Neither the pandemic nor age can keep legendary choreographer Twyla Tharp from her work. During the height of the COVID-19 lockdown, Tharp, now 79, choreographed several dances through through Zoom. One was with four dancers — each of whom was in a different time zone.
"One dancer was in New York at noon. One dancer was on the West Coast before breakfast. One dancer was in Denmark five hours ahead, and one dancer was in St. Petersburg working through their dinner hour," Tharp says. "Nothing was capable of keeping us from having community. And that's what dance can give — dance can give community."
It's not the first time Tharp has worked in unusual conditions. In the 1960s, Tharp and her company of dancers performed in parks and malls, and on subway platforms and rooftops. "If it was kind of level, it was fair territory," she says.
Tharp went on to choreograph for Mikhail Baryshnikov, the Joffrey Ballet, the Royal Ballet, the New York City Ballet and the American Ballet Theatre. She's also collaborated with David Byrne and Billy Joel on Broadway shows.
Tharp is known for mixing ballet with other styles of dance: "I had always felt that one dancer should be able to dance across the line," she says. "That is to say: When I started working in New York, you were either modern dancer, or you were a ballet dancer. I thought that was ridiculous, because I could be both a ballet dancer and a modern dancer, so shouldn't everybody else be able to do that?"
Tharp is the subject of Twyla Moves, a new documentary by the PBS series, American Masters.
On starting to dance as a small child
I started with music training both in piano and violin and percussion, and the dancing came after the fact. But on the other hand, my mother was a concert pianist and as a very tiny child baby, I was going to her classes. And so I was always wiggling and then I could crawl and then I could sort of hop. So I've always been dancing to music.
On what made her early choreography different from others
I think the first thing was to eliminate the idea of steps or styles — it was to get to fundamentals of movement. And we were looking for very common, [ordinary] shared modes of movement. By ordinary, I mean not extremely sophisticated in training folks might have, and then how could that be extended and become more challenging for us who had had the advantage of that kind of training. ...
When I was beginning, I wanted to go back to the very mechanics: You either start on the right side or the left side. You either coordinate in opposition to the forward moving leg or parallel to the forward moving legs. You're either moving forwards or you're moving backwards or laterally, side-to-side. All of these kinds of really engineering questions are [a] kind of launch point, because I didn't want to take anything for granted. I wanted to feel as though my fundamentals were sound.
On performing dance without music
Music is much more comfortable for the general public than movement. I often say: Take one phrase of movement and put on happy music, [and] the audience thinks it's a happy dance. Put on sad music and they'll think it's a sad dance, and the movement is exactly the same. So I wanted to try to see what the emotional resonance of movement was. What excited people? What was provocative? What would they register? Not all of those, but many visual questions were asked. And that wouldn't have been possible with music, because music is so overpowering.
On why she wanted to start an all-women dance company in 1966
I think we knew there was a bias in the world of art across the boards, whether it was music, painting, sculpture, literature [or] dance. And we wanted to fortify ourselves in such a way that we could put forth what we thought was our strongest suit. And our strongest suit was a lot of technique and a lot of incredible ensemble work, but also strong individual voices. ... We all had singular qualities, and that was clearer if we were all women, then had a man been in the group, we would have been the women [and] he would ... have been the man, and that would have become the distinctive, defining characteristic rather than the individual qualities of each human being.
On wanting dancers with different body types in her company
In order to be inclusive, you need to have differentiation. So by having [different dancers who are] tall, short, classically trained, [without] classic training, [a] great athlete — all of these various qualities would redefine and give a three-dimensional quality to the work that obviously is lacking if there is a body type that is featured throughout the ensemble. One understands that need [for] fungibility in professional companies because if one dancer goes out, they want to be able to put another one in as directly and efficiently as possible and hopefully in the same costume. It's all the bottom line, right? To me, that was not what dancing was about and it still isn't.
On choreographing men who didn't want to be taught by a woman
I'm a very strong jumper. And I jumped higher, longer than most of the men. So it was like, "OK, guys, let's go." That's how I've basically always been able to work with men: through strength and by a kind of challenge. ... But, you know, men can be very arrogant — we all can. ... If they were given the opportunity to work around that bias, many of them would, and gratefully. I mean, you'll see some male dancers in Deuce Coupe ... were doing kind of extraordinary things. I think they were glad to be asked to work in a different way, eventually. It took a little doing, perhaps. ... A couple never came around, but that's OK.
On what her body is capable of at age 79
This last year, with the pandemic and its disruptions in terms of routine, discipline, just ordinary day-to-day activities, the body doesn't know itself at the moment. So I can't tell you what I can ask it to do until I refamiliarize myself. And I'm in the process of doing that. ... Whenever I've finished one of these big projects, I'm out of shape, and that's just a given. So I've been in this position before, not at this age, but I know that it is a commitment to get back into shape. It's not going to happen on its own accord.
Lauren Krenzel and Seth Kelley produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the Web.
TERRY GROSS, HOST:
This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. The pandemic shut down the dance world. But if you want to see some remarkable dancing, check out the new PBS "American Masters" documentary about Twyla Tharp, one of the most celebrated dancers and choreographers of our time. New York Times dance critic Gia Kourlas wrote, quote, "Twyla Tharp threw down a gauntlet in 1973. She mixed classical and modern dance to make the first crossover ballet, 'Deuce Coupe.' It was a revolutionary work. Miss Tharp remains among the very few female choreographers to have had a lasting influence on ballet," unquote.
The music that Tharp used in "Deuce Coupe" was by The Beach Boys. That's an example of something else Tharp became famous for - choreographing to music by people as diverse as Haydn, Philip Glass, Bix Beiderbecke, Sinatra, David Byrne and Billy Joel. In 1976, she became the first choreographer to create a dance for Mikhail Baryshnikov, who had defected to the West from the Soviet Union in 1974. Her dance "Push Comes To Shove" required Baryshnikov to draw on his sublime classical technique and to do things that were totally contrary to his ballet training. Tharp's choreography demands incredible flexibility, speed, power and stamina and the ability to perform dances that draw from ballet, modern dance, jazz, tap, vaudeville and everyday movement.
Her work has been performed in every kind of venue, including on Broadway and in movies. She's won an Emmy and a Tony, has been a Kennedy Center honoree and won a MacArthur Fellowship. The new documentary "Twyla Moves" is still playing on some PBS stations and is streaming on pbs.org. As you can see in the documentary, neither the pandemic nor her age - she's 79 - has stopped her from choreographing. With everyone shut in, she choreographed a dance through Zoom with four different dancers at home in four different parts of the world.
Twyla Tharp, welcome to FRESH AIR. It is a pleasure to have you. The documentary is amazing, as is your dancing and choreography. So thank you for being with us.
TWYLA THARP: Thank you so much.
GROSS: So, you know, your dances draw on all forms of dancing. And you studied - when you were a child, you studied ballet. You studied modern dance. I think you took tap lessons. What really inspired you when you were young? What kind of dance did you love the most?
THARP: Well, it wasn't simply dancing. And actually, I started with music training, both in piano and violin and percussion. And the dancing came after the fact. But on the other hand, my mother was a concert pianist, and as a very tiny child baby, I was going to her classes. And so I was always, you know, wiggling, and then I could crawl, and then I could sort of hop, so I've always been dancing to music. But the notion that my mother gave - and I think it is somewhat clear in the documentary - is that you can learn from doing everything. Here's some real lessons, like real keyboard instruction, real ballet classes, real lessons - but everything you can learn from, and you can put it to use.
GROSS: When you started dancing, you didn't have a stage. You weren't getting paid. So you and the dancers you worked with danced in the world instead of in a theater. What are some of the public places that you danced in?
THARP: Oh, Lord. OK, well, the first concert was in a university. It was in the art department. It was in an exhibition space. We danced, as is in the film, on a rooftop that we managed to find somewhere. We danced in public spaces - amphitheaters that were, you know, not being used, parks, malls, subway platforms. If it, you know, basically was kind of level, it was fair territory. We - and how we did it, I'm not quite sure. I wouldn't ask a professional dancer to work on some of the surfaces that we didn't think twice about because very dangerous for sprains, strains, all the rest of it. But what did we know? So, yeah, uneven territory - that was our proving ground.
GROSS: You say something in the film about this that I thought was really interesting. You said, in the park - when you're dancing in the park, you're injecting yourself into their reality, the reality of the other people in the park. We're just an element in the park, like a bicycle. It's not theatrical, like in a theater, where there's performers on stage and audience in the seats. We merged. So that was great for you. That was an interesting experience for you and I'm sure for the people in the park, too. But I'm also wondering, did people always enjoy having you and the dancers there, or were you sometimes seen as an intrusion?
THARP: Yes, that is absolutely correct. We were seen as an intrusion. And we functioned in this way for five or six years, and one of the reasons we stopped doing it was because we stopped feeling - at a certain point, after you have invested, you want to have some kind of reward, return. You're not willing to just, you know, take it as it comes. And we began to feel not loved, shall we say, as though perhaps we were in the way.
There is a very famous example of a great violinist, Bell, who was playing in a subway station in Washington, actually - one we'd been in, like, five years before - and he'd never had such an embarrassing experience in his life because nobody was paying any attention to him, and he felt as though he were in the way. Well, yeah, you are in the way. So that - you know, once we began to feel that, it was - well, we don't want to inconvenience people, so maybe we're going to have to think about going to dance where they expect us to dance, and they'll go where they expect to go, and the two will be separated. And that is what did begin to happen.
GROSS: And did that change the kind of dance you wanted to do?
THARP: Well, not necessarily wanted, but had to, yes, because once you're a spectator sport, as opposed to interjected within the activity, you do work differently. I mean, you have to - in a sense, you have to become something outside the purview of a person's ordinary experience, whereas when we're working in crowds or whatever, we were doing what they were doing, only slightly different. But when you're in front of people and they're paying money to see you, separated, you have to give them a show of some sort.
GROSS: Early on, when you were just, like, finding who you were as a choreographer and dancer, what were some of the steps or styles that you were experimenting with to figure out what you could do that was different from what other people were doing?
THARP: I think the first thing was to eliminate the idea of steps or styles. It was to get to fundamentals of movement. And we were looking for very common, shared modes of movement that ordinary - by ordinary, I mean not extremely sophisticated in training - folks might have. And then how could that be extended and become more challenging for us, who had had the advantage of that kind of training? But so there'd be a connection to those who didn't have the privilege or the - you know, the training that we did.
And when I was beginning, I wanted to go back to the very - mechanics. You either start on the right side or the left side. You either coordinate in opposition to the forward moving leg or parallel to the forward moving legs. You're either moving forwards, or you're moving backwards or laterally, side to side. All of these kinds of really engineering questions were our kind of launch point because I didn't want to take anything for granted. I wanted to feel as though my fundamentals were sound.
GROSS: One of the things you're famous for is using all forms of music - Haydn, Philip Glass, Billy Joel, Sinatra, The Beach Boys. But when you started dancing, you sometimes didn't use music at all.
GROSS: Was that also about getting down to the very fundamentals of music - I mean, of movement (laughter)?
THARP: Yeah. No, no, no, no. Thank you for confusing the two. That's very appropriate. Well, as I said, when I was a child, I was trained in a number of musical - I played in string quartets. I played in bands, you know, so that I had a sense of where music goes and how it functions, how it operates. And so when I worked for five years, not playing music when we performed - it was always in my head. We had always heard it in rehearsal. We just didn't choose to show it or hear - or perform it while we were dancing because I wanted to learn, what does movement communicate?
And music is much more comfortable for the general public than movement. You know, I often say, take one phrase of movement and put it on happy music, the audience thinks it's a happy dance. Put it on sad music, and they'll think it's a sad dance. And the movement is exactly the same. So I wanted to try to see what the emotional resonance of movement was. What excited people? What caused them to be - what was provocative? What would they register? All of those - not all of those, but many visual questions were asked. And that wouldn't have been possible with music because music is so overpowering.
GROSS: So one of your breakthrough pieces for the Joffrey Ballet was "Deuce Coupe," which you used the Beach Boys record "Little Deuce Coupe." What made you think that that would be the right song to use for your dance?
THARP: I started working with early American jazz. I started working with Jelly Roll Morton, Bix Beiderbecke. And those were the pieces that just preceded Joffrey asking me to write a ballet for his company. And I was not familiar with the Joffrey. And I said, well, I don't - you know, can I come and watch your company for a season? And he gave me a season's worth of tickets. And I watched not only the dancers in the company, but the audience that he had. And my sense of the audience was that they wanted to connect to the movement in a very different way than they were being allowed to, and that, in a way, the music was creating a wall. And I wanted to take that wall away. And so I put pop music in.
GROSS: And was that a song that you felt especially strongly about?
THARP: No. It was...
THARP: First of all, there are a number of Beach Boys songs in "Deuce Coupe." And it actually has a score that we worked under that I composited by taking a theme out of the last song, which is called "Cuddle Up," and doing keyboard variations on it along the way so that it would have a unity. The score would be a score, not just a series of songs. I use the Beach Boys because they were a terrific a cappella group. Their harmonies were beautiful. There was and is a spirit of life and joy to their work. And there's a ton of movement in how their music flows. And all of this seemed to me to be very good for innovating and energizing both the dancers and the audience.
GROSS: Let me reintroduce you here. If you're just joining us, my guest is dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp. She's the subject of the latest "American Masters" documentary, which is called "Twyla Moves." It's streaming on pbs.org. We'll be right back. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF LEWIS RAPKIN'S "LOFTED LOFT")
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. Let's get back to my interview with Twyla Tharp, one of the most innovative dancers and choreographers of our time. There's a new PBS "American Masters" documentary about her called "Twyla Moves." It's streaming on pbs.org.
When you started your company - and this was in 1966 - the company was all women.
GROSS: And why did you want it to be all women?
THARP: Oh, (laughter) well, let's see here. I think we knew there was a bias. I think we knew there was a bias in the world of art across the boards, whether it was music, painting, sculpture, literature, dance. And we wanted to fortify ourselves in such a way that we could put forth what we thought was our strongest suit. And our strongest suit was a lot of technique and a lot of incredible ensemble work, but also strong individual voices. And we didn't want the business of gender to get in the way of particularly the ladder, that I was a very different force from Big Rose or from Sara or from Theresa, that we all had singular qualities. And that was clearer if we were all women. Then had a man been in the group, we would have been the women. He would - or they would have been the man. And that would have become the distinctive, defining characteristic rather than the individual qualities of each human being.
GROSS: And by having it be all women in your company, did it also help open the door to having different types of women? - because, you know, often in dance, like, the choreographer or the head of the company has a certain type that they want. And certainly, in ballet, you almost need to be physically a certain type. And you've even talked about, like, bringing somebody into your company who was rejected because they were too tall for the company they had auditioned for. So was this also a way of, like, opening the door to, like, different types of women, different body types, different heights?
THARP: Yeah, diversity. I've always - one of my favorite thematic mode (ph) is inclusive. In order to be inclusive, you need to have differentiation. So by having tall, short, classically trained, no classic training, great athlete, all of these various qualities would redefine and give a three-dimensional quality to the work that, obviously, is lacking if there is a body type that is featured throughout the ensemble. One understands that need of fungibility in professional companies because if one dancer goes out, they want to be able to put another one in as directly and efficiently as possible and, hopefully, in the same costume. You know, it's all the bottom line, right? To me, that was not what dancing was about. And it still isn't.
GROSS: Before you started doing your own work as a choreographer and dancer and you danced, like, in classes and in the Paul Taylor Company, how was your body regarded? You know, were you considered...
THARP: Oh, I have no idea.
THARP: How would you define that? I mean, here's how I defined it. I looked in the mirror. I said, oh, OK. You can do that pretty well. And I looked in the mirror at everybody else. And I tried to be as objective as possible. And (laughter) I was in some very high-level classes. Cynthia Gregory would be in front of me. I'd say, OK, you can forget it about that fourth pirouette. You don't got it. So let's - plus, which she was - or Toni Lander. These were great ballerinas of my era who were in classes I was taking. And I saw that - what they did I was not qualified for. But I saw that I had another way of moving that was foreign to them and that they were awkward with. And that's where I chose to go.
GROSS: Could you define that a little bit more, what you had that they didn't?
THARP: I had a capacity for kind of kinetic movement that had been trained out of them in the classic technique, which is very elevated, very elongated, light, high, to be very fast. I had speed. I didn't have the - I was always very grounded, which is, of course, a characteristic of modern dance. But I had it naturally because of the way the body is constructed. So in order to be the best dancer I could be, it needed to be in a different style. I would be shortchanging myself to try to do - not just because of technique, but because of body construction - what they were better suited for.
GROSS: In 1973, Robert Joffrey of the Joffrey Ballet asked you to choreograph a piece for his company. You brought your dancers, too. So it was a mix of the ballet dancers and your company. What was your vision for combining ballet and your approach to dance?
THARP: Well, here's the thing. I had always felt that one dancer should be able to dance across the line. That is to say, when I started working in New York, you were either a modern dancer, or you were a ballet dancer. I thought that was ridiculous because I could be both a ballet dancer and a modern dancer. So shouldn't everybody else be able to do that? So with the ballet at the Joffrey, no, not everybody else could do it. First of all, we didn't work on point. Second of all, their women couldn't do falls the way we could. So we had different skill sets.
And I said, well, OK. We will need to augment one another. We'll take this element of movement. They'll take that element of movement. And we'll mix it together on stage, and we'll get a blend, which is what happened. When "Deuce Coupe" was revived fairly recently, dancers have changed. They now can dance across the line. And you actually can have one dancer who could do either side of the line, could work on point, could hit the deck. That was not possible then. Part of my point had to do with addressing the techniques of dancers. And that has changed.
GROSS: So you mentioned falls.
GROSS: And those are important in your choreography.
GROSS: Why was that important to you as a choreographer, to include falls?
THARP: Because it implies the fearlessness. And in truth, it is a kind of fearlessness. You're not afraid to fall. With classical dancers, they're not trained to fall. They fall, they're going to sprain something. They're going to damage their body. We could fall all kinds of different ways and not do any damage at all.
GROSS: Oh, gosh. There's a scene in the documentary. And I can't remember - is it with Baryshnikov that you're dancing and...
THARP: Yeah. I'm dropped.
GROSS: ...You're dropped (laughter).
THARP: Yeah. Yeah.
GROSS: And you're stunned. But you're not hurt. Does that happen a lot?
THARP: I was actually hurt. But the thing is this...
GROSS: You were hurt?
THARP: Yeah. I didn't stop because we were performing in a couple of days. But it was - I had to have acupuncture for the only time in my life. But in all fairness, it has - he didn't drop me. I slipped. I was wearing those stupid rubber pants. And I simply slipped out of his grip. So it's unfair to say that he dropped me as though it was a shortcoming on his part. It wasn't.
GROSS: So what was your injury?
THARP: Neck - it was a neck injury. But I survived. Here we are.
GROSS: Right. Well, let me reintroduce you here. If you're just joining us, my guest is dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp. The new PBS "American Masters" documentary about her called "Twyla Moves" is still playing on some PBS stations and is streaming on pbs.org. We'll talk more after we take a short break. I'm Terry Gross. And this is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "LITTLE DEUCE COUPE")
THE BEACH BOYS: (Singing) Little deuce coupe. You don't know what I got. Little deuce coupe. You don't know what I got. Well, I'm not bragging, babe, so don't put me down. Deuce coupe. But I've got the fastest set of wheels in town. Deuce coupe. When something comes up to me, he don't even try because if I had a set of wings, man, I know she could fly. She's my little deuce coupe. You don't know what I got. My little deuce coupe. You don't know what I got. Just a little deuce coupe with the flathead mill. Deuce coupe. But she'll walk a Thunderbird like she's standing still. Deuce coupe.
(SOUNDBITE OF PHILIP GLASS' "DANCE III FROM IN THE UPPER ROOM")
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Let's get back to my interview with dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp. The new PBS "American Masters" documentary about her called "Twyla Moves" is both a retrospective of her career and a look at how she choreographed a dance during the pandemic that was performed by four dancers in four parts of the world on Zoom. "Twyla Moves" is still being shown on some PBS stations and is streaming on pbs.org.
In 1973, Robert Joffrey of the Joffrey Ballet asked you to choreograph a piece for his company. You've said about that, that working with the men, that some of the men just didn't want to be told what to do by a woman. How did you deal with that? You were so used to working with women.
THARP: It was simple. It was - OK, let's jump now. And I'm a very strong jumper, and I jumped higher, longer than most of the men. So it was like, OK, guys, let's go. That's how I've basically always been able to work with men, is through strength and by a kind of challenge - and, OK, put it on the line; let's go. But, you know, men can be very arrogant. We all can. And when there is a position of - they knew perfectly well that they were getting away with kind of bloody murder, and so they were not perhaps all that secure. And if they were given the opportunity to work around that bias, many of them would and gratefully.
I mean, you'll see some male dancers in "Deuce Coupe" and even that raw footage were doing kind of extraordinary things. I think they were glad to be asked to work in a different way, eventually. It took a little doing, perhaps. But...
THARP: And some of them, a couple, never came around, but that's OK.
GROSS: You wrote a dance for Mikhail Baryshnikov a couple of years after he defected to the West. And at the time, he was really, like, the most famous dancer. And you had - you say you had to teach him to slouch, which, of course, goes against ballet training. And he was, you know, classically trained in Russia. He was, you know, a superb, you know, ballet dancer. What is the importance of slouch in your dance? And what did it take to help him learn how to slouch, which probably really went against his instincts as a dancer?
THARP: No, because East Europeans always wanted to be cool, and being cool meant hanging down. So while he didn't quite know how to do it, it was certainly something that was seductive. And so, you know, you get your weight back a little on the heel. There were certain things like syncopated movements that he had not been trained in. And when he'd start to do it, it was like, you'd look at him and you - I mean, your heart goes out to him because here's this great dancer, and he's trying something that is that unfamiliar and uncomfortable. And he mastered it. He got it. He figured it out. He watched it. He felt it. He wanted to do it. He came here to dance differently.
GROSS: And what was the importance of slouching in...
THARP: Again, community. How many people sitting out there in your audience have the placement of a great classical dancer? So, of course, they're going to feel distance from a great classical dancer if that great classical dancer never, for a moment, kind of goes down and is a little bit like you and you can feel their rhythms. You can feel them breathing. Then they can go into that higher, upper sphere, and you can exalt with them. You're not intimidated by them. That's why it's a slouch.
GROSS: You work your dancers really hard. But are you always confident that they can do what you're asking them to do? Do you worry about causing an injury? And do you...
THARP: Let me interrupt because I don't think it's quite fair to say I work them hard. I give them challenges, which they take up on their own because a great dancer wants to be challenged. They want to be pushed. They want to evolve. I'm very careful about injury.
GROSS: You became a mother in your late 20s. And you and your son, in the documentary, talk a little bit about how you were so absorbed in your dancing and in keeping your company afloat and in touring with your company and performing, it didn't leave that much time for him. And I'm trying to ask this next question without being misunderstood 'cause I'm afraid it's going to come off sounding like a criticism, which it is not meant to be.
So with that preface, I will ask you the question - when you were growing up, your mother, you say she drove, like, hundreds of miles a week sometimes just to take you to all the classes that she wanted to take you to for, like, you know, dance and music and all the stuff that you were doing 'cause she exposed you to so much. And look at the results. I mean, you know, that certainly worked. But it sounds like you were kind of - you couldn't do that for your son 'cause you were so busy with your own career and keeping a company afloat. Like, you had people you were responsible for, you know, professionally, too. And I guess, did you often go through, like, comparing yourself and your mother as mothers?
THARP: One of the things I did not want to do was to take away my son's childhood. I had no childhood. I was trained from the time I was 6 months old to become something, as I say in the picture, and I never had time to ask the question, what do I want to do? I was busy doing - and I always did - my assignments of many different sorts. I wanted him to have choices. We were a very different kind of parenting style.
GROSS: Yeah, you say in the documentary that your mother gave you lessons in dance and music, shorthand, German, French and everything except how to live. So when you say she gave you lessons in everything except how to live, what else do you feel like you didn't learn that other children your age did learn?
THARP: Basically, how to communicate with peers, with other folk. I was a very silent child. I learned not a lot about the ordinary sustaining of life. For example, I still can't cook, which is a real shortcoming. But food was not really thought of as anything other than - hurry up; let's get going. And the - you know, the pleasures of life were not something that we considered. It was work and lessons, right? It's just different. And one needs to be grateful for what one had, which is an enormous amount, not what one didn't have. But when it comes time for giving the opportunity of, you know, evolving to another person, that which you feel lacking in your own upbringing you want to make available to your offspring, right?
GROSS: Was your drive to keep dancing and go to every possible class, was that your mother's drive or your drive when you were young?
THARP: No, by the time I got to college, it was my drive. When I was a kid, she had determined that I should better study everything, A, because she herself was very eclectic. She herself was very democratic. She herself came - I mean, we came from dirt farmers in the Midwest, right? Mules pulling equipment. And she always wanted to be able to expand that in every possible direction. She didn't judge. She didn't judge that popular music was better or not as good as Bach. They were different.
GROSS: When you talk about mules pulling equipment, was that your mother's experience, or did you grow up with that, too, when you were living in Indiana, before moving to California?
THARP: When my mother was - she had twins, and she had a third - a fourth child, actually - another child, two days, three days, before the twins were a year old. So during that period of time when, essentially, she had triplets, I was put on her parent's farms. Those farms were - there was no electricity. They were kerosene farms. And there were no phones, and there was no running water in the house. So they were very, very basic. And I'm very grateful for those four or five years that I experienced that kind of fundamental existence.
GROSS: Let me reintroduce you. If you're just joining us, my guest is dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp. She's the subject of the latest "American Masters" documentary, which is called "Twyla Moves." It's streaming on pbs.org. We'll be right back after a break. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF PHILIP GLASS AND MICHAEL RIESMAN'S "PHILIP GLASS: IN THE UPPER ROOM: IV. DANCE IV")
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. Let's get back to my interview with Twyla Tharp, one of the most innovative dancers and choreographers of our time. There's a new PBS "American Masters" documentary about her called "Twyla Moves." It's streaming on pbs.org.
I was amazed to find out that your first major injury was when you were 69. Now, you mentioned that you were injured when you slipped out of Mikhail Baryshnikov's hands...
GROSS: ...Because you were wearing slippery pants. But it's amazing that you could do the kind of dancing that you've done over the years and not be injured. I mean, don't most dancers suffer, like, multiple injuries or whatever?
THARP: But most dancers - yeah, but most dancers aren't responsible for telling their body to do what it wants to do; most dancers have to do what other people tell their body to do. And they are not, most other people, familiar with the dancer's body, as they themselves are. So my body has been asked to do what's relatively appropriate for it to do, as it has changed, altered, aged, evolved, rather than having to continue to do the same roles it did at the age of 18.
GROSS: When you were injured at the age of 69, you broke a metatarsal in your foot. Was that life-changing? I mean, did you have to walk around with a boot? Or...
THARP: Yeah, the problem is this - and this I do share because it's very common - I should have stayed off it for about, oh, I don't know, two weeks maybe. And a metatarsal is not that big a deal, and it will heal. I couldn't. I was working. So, yes, I put on a boot, and I continued to work and found I was compensating more and more for that injury, and it became damaging to the whole skeleton. The metatarsal is OK. Ultimately, it did a lot of damage to the lower spine and to the hip sockets because I'd contorted the weight to carry it off that metatarsal. Don't do that. With an injury, until you can take the weight squarely in your body, the way you're designed to do it, stay off the injury, (laughter) OK?
GROSS: Well, that sounds like good advice.
GROSS: In your memoir, "Keep It Moving," you wrote about all the stamina you had when you were in your 20s and how your movement and stamina changed over the decades. And you write, (Reading) In your 20s flexibility - yeah. Speed was a specialty. Power - actually not as great as it would become later. My coordination let me flip movement in space over, under, forward, back, torso going counter or parallel to the hips. Isolations were honed to where I could deliver movement off a single muscle. I was a big jumper. My falls were fearless. Balance was always my weakness, but you would never know that.
GROSS: (Reading) Eating was anything any time (laughter). So as you approach 80, where are you now in terms of what you feel like your body's capable of?
THARP: OK, that's a fair question. And the answer is, I'm not quite sure because this last year has been so compromised, both by the pandemic but also by the amount of work I've done because not only was it the PBS show and four projects, I also just finished a 40-minute ballet that was done on 17 dancers, double Zoom'd (ph) - I was rehearsing two studios simultaneously. I had four assistants. And that one was done in Germany, which meant a huge time shift, and was extraordinarily difficult. And I'm jet-lagged, or I'm getting over the jet lag.
So this last year with the pandemic and its disruptions in terms of, you know, routine discipline, just ordinary day-to-day activities, the body doesn't know itself at the moment. So I can't tell you what I can ask it to do until I refamiliarize myself. And I'm in the process of doing that. I have, because I've done a number of gigging kinds of works - I mean, whether it's a film which can take a year or a Broadway show, which also is another year - during those periods of time, I've let myself go because you don't have enough hours in the day to maintain the discipline the way I do when I'm not working on another project, and that project becomes primary.
When I commit to doing a project, I commit to doing it completely, not with left over in terms of time, that means whenever I've finished one of these big projects, I'm out of shape. So I've been in this position before - not at this age, but I know that it is a commitment to get back into shape.
GROSS: Not everybody who's a dancer dances or choreographs into their 80s. I know you studied either with Merce Cunningham personally or at least in his company, and he's somebody who did dance into his 80s. I think I have the age right.
GROSS: And I'm wondering if he inspired you at all to think, yeah, I can do that, too; it's been done.
THARP: Yes and no. Merce was in his 40s when I studied with him. And yes, I studied directly in his classes for four years. He was a great dancer. And I watched him teach. And he taught on one side. And in his late 60s, early 70s became - the arthritis, as with Graham - she also had fierce arthritis, even worse than his. It became a binding force. I mean - and by the time Merce was in his late 70s, he was having trouble walking. And that is just a combination of the amount of work and wear and tear on his body from teaching in combination with the arthritis. So he and Graham, I saw dance or move at different points in their lives. And I saw Martha dance at the end of her career, but she also was stopped late in her 70s. Both of them were. And one of my questions has always been, can I push it any further? Can I work responsibly, sensibly and with any kind of versatility, let's say, further than that? And we'll see. I don't know.
GROSS: How did you avoid the kind of arthritis that affected Graham and Cunningham?
THARP: Partially - yeah, partially. Well, obviously, it's genetic. It also has to do with lifestyles. Diet has improved immeasurably. But it also has to do with the kind of physical disciplines. Graham worked most of her physical life within her own technique, as did Merce. And that means they limited their ranges of movement to what they were redefining as dance. I didn't do that.
I have figured anything is fair game if it moves. And I've also swapped out my training regimens a great deal. When I was in my 40s, I actually started working with a great boxing trainer named Teddy Atlas for about six months and had serious boxing training, which is great for stamina, for coordination, for speed - across the boards. It also takes an enormous amount of strength and power. In my 50s, I started doing serious weight training and had a trainer here in the city who was the bench world champion. I continued myself to work on my own kinds of discipline, obviously, as anyone who wishes to maintain any kind of body have had some familiarity with yoga and practiced that myself. And I use bits and pieces of all these different kinds of trainings and techniques. I move it around.
GROSS: Since you've been working with dancers through Zoom and showing them the choreography through Zoom, what have some of the biggest challenges been working like that? I know one of them is the delay 'cause we talked a little bit about this before we started the interview - 'cause we have to deal with this when we're working long distance at home with our audio apps. And I know you were - I know that was a big source of frustration for you on Zoom.
THARP: Right. That is the biggest - that is the biggest issue. The other was time. I mean, at one point, I was rehearsing a dancer simultaneously on a unison phrase. One dancer was in New York at noon. One dancer was on the West Coast before breakfast. One dancer was in Denmark five hours ahead, and one dancer was in St. Petersburg working through their dinner hour. And we're all doing the same Zoom session. We're using the same phrase of movement. Good luck with that.
GROSS: (Laughter) Good luck trying to coordinate all of that and make, you know - when you want something to be synchronized.
THARP: But that was the point because nothing was capable of keeping us from having community. And that's what dance can give. Dance can give community.
GROSS: Twyla Tharp, it's just been great to talk with you. And I really want to thank you for doing this.
THARP: Thank you. It's my pleasure. And you obviously know what you're doing in this trade (laughter). And it's - you know, it's an honor to speak with you and be able to, you know, share in that experience that you bring. Thank you.
GROSS: The PBS "American Masters" documentary about Twyla Tharp, called "Twyla Moves," was recently broadcast on most PBS stations. You can still see it on some stations, but you can also stream it on pbs.org. After we take a short break, David Bianculli will review the new HBO series "The Nevers," which revolves around a supernatural event in Victorian England. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF THE BENNIE MAUPIN QUARTET'S "PROPHET'S MOTIFS") Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.