If we think of New York, where everything moves at a frenetic pace, as the hub of American dance, then LA - where you don't get mown down every time you cross the road - might be dubbed as a laid back cousin. Certainly, LA's Raiford Rogers Modern Ballet is as far removed from in your face Broadway pizzazz as we can get. 

The first thing we notice about this 11-strong troupe is the quality of the dancers. They are beautifully trained, and you'd need to be as blind as a bat to miss that. Less easy to pin down is Rogers' choreographic style which embraces a minimalist bent and other traits. His most lucid mantra is understatement, and in the company's opening Where Are You My Love? the choreography, etched rather than drawn, hangs casually on Charlie Haden's unrushed, smoochy jazz score. Citing the genre of film noir murder mysteries as an inspiration, the sound of hurried footsteps at the piece's start portrays a fleet mood of anxiety, but the 'lurking danger' promised in the programme notes never quite materialises. Liz Stillwell's use of light and shadow plays a significant role in the proceedings - and at one point the dancers shine torches into their own faces. But the highlight was unquestionably the first duet performed most elegantly by the melding coupling of Lisa Gillespie and Jack Hansen.

Set to In C, Terry Riley's influential score, which pre-empted the fashion for minimalist music (notably that by Philip Glass and Steve Reich), Rogers' second piece exploited his dancers' technical skills, which are strikingly abundant, rather more rigorously. An early duet with Tekla Kostek, adept at Guillemesque extensions, and John Funk was danced with marvellous control, and Veronica Caudillo's ability to balance eternally was, too, awesome. Whilst much of the movement inclined to the academic and was devoid of emotion, a brief section of spirited dancing was furnished by the very likeable Brett Conway.

For a new work, Ex Machina, Rogers collaborated with composer Carlos Rodriguez, and the music was played live on stage by cellist Matt Cooker. In an interview earlier this year Rogers said that during the creation of this piece he had been searching for the 'inner reptile' in his dancers - meaning a kind of basic survival instinct which kicks in when we encounter a crisis. But since Rogers' dancers rarely express anything on their faces, it's hard to determine how deep he has succeeded in mining.  As a reflection of the music, however, the piece comes over as an improvised offering, and perhaps we can link the odd scuttle across the floor on all fours as a survival tactic.

Rather lighter in mood, Cabin Fever (Part 2) takes its inspiration from the observations of LA satirist Sandra Tsing Loh, and the dancers are chic in costumes by Chanel. Whilst technical feats, like a series of blistering fast chaines and an arabesque folding into a somersault, are still on the agenda, the dancers take time out to laze on the ground and be LA cool. But perhaps the piece's coolest moment is a seriously understated duet which begins when Carol Guidry slides like treacle ice-cream down John Funk's back.  He then proceeds, at snail pace, to cart her about as if she was a dressmaker's dummy capable of splaying her legs. This is Rogers' hallmark; it's so damn subtle that most don't get it.

Emma Manning, Editor, DANCE EUROPE Magazine Aug/Sept 2003
Carol Guidry, John Funk in Cabin Fever

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