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Un/Natural Behaviour

A night with Thick & Tight might look a little different to a standard evening of contemporary dance, in a few ways. Co-founded by Daniel Hay-Gordon and El Perry in 2012, the duo perform in their own choreographies and also work with and platform other artists. This evening’s collection of short works, “Natural Behaviour,” sits within the frame of our besieged natural world, and explores different ideas of what it is to be ‘natural’ or ‘unnatural.’

Performance

Thick & Tight: “Natural Behaviour—A collection of performed portraits of human and non-human life forms”

Place

Capital Theatres, Edinburgh, Scotland, October 2, 2026

Words

Róisín O'Brien

Azara Meghie in “Baldwin’s Room” by Thick & Tight and Meghie. Photograph by Rosie Powell

Hay-Gordon and Perry met while studying at Rambert School and formed Thick & Tight soon after. Their creative practice is wide, inclusive, collaborative, queer, and research-driven. Their works are silly, humorous, and exquisitely danced. They present their pieces in LGBTQ+ friendly contexts, cabaret bars, community spaces and black-box theatres, and they frequently work with both disabled and non-disabled artists. There is a throughline in how they work, who they work with and what they are interested in: politics and aesthetics cohere. 

Since their founding, they have been in increasing demand. They are currently artists in residence at the Philharmonia Orchestra in London, they have been commissioned to work with organisations such as BalletBoyz and the Royal Ballet, and they have an ongoing partnership with Corali Dance Company, a group of artists with learning disabilities. 

All the performances on this tour are relaxed, meaning audiences are free to move around or make noise during the show. The house lights come up after each work, and during the ten-minute pause in the middle of the evening, a countdown is projected onto the back wall to let you know how much time you have left.

Each work is prefaced by a short description to allow visually impaired audiences to interact with the works. The descriptions not only describe the appearance of the dancers on stage, but also provide some context about each work, and give a brief movement description of what the dancer(s) will do. While designed with access in mind, it’s also an interesting intervention in the age-old question of how much information you need or want before seeing a dance piece. Do you want to know the choreographer’s intention or the dance’s narrative, or should the movement stand on its own? As dance writers know well, describing the dancers’ movement can facilitate a deeper understanding of or create an entry point into the often abstract world of dance; does that same description also narrow interpretation? Additionally, there is a slight interplay with humour here: one work (“Lesbian Seagull”) is prefaced with the description that we will see two seagulls on stage. And we do indeed see—two puppet seagulls, not two dancers performing as seagulls. 

Daniel Hay Gordon and El Perry in “The One Horseman of the Apocalypse.” Photograph by Rosie Powell

Daniel Hay Gordon and El Perry in “The One Horseman of the Apocalypse.” Photograph by Rosie Powell

The bill opens with “The One Horseman of the Apocalypse,” a two-hander from Hay-Gordon & Perry. Dressed as an orange horse, they gyrate to The Trammps’ “Disco Inferno.” A heavily made-up Perry lip-syncing from the horse’s butthole, the words “Burn, Baby, Burn” replaced with President Trump’s call to “Drill, Baby, Drill.” It’s one-note but it provides the gauche, greedy context that the worlds represented in the evening’s more subtle pieces are threatened by.

“Ode to the Last Nightingale” is a beautiful solo from Annie Edwards, who morphs between imitations of different birds that are going extinct in the UK, soundtracked by Cassandra Miller’s rich score. Edwards’ physical articulations and musical nuances are magically precise. Three things perfectly cohere in this solo, without losing their distinctiveness: choreography, sound, and representation of the birds themselves, all nested in Edward’s delicate hands. 

With “Creeping Bent,” we’re treated to a fastidious solo by Perry, who depicts a blade of grass. The work’s introduction informs us that, unlike other plants who might seek out the sun or other sources of energy, grass only cares for the attraction of the wind to scatter its pollen everywhere. Dressed in leather shorts and a khaki button-down shirt, Perry carefully taps her toes, lets her knees bend and straighten, suddenly wafts with the wind, and places her arms at an angle and back in again as she perambulates across the stage. Constant, nonplussed, diligent; it’s so completely what it is. 

Before the break, we are treated to the exquisite “Two Moths in Real Time,” inspired by Japanese Noh and Kyogen theatre. It’s a thrill to see Hay-Gordon and Perry perform together, their movements so in sync and artistically fine-tuned. There’s graceful arcing movements in their spines, rippling in canon next to each other, and insect-like bends in their elbows as they depict moths simply existing; when they find their own corners to pulsate in, it’s as though we’ve just opened a cupboard and found the two creatures in the dark within. 

Annie Edwards in “Ode to the Last Nightingale.” Photograph by Rosie Powell

Annie Edwards in “Ode to the Last Nightingale.” Photograph by Rosie Powell

After the break, we come to “Brahm’s Second Piano Concerto in Recollection of Others.” We hear Hay-Gordon speak in the introduction on how he used to ‘prance’ endlessly to classical music as a child; as he grew up, he was accused of dancing too ‘effeminately.’ In this very intimate solo, he reclaims his own way of dancing, taking in sensorial inspiration from other dancers he has worked with. Eyes low to the floor, he frequently pulls himself up onto the balls of his feet, before falling or bourrée-ing across the floor. His hands flutter to Brahm’s trembling notes. 

This is followed with “Baldwin’s Room,” co-created by Thick & Tight and Azara Meghie, and performed as a solo by Meghie. There is a lot packed into this short work, which takes excerpts from American writer and civil rights activist James Baldwin’s vast oeuvre and interlaces them with Meghie’s own voice. Baldwin muses on who we are allowed to love, while Meghie mimics shaving in a doorframe—a lit rectangle carved out of the dark at the back of the stage—or travels and tumbles down a crack of light diagonally cut across the floor (smarty created by Lighting Designer Nao Nagai). Meghie’s movement takes on the figure of Baldwin without caricaturing him, nor do they lose their own sense of self, particularly evident when they break and drop to the floor, legs twisting then freezing mid-air. 

There’s a brief comic interlude in “Flies on the Spaceship Wall,” depicting two flies (Hay-Gordon and Perry) who cannot stand another moment of Katy Perry’s ‘drivel.’ Small, increasingly frustrated movements, soon lead them to finally pressing that big eject button; perhaps there is no more to explore here, but I could have happily stayed in this comic set-up a little longer.

We end with “Dust,” listening to quotes from English raconteur Quentin Crisp in his famously dusty bedsit. We hear Crisp implore the housewives of England not to lose their nerve: “after the first four years, the dirt doesn’t get any worse.” On stage is the magnetic Jahmarley Bachelor, while projected onto the backdrop are clips from Members of the Camberwell Incredibles, a group of artists living with moderate to profound learning disabilities and complex needs. The Incredibles have created their own poem in response to Crisp’s sardonic words; they peer through cut out window frames and don purple wigs, while Bachelor holds the physical space in front of them. It’s an interesting mix of poignancy and lightness, the craft and care of the dramaturgy finding things to both laugh along with and ponder about Crisp’s singular, unconventional life. It’s a shame the stage is quite dark, making it a struggle to fully take in the clips. It’s unclear whether this is an artistic choice or a technical necessity.

The evening ends with all the artists coming out to take a bow together. “Natural Behaviour” mostly moves from down in the weeds of the natural world to broader, philosophical considerations about ‘natural’ behaviour. And while the different worlds presented in the showcase have either been historically repressed or are currently under threat, you feel that Thick & Tight are attempting to make their own contributions, both on and off stage, to ensure that the world’s (bio)diversity is celebrated. It’s a gentle, silly, interested and aesthetically invested evening. 

Róisín O'Brien


Róisín is a dance artist and writer based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She regularly writes for Springback Magazine, The Skinny and Seeing Dance, and has contributed to The Guardian and Film Stories. She loves being in the studio working on a new choreography with a group of dancers, or talking to brilliant people in the dance world about their projects and opinions. She tries not to spend too much time obsessing over Crystal Pite.

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