fofoca era realmente verdadeira. Ela nunca os decepcionou.

Jamila, dancer, Adel Sirhan, oud player, Lemmy Pasha, Kanoun, Yousef, violin - 12 Adler Place

Tradução Livre - Carine Würch

Texto original - http://ads.bhuz.com/articles/articles-JamilaSalimpour2.asp

http://ads.bhuz.com/articles/articles-JamilaSalimpour3.asp

Visite e curta: Nossa Tribo & Nossa Dança

Tribal Bible Reviewed by Shelley Muzzy/Yasmela

American Tribal Style Dance’s popularity is undeniable and the ATS movement and its various offspring have grown rapidly in the last 10 years. Kajira Djoumahna, author of the definitive Tribal Bible, has just released the second edition of this book. The new expanded Tribal Bible has taken 3 years to reach the public, and it is full of all things “tribal”. This thick over-sized format book with a full color collage on the cover of dancers in the genre known as American Tribal is a must for anyone interested in tribal style dance and/or the history of the dance form we know as bellydance.

With the dearth of historical studies about Middle Eastern dance and the phenomenon of its popularity in the west, The Tribal Bible is a welcome addition to a slowly growing body of literature.

The Tribal Bible, second edition, begins with a definition of American Tribal Style Dance as dictated by the guru of tribal, Carolena Nericcio of Fat Chance Belly Dance, considered the founder of the genre. Definitions of some of the offshoots that are similar but that don’t quite conform to the strict ATS appellation follow. After a lengthy and confusing attempt to label the myriad variations of tribal style, Kajira moves on to the history section. She traces the evolution of ATS from Jamila Salimpour’s seminal early 60’s and 70’s troupe Bal Anat and from the interpretation of Middle Eastern dance that sprang up on the West Coast at that same time. As one would expect, there is a long section on Fat Chance Belly Dance, the troupe who coined the name, American Tribal Style. There are several excellent interviews, beginning with a fascinating piece with Masha Archer, Carolena’s teacher, followed by interviews with Carolena Nericcio and Suhaila Salimpour. It would have been nice to include Jamila’s comments on her own very important and influential contributions to the modern Middle Eastern dance movement, but I know how difficult getting an interview with Jamila can be. Instead we must be content with her daughter Suhaila’s childhood memories.

Following the history is a section called “Arborescence, the Old School.”The analogy to a tree with many branches is apt. This chapter includes a long interview with John Compton about the evolution of his premier folkloric troupe, Hahbi’ru. I loved this part. The interview captured John’s distinctive personality and traced the fascinating paths of some of the dancers who left Bal Anat to start their own groups. Kajira includes written portraits of some of these early pioneers and their varied approaches to combining folkloric dance with more traditional “bellydance”as well as other dance forms.

The next chapter, titled “Arborescence, The New School”, transitions us to the present with sections on Gypsy Caravan, Lunatique, Portland’s Circle Dance Company, Read My Hips and other early tribal troupes who splintered off from FCBD. There is an interesting section on tribal groups in other parts of the world, and an essay on tribal style as solo work that I found particularly intriguing since the very essence of ATS and tribal is the concept of group improvisation. Kajira relies heavily on contributions from outside sources, so the writing style throughout is somewhat uneven, dependent on the literary abilities of the writer. Chapters on the roots and history of costuming and jewelry, make-up and henna follow. These latter sections include tips and ideas and of course, lots of pictures. In fact, one of the nicer elements of the book is the copious amount of photos. There are extensive photos of costumes and jewelry, many of them photos from the author’s collection and the collections of other dancers. It was nice to see photos that were different from the tired old ones we always see. They would be even more exciting if the quality of reproduction was better.

The chapter on music includes a glossary of terms with some simple explanations of rhythms. There is a section on finger cymbals and an interesting section on Turkish spoons. Kajira does a good job of explaining why tribal dance relies so heavily on strong, simple rhythmic structure and simple steps and offers suggestions for expanding group repertoires to include more complex musical compositions from other areas of the Near East. There are suggestions for appropriate music and a short sub-chapter about working with live music.

The next chapter, Movement, is a large section of the book devoted to a breakdown of movements with detailed explanations. Of course we all know you can’t learn to dance from a book. There is no substitute for a live warm body. Kajira reiterates this point, so this section may be more helpful to dancers already steeped in the ATS technique. I’m sure there are some good ideas and suggestions for innovation within the form in this part, although it was definitely geared to dancers who already had the background. Throughout the book Kajira takes opportunities to encourage dancers to further their study, do research and to search for ways to expand their understanding of the dance and music.

Among the several excellent pieces written by other tribal dancers included in various chapters, I was particularly impressed by a piece by Natasya Katsikaris called “The Importance of Knowing and Honoring our Cultural Sources”. I found it well written and articulate. There are numerous passages about what tribal style means both to the author and to those involved in the form. For a lay person like me, it almost feels like proselytizing. But this is the perception of an outsider. I wonder if this book could have been written with less evangelical fervor and more objectivity? If you are involved in the tribal culture you will find ample support for your feelings and theories throughout this volume.

“Gypsy This and Gypsy That”is a lengthy chapter on the Rom (Gypsies). Obviously this is an area of great importance to Kajira, as her devotion of so much space to it confirms. Unlike the rest of the book, which attempts balance, this chapter is very passionate. Because of this, the writing loses some of its professionalism. While I applaud Kajira’s efforts to draw attention to the political correctness of the term Rom, as opposed to the pejorative Gypsy, and I understand her desire to educate us, I found any comparison between the misconceptions confronted by bellydancers and the genocidal persecution of the Rom throughout history naive.

The perceived slights of middle class American women dressed up in fantasy clothing dancing to co-opted music and the plight of an entire group of people that has been systematically targeted for extermination is insulting.

One path is chosen; the other is the karma of birth. To imply that because the public reacts to an image of “bellydancer”in a negative or salacious manner means we can somehow relate to the accumulated pain of an entire group of people encourages an insidious kind of cultural imperialism. I’m sure that this was not Kajira’s intention; however, if I drew this conclusion, I’m certain there is at least one other person who will do so as well.

The Tribal Bible is an “apologia”for the form, if you will…it seeks to enlighten us on many levels. I do feel at times as if the author is talking about a life style rather than a dance form. And I suppose to some dancers, it is a way of life. There is repeated emphasis placed on the concepts of bonding, healing, empowering, and connecting throughout the book. From the sound of it, American women are desperate to connect, to be part of a tribe, to belong. ATS seems to be the answer for some of us. With all the talk of inclusiveness and tribal style being the refuge for rebels, the Tribal Bible sets out a lot of rules. As in any group that seeks to define itself, I can’t help but think of Animal Farm:  “All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.”  While this may not apply here, I urge the reader to be careful about drawing hasty conclusions. This is a book of the history of a certain style, not of the entire form of Middle Eastern dance.

In the chapter 8, “Imitation, Innovation and Ethics”, Kajira writes,

“Remember that this is a dance of OURS. Our very own American Style Bellydance!…We don’t have to adopt or support another culture’s moral or religious standards if they are not comfortable for us personally. We don’t have to buy into any political agenda. We don’t have to feel bad because we’re not of Mediterranean descent, olive skinned or don’t speak another language.”

I think I understand what Kajira is saying, and I applaud the fact that she urges us later in this chapter to study our roots and to honor them, but there is something that bothers me about this statement. ATS is not bellydance as the rest of the world, including its root cultures, understands it. It IS an American creation, but it still introduces itself as “bellydance”and borrows heavily from the form, even though many practitioners qualify their declaration by adding the word “tribal style.”It is easy for outsiders to become confused, and indeed, as a community we are still in the process of defining ourselves. No one should feel bad about the things over which they have no control, but it is important to consider the consequences of taking the bits and pieces of a culture that you find useful or comfortable and discarding the rest because they don’t fit. Sometimes it’s healthy to challenge our comfort zone. It forces us to expand our levels of tolerance.

Throughout the book there are some rather broad assumptions drawn, a few things left out, and some leaps of faith required, but it is impossible to cover everything in one book and to please everyone. I felt the author missed an opportunity to place herself and her dance style in a more global context. In the end, every book is a subjective work of the author’s logic, research and imagination. Practitioners of ATS or any of the ATS offspring will especially appreciate the Tribal Bible. The interviews with Masha and Carolena and John are wonderful. The photos alone make the book worth owning.

Despite some bumps and rough spots, this is an important book.

If you are interested in the history and evolution of Middle Eastern dance in all its various manifestations, this is a good chronicle of the American Tribal movement. If I were a Tribal Style dancer, I would rush to get a copy of the Tribal Bible before it runs out of print again! Kajira did an admirable job of pulling lots of disparate facts together.

She covers it all, including cultural co-opting, and she works very hard to be fair and unbiased.

The Tribal Bible concludes with a chapter on ritual dance, the author’s conclusions, an update from the first edition, and a series of testimonials from dancers who are involved in the style, as well as a nice list of resources. Kudos to Kajira Djoumanha. This book is a huge undertaking! It is readable and entertaining, a laudable overview of the tribal dance phenomenon. Sometimes ponderous and rambling, it is still a worthy contribution. It’s a pricey book at $40, especially when I have paid less for better quality, but it is self-published and I have no doubt cost a fortune to produce. It is an important work in a field where little is available. If you are at all fascinated by the genre, you need to get this book. It is packed with information and great pictures and good ideas, just be sure to pick your way carefully through it and realize it is a book written for a very specific target group. If you are in that group you will love it. If you aren’t, you may still find it interesting and worth your time.

The Tribal Bible, Exploring the Phenomenon That is American Tribal Style Bellydance, by Kajira Djoumahna. Retail:$40 Wholesale and quantities available. Publisher, Distributor & Author: Kajira Djoumahna, PO box 14926, Sant Rosa, CA 95402-6926. www.blacksheepbellydance.com, 707-546-6366

http://www.gildedserpent.com/articles21/shelleyreviewstribalbible.htm