A Variety Show Demanding Balls Fly at Center for Performance Research

In Brooklyn, at the Center for Performance Research, Giving You the Best That We Got: The Ayana & Tsedaye Variety Show, held over two evenings, brightened a drizzly summer weekend in June. The program blurred the boundary between reality, satire, and comedy, inviting viewers into a world of uncontrollable jiggles, introspective conversations, and reluctant make-believe.

The performance space was uniquely compact: the stage waa divided into a living room-like space for interviews, and a performance area where the “action” happens. In the back is a big screen for video projections, and downstage left a dresser with lights, makeup products, and a mirror. The DJ booth, the stage manager’s booth, cameras, and monitors were all around the performance space. There was an interactive and engaging quality to this close-packed setup—the fourth wall is rendered nonexistent, and the audience occasionally glances at the side monitors to see if the camera is panning over their faces.

For both episodes, curator and host Ayana Evans’ entrance—in a tiara and a catsuit with neon yellow and black stripes—is nothing short of captivating. She takes her time showing the audience the steps of getting ready “backstage” before walking through the pink and gold curtains. “Keep the balls in the air!!!”—she says, as she picks up large beach balls from the floor and tosses them towards the audience, who enthusiastically bounce them around. Then, she encourages the audience to lie down on stage and float their limbs in the air. In Episode 2, however, there are fewer willing participants than the previous day, and Evans becomes visibly startled. She stomps and yells, demanding more compliance and involvement. I was struck with curiosity regarding the intensity and vocalness of this frustration. In a 2020 interview with BOMB, Evans said: “If anyone sees me perform now, I am never silent … I take my revenge while I am performing … I’ve thrown chairs at people. I’ve hit people. I’ve cursed at people. I’ve said, ‘How dare you?’ I call them racist if they aren’t doing what I asked them to do.” By subverting the passive, choreographed course of action as a performer, Evans is demanding the ability to demand.

The first two sections in Episode 1 form a total contrast to each other. The operatic and heart-wrenchingly beautiful singing of Candice Hoyes, accompanied by guitarist Nilko Andreas, is juxtaposed with the loud and chaotic “post-erotic meditation” performed by geo blake and Kamikaze Jones. Among the pieces interpreted by Hoyes and Andreas is Heitor Villa-Lobos’ Bachianas Brasileiras No. 5, which marks the fusion of Bachian classics with Brazilian folk tunes. The music lures the audience in because it is intentionally harmonized and emotionally expressive. On the other hand, geo blake and Kamikaze Jones stun, shock, and impress. The evocation of stepmom porn, paraphilic infantilism, and hagsploitation rejects conventional orthodoxy or decorous pathos, teasing with the (dis)comfort of erotic and eroticized notions of power dynamics.

Autumn Knight’s performance starts with digital noise—sometimes coherent, other times fragmented. She fidgets with sound devices like microphones and speakers, while a news reporting-like audio clip plays in the background. Then, Knight delivers an eerie story that happened to her a few hours ago. She inadvertently fell asleep on a bus and woke up to find herself trapped inside the Port Authority Bus Terminal, while the driver remained curiously unresponsive in the bathroom for the most of the event: “I imagine the bathroom of this bus to also be a place that needs some real leadership.” But why, she wonders as she reflects on the experience, why did no one notice her and wake her up? Is this because of some racial stereotype or some misconception of homelessness? Her internal monologue runs on, intertwining with the iterative audio clip playing from her iPhone speaker. It’s not because she is paranoid, but because society has wired her to internalize hostility and racial profiling. The incident is about visibility, “Black safety, Black regard, or Black nothingness.”

In the variety show’s second episode, a subtle theme of masking or impersonation runs through all three presentations. Alicia Grullón films herself in animal masks standing in the wild. The video is superimposed with news headlines about grave socio-political issues: cobalt toxicity, green colonialism, the deaths of journalists in Gaza, and more. The somewhat uncanny animal masks mediate land and the artist’s body. Masking for Kat Sotelo is perhaps more metaphoric. Weeping, twerking, laughing, and playing the commercials of skin-whitening products, her performance with Marjorie Milloria and Gigi del Rosario highlights how first-generation Filipino Americans navigate the aftermaths of colonialism: as vessels of their heritage, their bodies are also quotidian performers having to confront white beauty standards or societal norms.

In the screening of Martha Wilson’s political performances from 1978 to 2020, the transgressive artist is shown caricaturing Nancy Reagan, Barbara Bush, Tipper Gore, and Donald Trump. On the one hand, the performed caricature has made room for the most outlandish lines: “People shouldn’t consider themselves hungry if they feel pain [in the stomach]—they should consider themselves on a diet. And most poor people need to go on a diet” (Wilson as Nancy Reagan); “If power is the best aphrodisiac, you might say I’m the sexiest woman in the world” (Wilson as Barbara Bush). On the other hand, according to the artist, these impersonation attempts necessitated different levels of embodiment. To play a first lady, she would first imagine being in the character’s brain; with Donald Trump, however, she couldn’t accomplish the same and resorted to maintaining a part of herself during the performance. Impersonation is almost like a constant negotiation between the performer’s subjectivity and the character’s affective needs.

On both days of the show, the “Breaking News” section features Tsedaye Makonnen and Alisha Wormsley on video. They chat over wine, discussing the implications of motherhood and perimenopause—an important topic frequently underrepresented in popular media. At one point, there is a conversation about taking placenta pills as a supplement, but even until now, I’m not completely sure if it is meant to be a parody. Either way, the videos are hilarious in the sense that it’s like eavesdropping in a cool aunt’s living room. Walking out of the show, I am enthralled by the show’s commitment to addressing complex socio-political issues with lightheartedness and candor. It is unfiltered and irreverent. It’s about everyday issues, everyday crises, everyday transgressions, and the everyday humor that keeps all balls in the air.

Giving You the Best That We Got: The Ayana & Tsedaye Variety Show took place at the Center for Performance Research between June 14th and 15th, 2024.

You Might Also Like

Ayana Evans at The Barnes Foundation: the work of throwing hexes

Nikita Gale Loosens Attitudes Around Sound With Her Performa 2023 Commission