Bawren Tavaziva's Double Take came with a prologue: local schoolchildren performing scenes they had developed in workshops. This warm-up act pointed up the strengths and weaknesses of Tavaziva's piece. The strengths, at least, are immediately apparent, in piece and prologue alike: youthful vigour, a relish in dancing for its own sake, an invigorating mix of contemporary and African styles.
The eight company performers sidle on to squat like penguins on a rock. Then, a controlled explosion: outburst arms, torpedo twists, pile-driving stamps, abrupt freezes, all in strict unison. This fusion of full-bodied action and fierce discipline marks the whole work. The downside is that every scene feels like another fragment developed from a workshop, each with different music – material that has not been yoked to a theme.
Ostensibly, the theme is Tavaziva's own history, contrasting his upbringing in Zimbabwe with his life in the UK. In the first half, the keening vocals of singer Tsungai Tsikirai suggest religiosity and suppression; in the second, playground games and hanky-panky imply joy and freedom.
It doesn't matter that this is sketchily drawn. What does matter is that there is no sense of build, or consequence: each scene is just another passing firework. It is as if Tavaziva is so taken with his vibrant, hybrid language that he has neglected what to say, and how.
