Brian Sanders world premiere debuts at PA Ballet

For the last two decades, Brian Sanders has been creating brilliant and subversive choreography. Think Patio Plástico, his wickedly funny send-up of American suburbanites; his daring explorations of aerial dance; or the very name of his troupe ("Brian Sanders' JUNK"), which reinforces the naughty, authority-provoking verbal and visual puns for which its founder/director is famous.

Check out this video of the troupe in action: 

There's little that Sanders has not already essayed, but it still came as a surprise to learn that the Pennsylvania Ballet had commissioned Sanders to create a world premiere -- Chicken Bone Brain -- for its 2016-17 season, rounding out a program (Thursday through Sunday at the Merriam Theater) alongside pieces by noted British choreographer David Dawson and the ultimate stalwart of 20th-century American ballet, George Balanchine.

During a recent telephone conversation, Pennsylvania Ballet artistic director Angel Corella told the story of his first encounter with Sanders' work. Having decided to attend the show Hay at JUNK's headquarters in Shiloh Baptist Church in Philadelphia, Corella couldn't find the entrance because company set designer extraordinaire Pedro Silva had constructed a confusing faux doorway. Once inside, Corella discovered he was expected to sit on an actual bale of hay -- "in my suit and tie!" But once the lights went down, he said, "I saw the most incredible show ever."

Immediately after, Corella invited Sanders to work with the ballet. (In a separate interview, Sanders conceded, "I was flabbergasted.")

This unexpected collaboration demonstrates Corella's commitment to working with a wide range of innovative choreographers. It also highlights the courage of the 20 Pennsylvania Ballet dancers who are exploring a different, challenging movement style. The three male stars of Chicken Bone Brain (Sterling Baca, Jermel Johnson, and Arián Molina Soca) do much of their work while balancing on enormous, abstract, bonelike sculptures that Silva created from aluminum poles covered with white fiberglass and that are suspended from the ceiling. They also partner with the female dancers, not with their hands, but with shorter and narrower "bones." As a result, everyone in the cast has bruises in unusual places. And because hanging from poles requires a particular kind of strength and stamina, Baca -- who goes to the gym daily -- said he had been doing special exercises to improve his grip.

A few weeks ago, as we were chatting in JUNK's found-object-strewn loft, Sanders recalled the first meeting among him, his assistants -- William Robinson and Teddy Fatscher -- and the ballet's dancers. At first, he said, there was "a mutual sense of intimidation," as members from both groups asked their counterparts, "How do you do that?" and, "How do you make it look so easy?" This quickly morphed into mutual respect, evident during the rehearsal I observed. At that point, although the dancers were not yet fully comfortable with the physical demands of Sanders' aerial choreography, their movement was fearless, impressive, and often exquisitely beautiful.

Bare-chested, in shorts and ballet slippers, the three men hung by their knees from the bones -- held in place or manipulated into new positions by three other dancers. In unison, they climbed up the bones. (Sanders yelled: "Move slowly, hand over hand, like baby sloths!") At times, they held onto the bones with one hand and leaned outward into space; as the bones swung, their bodies traced ever-changing arcs in the air.

At other points, the bones were horizontal and the men lay on their bellies, swaying gently back and forth, like leopards napping in trees. The timing and balance needed to execute these movements properly are incredibly complicated and potentially hazardous -- although Sanders insists that people get injured far more often doing ballet than aerial dance.

As a title, Chicken Bone Brain sounds like a typical Sanders joke, but it  refers to one of the musical selections: "Look What They've Done to My Song, Ma," written and first recorded by Melanie, the folk/pop/country star, in 1971. The second verse says, "They picked my brain like a chicken bone, and I think I'm half-insane." Sanders often refers to his own "chicken-bone brain," and he confirms that this work is not intended to be funny. Instead, it's very personal. "It's lyrical," he says of the work, "with chaos inside."

During our discussion, Sanders recalled being a terrified 10-year-old performer in the Princeton Ballet's Nutcracker. Then he stopped dancing altogether, from age 14 to 19, due to disagreements with his parents and his school. But he returned to ballet, and, Sanders says, "I still have a classical aesthetic ... even when [my] dancers are in the air."

This emphasis on balletic "line" was obvious in the rehearsal -- and, Sanders thinks, it may have influenced Corella's decision to work with him.

Other sections of this 25-minute piece are danced to very different kinds of music -- notably metal-art disco by Deathprod, described as a Norwegian ambient-noise artist, hardly the standard accompaniment for ballet. Sanders often talks about being inspired by music and visual art. Another source for the dramatic opening image of Chicken Bone Brain was Denise Levertov's poem "Suspended."

It's not only the dancers who feel challenged by this piece, but also Sanders, who admits to losing sleep as opening night approaches. At the same time, he said, he's looking forward to meeting new audiences, adding -- in the understatement of the century -- "I'm always trying to push myself."

Chicken Bone Brain will be performed as part of the Pennsylvania Ballet's Revolution program, Thursday through Sunday at the Merriam Theater, 250 S. Broad St. Tickets: $35-$135. Information: 215-893-1999; www.paballet.org.