It’s never been much fun writing about choreography by Bill T. Jones. It was easier when he worked with Arnie Zane, co-founder of the dance company they shared. Jones was tall, black, and statuesque and Zane was short, white, and weasely. Neither was a born dancer with a born dance body and the work they did together was like a Hope and Crosby road movie: they made it up as they went along—posturing, pontificating, parodying. It was two guys who knew nothing about making dances making dances. Zane was the better mover; quick, sly, a sort of dance-department pickpocket, wedges and squiggles pinched from the air. Jones was lumbering, lagging behind, his lumpy muscles somehow in the way. The twosome was openly gay, and soon had a following that was looking for an alternative dance by alternative dancers. Their biggest hit together was called Secret Pastures (1984), a Frankenstein story in which Jones was the fabricated man, ...

 
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