Dance with Defiance

As much as it is a cliché to reference, there is something special in finding a work that so aptly fits that famous quote from George Balanchine: “See the music. Hear the dance.” In his solo work “the body symphonic,” which was selected as part of the prestigious Aerowaves 2025 lineup, Lebanese choreographer and musician Charlie Khalil Prince bridges the gap between music and dance with his own experimental proclivity. “The body symphonic” is also a danced response to themes of occupation, a fear that weighs on many Lebanese civilians while fighting between Hezbollah and Israel continues.

Performance

Charlie Khalil Prince: “The body symphonic”

Place

The Place, London, UK, September 30, 2026

Words

Eoin Fenton

Charlie Khalil Prince's “the body symphonic.” Photograph by Giuseppe Follachio

Khalil Prince walks onto the white stage from his seat in the auditorium. He gently picks up a microphone before swinging it with a great velocity, the reverberated sound of the wind mounts in volume as the speed increases. He is a small, lonely David on the stage, preparing to fight Goliath with his slingshot. The audio becomes a nearly suffocating cacophony of sound. Speakers play Arabic lilting, warped sounds from a bowed electric guitar flood the space from bassy speakers. When he is joined by percussionist Joss Turnbull, the dancing really begins.

Khalil Prince possesses a hypnotic movement style. He is serpentine and fluid, his extremities wringing gorgeously under great tension. Little hiccups of Levantine folk movements peek through. Stamps, shuffles, waving hands. He wraps his vest over his head skulking about, still glitching with movement as if compelled by some sort of force. He skulks and sweats and crawls, before sidling back to the looping pad and Turnbull and picking up his guitar. They begin to jam together.

Charlie Khalil Prince and Joss Turnbull in “the body symphonic.” Photograph by Giuseppe Follachio

For a short while the show becomes a gig, which might otherwise feel like a halt to the action with a less capable artist at the helm. The musical section of the work is actually quite compelling. It’s also brilliantly executed, with Khalil Prince’s skills on the guitar matching Turnbull’s musical abilities. They’d make a great band. The smokey riffs and Levantine melodies are bewitching, you get cast into a sort of trance, entering into the sonic world of their making. I couldn’t help but notice the delicious irony in seeing Khalil Prince pluck his guitar while tapping at a loop pedal, keffiyeh beside him—this is quite possibly Ed Sheeran’s worst nightmare.

Khalil Prince rises again and approaches the floor with purpose. The dancing is now more visceral. Torsion of the limbs and more complex footwork. The style is still undoubtedly rooted in Lebanese folk movement but there’s a sort of moshing defiance: Dabke jumps to the floor that grow in risk, loud stamps and whoops from Khalil Prince, hands whipping and slapping the space around him as he playfully sways his hips. The reactivity and joy even in extremis is profoundly impactful. Dance and music as a retort to military might. As the music stops and the lights go out he keeps dancing. Long after the world may move on from the headlines from Lebanon, Khalil Prince, and his people, will keep dancing.

Eoin Fenton

Eoin (they/he) is a dance maker and writer based between Cork (Rep. of Ireland) and London (UK). They graduated with a BA in Choreography from Middlesex University and are currently undertaking an MFA at Trinity Laban. Eoin has written for the Place, A Young(ish) Perspective, Fjord Review, and dance art journal.

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