“The Mask,” conversely, was a complicated solo for Caroline T. Dartey to Plantadit’s memories of code switching between visits to her grandmother’s African village and riding the New York City subways. In voiceover, she explained her perceived limitations of her relatives’ Sango language (in which 500 words count for 90% of everyday speech, though the vocabulary is far larger). It frustrated her that the villagers didn’t seek out the artistic depths she found in her work with Ailey in America. But whenever she returned stateside, she missed their straightforward presence. Cleverly, Jamison employed some of the most dense and filigreed dance vocabulary in this passage. Though Plantadit’s experience was singular, it connected to the larger truth that Ailey was not the only one forced to engage in complicated masking.

In between intimate divulgences like this one, Jamison wielded the full force of the Ailey company to Ruggieri’s strong drumbeats. In “Dance,” she arranged an exciting canon of partnering on the diagonal—plank lifts, balled hugs, shoulder hoists. Each time the word “dance” repeated in the score, the women whacked penchés before moving down the line. Elsewhere, she employed spastic “Thriller” walks and funky in-and-out knees in wide second position squats. Churning, African ball-change pulses in the finale were invigorating. I also enjoyed Ashley Kaylynn Green’s forceful turn in “The Search for Perfection.” The tripping on the pronunciation of the word “perfection” in the voiceover was arch, and fabulous. And Yannick Lebrun’s “hiyah” side kicks and matador cape work in “Whores in a Whorehouse Comin’ to Church” were also flashy—and great. 

Jamison expertly segued these bold, often euphoric, sequences into softer movements for somber remembrances, as when Patrick Coker led the company in the swirling “Survivor” segment, which recounted the death threats the troupe received on tour.  Later, bent-over kneels with hovering eagle arms—one of many “Revelations” quotes—felt hallowed. And when Samantha Figgins held Jesse Obremski’s knees while he slowly hinged to the floor, it was a gender-inverted take on the partnering in the “Fix Me, Jesus” pas de deux. In fact, “Hymn” so often read as a sequel or addendum to “Revelations,” that it was almost redundant to have “Revelations” close out the bill, following Medhi Walerski’s solid but forgettable “Blink of An Eye,” which paired slinky contemporary vibes with Bach’s cyclic strings. 

Overall, the troupe gave a clutch “Revelations” performance. “Sinner Man,” which can often get too wild, was impressively tight in the hands of Coker, Obremski, and Isaiah Day. But in other sections, the dancing was so clean that it undermined the theme of struggle. Lebrun has done the “I Wanna Be Ready” solo for a long time now, and he didn’t wobble at all in the tricky ab work and tilted promenades. Choreographically speaking, he was ready and waiting. And Corinne Rachelle Mitchell and Christopher R. Wilson were so coolly smooth in “Fix Me, Jesus,” that it could have been a Balanchine duet. The hand tremolos didn’t seem like involuntary spasms so much as aesthetic flourishes.