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None of these. Instead, in LA Party, vegan = dietary straight-edge = boring dude. It wasn’t important that our narrator was a vegan, but that he was averse to adventure (and somehow these two were equated). His raw diet, which admittedly was the center of his life, was only one of many possible stand-ins for his real identity: Los Angeles oddball. The point was that this guy had an unhealthy devotion to some religion that kept him from having fun. Ultimately, it didn’t really matter that he was a vegan because that particular choice was never directly challenged.

LA Party offers much more to discuss about the idea of Los Angeles than about vegans. Now, if we could really have that discussion, we could ask: why do we still insist on equating Los Angeles with movies and money, when increasingly the LA story is about the immigrant experience and a school system in crisis? Can we talk about urban design and water conservation and the inevitable earthquake? Can we talk about the downtown cathedral and the Buddhist cemeteries and the ports packed full of uninspected containers? Can we ask why an extreme diet represents LA when all these other things are more prevalent and more interesting?

And c’mon. How many Austin vegans you know turn down beer?

I still want him to become human…

I don’t know if it was intentional but a lot of that remarkable torso-articulation he was doing, sucking in his diaphragm and squaring his shoulders to extrude & outline every capillary, it seemed like — he did that washed in this beautiful light, so that it recalled any number of painted Christs. Maybe I was thinking especially of an El Greco Christ, in those moments. And that made sense to me because the Christ story is the story of spirit pinned down into a dying body, pinned down into time.

I loved though how he presented the experience of embodiment as a dreadful struggle, and yet also so often made it so astonishingly beautiful. His arms were more liquid than any ballerina. He made the struggle of the body beyond- or trans-human — I kept thinking of the word “elemental” while I was watching–he was like my idea of an elemental, a creature that is purely one thing, and beautiful and terrifying for that.

Robyn I thought of Erection, too, especially in the opening sequences when he was on his back in that infant/hatchling/floating in space pose.

Why is called Velvet Suite, do you think?

I never got what I wanted.
Which was for the dancer to become human.
From fetal/egg/seed to flowing limbs to jerky steps, each evolutionary phase presented an opportunity for a person to emerge.
Escaping the circle, escaping the stage, even attempts at consuming the narrator(violinist) and still a wild existence.
Not even the violent stroke of the violin bow (father?) nor the consoling of the orb (mother?) could placate the desire.
Not even the stillness of death.

There was no transforming the nature of the beast.