“Psychedelic is the word that surrounds every opinion I have on both works, and surely it’s the one most transferable to the experiences of a house plant…”
These are the opening words of a colorful commentary written by Jabril Mason, a young attendee of Say Yes, Philly – a program curated by Philly’s own prophet of funk, Vince Johnson, that showcased “a series of community events that feature contemporary Black American vernacular forms of dance and music in a variety of contexts, familiar and new” (artphilly.org). On this particularly riveting night at the Wilma Theater, Vince Johnson and his performance group premiered two concert-stage works: Original Scrap & First Floor Spectrum, both highly distinctive, thought-provoking, and gleefully dynamic pieces of performance art.
What resulted from thINKing DANCE’s post-show Write Back Atcha was an eclectic collection of literary confetti that told a shared story of the perspectives in the audience that night. One of my favorite choreographers, Steffanie Batten Bland, once said that the way she approaches her dance making process is by “throwing the whole kitchen sink at the wall.” I’m hoping the following attempt to (un)organize the confetti will reflect a similar kind of occurrence, with the outcome being a somewhat visual, somewhat written, and somewhat embodied depiction of the two different but interconnected works.
Performance piece # 1: Original Scrap
This work featured Johnson as a performer alongside multidisciplinary powerhouses Willem Cousineau and Mason McAvoy. Airing on the experimental side, it was a technicolored collision of improvised physical theater, live musical accompaniment, clown, and social commentary–all framed by the singular and common experience of getting on a public bus in Philadelphia.
It found itself “Squeezed between reality and dream, when dream is as viscerally sensorial as the real thing, where themes of birth and death become a disorientation of the mundane— the dailiness of the bus— if we are awake enough to feel it. The voice is an instrument – the free screeching gnarly precision of the voice – the tensile, fine articulation of the lead dancer, a body that appears caught rigid, popping, locking, thrown to the floor all to stand back up again; he is shot by a bow and arrow, all to dreamily reuse the same arrow to shoot down the mother sun/son” (Anonymous Writer #1).
Some words by Allison Smith include:
“Embodied Theater, lighting, multiple worlds, vignettes, denial, surfacing, excavative, yearning, searching, isolated, red & orange, 3D, scoop, questioning, accepting.”
Original Scrap lurched and glided between scenes, sometimes effortlessly and sometimes with a jolt of theatrical whiplash. Production elements amplified the spectacle, ranging from a pair of oversized, bright pink headphones suspended from the rigging, with which Johnson developed an increasingly tumultuous relationship, to Cousineau at the helm of an Alice-in-Wonderland-esque vessel, charting its course through improvised instrumental soundscapes. McAvoy’s aching vocals, set against striking orange costuming, washed over the audience in waves of soaring climaxes and reflective undertows.
This was “thoughtful in its humor and self aware in its seriousness in a way that made it so real and honest and beautifully grounded. It’s something existential, theological, historical, hip hop, and entirely relatable, that spent the totality of its time digesting itself” (Anonymous Writer #3).
Xander Cobb thought it was “an existential reckoning with mortality and revolutionary change.” Lo Cuevas stated that the work felt “so Philadelphia” to them, commenting that “the whole performance to me felt so alive. I’ve been thinking a lot about the art scene in Philadelphia right now, and this (to me) felt like a love letter to that.”
The resulting satirical commentary ultimately begged the question, “why can’t we get off the bus?” (Anonymous Writer #2)
Performance Piece #2: First Floor Spectrum
Speaking of spectrums, rather than airing on the side of experimental physical theater, this piece landed far more on the side of dance with a capital D. Five virtuosic movers wove through, detonated, tip-toed, grooved, and collectively steered their way through several scenes of genre bending choreography that landed somewhere at the intersections of post-modern contemporary, martial arts, and several genres of Black American vernacular dance. Their ferocity was accompanied by larger-than-life abstractions of glowing wiggles and lines projected on a downstage Cyc, resulting in the feeling that we had landed ourselves in their rebellious world of bold artistry.
Lo Cuevas asserted that “the second performance felt more like people finally coming together after the collapse of capitalism.” Jonathan VanArneman’s writing reflected similar sentiments, noting that the work “felt like a radiating, pulsing eruption of movement dialogue. A scathing critique of how capitalism commodifies sacred somatic ritual, leaving a river of blood and mourning.”
More words from Allison Smith:
“Other-worldly, anime, super powers, grounding, echo, swimming, layers, sonar, depth, sending, vibrations, push/pull, isolations, connection, juxtaposition of lightness and heaviness.”
A memorable moment occurred when a slow motion cypher emerged in the semi-darkness, showcasing a scene of feminine support in a club which appeared to exist in some other dimension. Dancers took turns shaking it and showing off their moves in a comedic moment of shared experience that, for a second, took me back to Vince Johnson’s clown like facial expressions of the first work, and rubbed up against the otherwise serious nature of the second. Xander Cobb expressed feelings of delighted bewilderment at this moment, stating “the comedy of that scene humored but confused me. Who are these performers? Where are they? Absurd.” Lo Cuevas imagined a future for this work, claiming the performers “didn’t give up or surrender! They now run a lesbian farm commune!”
A dance-maker akin to an experienced dog-walker, Johnson has a brilliant way of working with absurdity. He manages to strike a delicate balance between care and chaos, one that provokes his audiences to witness and exclaim, “damn, I suppose it is possible!”
Anonymous Writer #4 offered a straight-to-the-point illustration of the night, noting that “the show focused on resistance. The idea of structure & formations to fight for hope when the rest of society fails–sharing a story that is unknown but unfolding.” Unfold it did, well after audiences left the theater and spilled into the cafe, which buzzed with a symphony of excitement, tears, and laughter all the way up until the venue politely nudged us out of the building. Jabril Mason offered a settling sentiment that put a cozy blanket over the evening; “Through subliminal messaging, potent endings, or climactic turning points, a sense of exotic abstraction is what brings the punch of every word said between the two pieces, and it surely defines their messaging. I’d say my lack of a definitive way to draw any lines between both pieces, or draw out any simple, straightforward commentary, adds so much to the feeling of inner beauty and self worth explored across the show.”
Say Yes, Philly, Wilma Theater, June 12, 2026.
