Harris rooted “American Street Dancer” in ancient and current Black styles that came from Black social clubs and house dance. Even though I grew up in North Philly not far from where Harris lived and learned to dance socially with Black and Latino dancers in high school, I was not privy to those insider scenes. Nor did I catch all of what Harris was up to at first. After attending the Saturday matinee I was lucky to get into the evening performance too, as almost all those seats were filled. After experiencing the matinee viscerally, and my blood pressure went down, I felt I needed to put my intellect forward to see the evening performance.

The choreographies (danced by three different companies) show how easily, and often slyly, the modes mix and a strong arc through many eras creates a sense of community and belonging. Akim Funk Buddha begins the program lying on his back and, once upright, tentatively tapping a toe on the miked soundboard. Is he heralding that there will be tap? Or is he searching for the ground under his feet after the long sea voyage? To his side, Guyana-born Tyreis Hunte, as a Griot straddling a long drum in native dress, calls in the ancestors.

And then, dressed sharply in gray modified Buddha slacks, Ayodel Casel shuffles onto the soundboard and gives us the ultimate lesson on tap. And Harris’s voice-over narration about tap mentions La Vaughn Robinson, one of the great Philly dancers who I first reviewed 30 years ago. No matter, Casel took everyone’s breath away. Such command of the board, a delicate ear for the rhythms, depth and pitches her taps created. And then, her lissome anatomy tripping out a barrage of sound here, a sprinkle of a faraway fountain there. 

She blazed through all the most familiar tap steps while putting her own stamp on them. With arms akimbo, she even gave a wee wink to Irish Step dance. I particularly liked when she slowed down and scuffed—sliding the side of her shoe along the board.