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Aim True

With his peerless vocabulary of postmodern abstract moves—or, as he’s called it, “gumbo style,” which blends Black dance with classical ballet techniques—Kyle Abraham, a 2013 MacArthur Genius grant awardee, has been making thought-provoking works for decades. And over the weekend, the choreographer brought his New York-based company, A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham, which was founded in 2006, to the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts.

Performance

A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham: Rena Butler’s “Shell of A Shell of The Shell” / Paul Singh’s “Just Your Two Wrists” / Andrea Miller’s “Year”

Place

Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts,Beverly Hills, California, April 11-12, 2025

Words

Victoria Looseleaf

Amari Frazier of A.I.M by Kyle Abraham in “Year” by Andrea Miller. Photograph by Chris Strong

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In a four-part program, including two West Coast premieres, the troupe delivered a rollicking, adrenaline-fueled cornucopia of moves that rarely failed to astonish. Jump-starting the evening was Rena Butler’s 2024 work, “Shell of A Shell of The Shell.” Set to a heavy-duty electronic track by Darryl J. Hoffman (all music was heard on tape), the number featured six dancers attired in Hogan McLaughlin’s earth-toned, comfy-looking garb (sleeveless, stretchy tops, poufy boxer-type shorts and kneepads), with William Okajima’s opening the work as if shot out of a canon, his quarter turns a blaze of beauty.

Described as “a journey of self-decolonization,” and “reimagining the narrative of the monolithic, titular character ‘King Kong,’” the piece was a frenzy of shapes, silhouettes and shadows, courtesy of Dan Scully’s lighting, which included haze and myriad spotlights, occasionally bringing to mind the tableaux of Kara Walker. Unisons were also prominent, whether in hip-hop mode or crab-walking, while same-sex partnering was threaded throughout. 

This was the dancing of Planet Abraham, albeit on earth, with Hoffman’s soundtrack occasionally analogous to a futuristic disco jam. Making full use of the Wallis’ stage, running entrances and exits contributed to a kind of whirligig atmosphere, one where Jamaal Bowman and Alysia Johnson could be seen deploying deep pliés and lunges, while leaps were seemingly tossed off with ease.

Outstretched arms and silent screams were also on view, with mini-vignettes, including Donovan Reed and Olivia Wang going head to head, ending with Wang standing on her partner’s thighs. A showcase for slithering, “Shell,” also featured Keturah Stephen and Alysia Johnson, with the break dance vibe resonating in a little hand-standing, as the lighting finally blazed a beautiful orange—sunrise or sunset—either punctuating the dance to perfection, although to this reviewer, the Big Ape proved nowhere in sight. 

A.I.M by Kyle Abraham in “Shell of A Shell of The Shell” by Rena Butler. Photograph by Cherly Del Cuore

Amari Frazier offered a stunning solo in Paul Singh’s “Just Your Two Wrists” (2019). Set to “just (after song of songs),” by Bang on a Can co-founder David Lang from his 2008 Pulitzer Prize-winning choral work, “The Little Match Girl Passion” (sung on tape by Trio Mediaeval), the dance was meditative yet throbbing; visceral yet cerebral, and, above all, teeming with humanity. With his angled stances and buoyant spins, Frazier seemed to embody the deeply felt lyrics—“just your mouth, just your love, just your cheeks,” and so on—in this ecstatically simple ode to love. 

Sporting Karen Young’s costume design (blue shirt, brown pants, an ensemble this reviewer would have rethought), and skipping in a circle—his articulation nevertheless impeccable—Frazier was a divine vessel, a corporeal transmitter, the perfect terpsichorean palate cleanser before the West Coast premiere of “2 x 4,” Abraham’s 2025 work made in collaboration with his dancers.

Set to a raucous score by baritone saxophonist/composer Shelley Washington, Big Talk and Black Mary—this would have been momentous had it been performed live—the piece featured a quartet of movers, Mykiah Goree, Morgan Olschewske, Okajima and Reed, all of whose swooping gestures were the perfect counterpoint to the big, earthy sax wailings. 

A panoply of swiveled hips, slumped shoulders and touchy-feely unisons, the piece also highlighted plenty of one-legged balancing poses, arabesques and playfully absurd, Kung-Fu fighting-like moves. Devin B. Johnson’s visual art—a giant backdrop not unlike a Jackson Pollock drip canvas that was highlighted by Scully’s sumptuous lighting—gave the dancers an action-painting-come-to-life quality. 

Also deploying ballet’s first and fifth positions, the fiendishly hard-working quartet was clearly enjoying the dance, letting small smiles speak to the work’s sheer ebullience.

Faith Joy Mondesire of A.I.M by Kyle Abraham in “Year” by Andrea Miller. Photograph by Chris Strong

The concert concluded with Andrea Miller’s “Year,” a West Coast premiere first seen in 2024 that was also made in collaboration with A.I.M. Featuring a cast of eight clad in Orly Anan Studio designs (Reid Bartelme’s and Harriet Jung’s vibrant and amusing mesh unitards—oversized lips, noses and eyes popping against an array of geometric shapes)—the work, according to Miller, tackled the notions of “ritual, sacrifice, reincarnation and the sublime.” 

This feast for the senses also dealt with, what else—data—be it digital, remote or virtual, and was set to Fred Despierre’s percussive/cum/electronica-like score that veered into Steve Reichian territory, the tribal aspect readily apparent. Indeed, had Prince still been alive, he’d have dug it, as this octet was partying like it was, well, 2029. A celebration of the human spirit, the work had an incandescence heightened by both the dancers and the choreography: On view was an array of couplings, as were numerous leaps, while unison finger-splayings, by dint of Scully’s lighting, resembled nothing short of antler-adorned creatures of myth.

Miller had also worked with Scully on the scenic design: a stark white backdrop with a jaggedy sun (or not), and a blindingly white floor, which gave the whiff of a cube and served as the perfect foil to the performers’ constant moves, replete with contortions, squats and interstellar-like infused gyrations.

In addition to the already-named dancers, Faith Joy Mondesire joined the crew that, when on their knees, resembled a class of beatific yoginis, their über-slow backbends a marvel. The music, ostensibly in their bones, heightened the non-stop action in this veritable celebration of the carnal. 

Drinks all around and kudos, then, to A.I.M. by Kyle Abraham: Long may they move! 

Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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