Choreography of Exchange—Conversations in Counterpoint
Stepping into the Meany Center for the Performing Arts on Valentine’s Day carried an inescapable weight, shaped by the news that just two days prior, Donald Trump—now America’s 47th President—had assumed the chairmanship of the Kennedy Center. His rise to that cultural helm came with the dismissal of 18 Biden-era appointees and the appointment of 14 new members, including himself. This shift didn’t merely ripple through the arts world; it cast a stark, almost surreal shadow as one crossed the threshold. For an audience about to engage with a performance designed to unravel the very fabric of established dynamics, the question was no longer just how to interpret the work, but how to reconcile its subversive intent with a reality it now stood in quiet defiance of—a reminder, as the evening would soon make clear, of precisely why art endures as an essential force in times like these.
Following the entrance to the theater, Michelle Witt, executive and artistic director of the Meany Center, took the stage to open the evening with a striking reminder of the stakes at hand. Quoting Deborah Rutter—the former president of the Kennedy Center, whose departure marked another ripple of Trump’s swift and quite frankly confusing reshaping of its leadership—Witt anchored the moment in words that felt less like ceremony and more like a call to vigilance:
"Much like our democracy itself, artistic expression must be nurtured, fostered, prioritized, and protected. It is not a passive endeavor; indeed, there is no clearer sign of American democracy at work than our artists, the work they produce, and audiences' unalienable right to actively participate.”
— Deborah Rutter in a statement sent to NPR marking her departureRutter's words about art's role in reflecting truth and challenging comfort felt particularly resonant as the audience settled into the Meany Center. On this evening, Counterpoint—a performance deliberately designed to dissolve boundaries between classical and vernacular forms—seemed to gain additional weight against the backdrop of cultural upheaval beyond its walls. The intimate theater space would soon showcase exactly the kind of boundary-crossing, truth-telling expression that makes art essential in times of institutional flux.
Introducing the evening's artists, Witt presented them not merely as performers but as exemplars of contemporary excellence. Conrad Tao, standing at the vanguard of classical music's evolving identity, embodies this spirit of innovation. A savant in every sense, his career defies convention, blending technical precision with inventive experimentation and challenging audiences to reconsider the piano as both an instrument and an expressive force.
Their artistic counterpart, Caleb Teicher, emerges as one of today's most prolific tap dancers, reimagining the form as a contemporary dialect—equal parts storytelling, rhythmic exploration, and abstract commentary. Teicher's approach, rooted in swing traditions yet unmistakably modern, extends tap beyond the dance floor, transforming it into a percussive dialogue with live music.
Witt’s introduction framed Counterpoint not as mere performance but as an encounter with two artists in constant conversation—pushing boundaries, defying binaries, and reminding us why interdisciplinary expression remains vital in an increasingly fractured world. As the lights dimmed and the first notes rose, the stage became less a platform and more a meeting ground for possibility, where sound and movement would engage in a dialogue as nuanced and complex as the times that framed the evening itself.
At its core, Counterpoint is more than a title—it is the animating principle that threads through every moment of Conrad Tao and Caleb Teicher’s collaborative performance. Borrowed from classical music, where independent melodies intertwine to form a complex yet cohesive whole, Counterpoint here extends beyond the score, becoming a metaphor for interdisciplinary exchange. Tao’s piano and Teicher’s tap exist not as accompaniment to one another but as equally weighted voices, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of deeper resonance.
What makes Counterpoint particularly striking is the historical chasm it dares to bridge. Classical piano and tap dance have long existed in separate artistic spheres, with little precedent for meaningful collaboration. The piano, historically the centerpiece of Western classical tradition, represents structure, precision, and a codified lineage stretching back centuries. Tap, by contrast, emerged from African American vernacular dance, born of improvisation and resistance, its rhythms more often found in jazz clubs and vaudeville stages than concert halls. To bring them together is, in itself, an act of artistic defiance—one that reclaims both forms from their rigid contexts and forces them into fresh, unpredictable dialogue.
Teicher’s tap, in this context, felt almost avant-garde. Rather than the showy, syncopated footwork linked to tap’s golden age, their movement embraced an architectural simplicity, sketching the music’s outlines instead of merely dancing atop them. In Schoenberg’s atonal Walzer, Teicher’s angular, restrained rhythms mirrored the piece’s fractured structure, transforming tap into a percussive commentary rather than mere embellishment.
Yet in Rhapsody in Blue, the familiar jazz-inflected melodies invited a rare moment of synchronicity. Teicher’s footwork largely followed the piano’s melodic contours, not in lockstep, but as an interpretive shadow—responding to Tao’s phrasing with an elasticity that kept the conversation alive. It was here that the essence of Counterpoint revealed itself: not in strict adherence to rhythm or melody, but in the spaces between them, where tap became less a rhythmic flourish and more a conversational voice, reacting, echoing, and occasionally pushing back against the piano’s lead.
What truly set Counterpoint apart, however, was its refusal to adhere to conventional collaborative dynamics. Rather than functioning as accompanist and lead—a framework often imposed when music and dance share the stage—Tao and Teicher frequently stepped aside, ceding the spotlight to one another in moments of solitary exploration. These asides were not mere interludes but integral to the performance’s architecture, reinforcing the idea that dialogue is as much about listening as it is about speaking.
Tao’s solo passages, unanchored by Teicher’s percussive presence, revealed the full breadth of his pianistic language. His interpretation of Art Tatum's Cherokee was a masterclass in virtuosic improvisation, the breakneck stride patterns unfolding with an almost reckless freedom, as though testing the limits of the instrument itself. In these moments, Tao didn’t merely perform—they interrogated the music, stretching phrases until they nearly unraveled, then snapping them back into coherence with an effortless fluency that left the audience breathless. This improvisational approach echoed their earlier collaboration More Forever, where spontaneity was not just a feature but a guiding philosophy, ensuring no two performances were ever quite the same.
One of the most unexpected moments arrived when Teicher, now acting alone onstage, broke the fourth wall entirely. Addressing the audience directly, they offered insight into the roots of a flat-foot sequence they had just performed, tracing its lineage to Nic Gareiss's Solo Square Dance, itself a tribute to the legacy of Bascom Lamar Lunsford. Lunsford, a folklorist and musician, was known not just for preserving Appalachian music but for documenting the region's dance traditions—forms often overlooked or dismissed by those outside the culture. Appalachian dance, Teicher explained, was never confined to the group formations commonly associated with square dancing; instead, it encompassed a diverse array of expressions.
To illustrate this, Teicher performed a flat-footing phrase inspired by Lunsford's archival footage—a square-dance-inspired solo, delivered with understated clarity and rhythmic precision. The impact, however, came not from the steps themselves but from their context: these movements weren’t originally staged for an audience but captured as part of Lunsford's tireless efforts to document and sustain Appalachian culture. In this light, the dance became less about performance and more about preservation—an echo of history carried forward through repetition and reverence.
For Teicher, the moment transcended historical reference. It underscored Counterpoint's central ethos: that artistic dialogue thrives when traditions intersect and evolve. Just as Tao and Teicher spent the evening dissolving boundaries between classical piano and tap dance, this fleeting solo revealed how seemingly disparate forms—whether rooted in Appalachian hollows or European concert halls—share common ground. By bringing Lunsford's folk movement vocabulary into conversation with contemporary classical performance, Teicher demonstrated how art, when unbound by institutional constraints, naturally seeks connection across cultures and eras. It was a fitting reminder of why the fight to protect artistic freedom—emphasized by Witt earlier that evening, citing Rutter—remains as urgent now as ever.
• Follow Meany Center for the Performing Arts on Ode for events and updates
• Read New board elects President Trump chair of Kennedy Center on NPR
• Follow Conrad Tao and Caleb Teicher on Instagram
Following the entrance to the theater, Michelle Witt, executive and artistic director of the Meany Center, took the stage to open the evening with a striking reminder of the stakes at hand. Quoting Deborah Rutter—the former president of the Kennedy Center, whose departure marked another ripple of Trump’s swift and quite frankly confusing reshaping of its leadership—Witt anchored the moment in words that felt less like ceremony and more like a call to vigilance:
"Much like our democracy itself, artistic expression must be nurtured, fostered, prioritized, and protected. It is not a passive endeavor; indeed, there is no clearer sign of American democracy at work than our artists, the work they produce, and audiences' unalienable right to actively participate.”
— Deborah Rutter in a statement sent to NPR marking her departureRutter's words about art's role in reflecting truth and challenging comfort felt particularly resonant as the audience settled into the Meany Center. On this evening, Counterpoint—a performance deliberately designed to dissolve boundaries between classical and vernacular forms—seemed to gain additional weight against the backdrop of cultural upheaval beyond its walls. The intimate theater space would soon showcase exactly the kind of boundary-crossing, truth-telling expression that makes art essential in times of institutional flux.
Introducing the evening's artists, Witt presented them not merely as performers but as exemplars of contemporary excellence. Conrad Tao, standing at the vanguard of classical music's evolving identity, embodies this spirit of innovation. A savant in every sense, his career defies convention, blending technical precision with inventive experimentation and challenging audiences to reconsider the piano as both an instrument and an expressive force.
Their artistic counterpart, Caleb Teicher, emerges as one of today's most prolific tap dancers, reimagining the form as a contemporary dialect—equal parts storytelling, rhythmic exploration, and abstract commentary. Teicher's approach, rooted in swing traditions yet unmistakably modern, extends tap beyond the dance floor, transforming it into a percussive dialogue with live music.
Witt’s introduction framed Counterpoint not as mere performance but as an encounter with two artists in constant conversation—pushing boundaries, defying binaries, and reminding us why interdisciplinary expression remains vital in an increasingly fractured world. As the lights dimmed and the first notes rose, the stage became less a platform and more a meeting ground for possibility, where sound and movement would engage in a dialogue as nuanced and complex as the times that framed the evening itself.
At its core, Counterpoint is more than a title—it is the animating principle that threads through every moment of Conrad Tao and Caleb Teicher’s collaborative performance. Borrowed from classical music, where independent melodies intertwine to form a complex yet cohesive whole, Counterpoint here extends beyond the score, becoming a metaphor for interdisciplinary exchange. Tao’s piano and Teicher’s tap exist not as accompaniment to one another but as equally weighted voices, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in tension, but always in pursuit of deeper resonance.
Conrad Tao and Caleb Teicher: COUNTERPOINT / Cherokee at The Gilmore's 2024 Piano Festival
What makes Counterpoint particularly striking is the historical chasm it dares to bridge. Classical piano and tap dance have long existed in separate artistic spheres, with little precedent for meaningful collaboration. The piano, historically the centerpiece of Western classical tradition, represents structure, precision, and a codified lineage stretching back centuries. Tap, by contrast, emerged from African American vernacular dance, born of improvisation and resistance, its rhythms more often found in jazz clubs and vaudeville stages than concert halls. To bring them together is, in itself, an act of artistic defiance—one that reclaims both forms from their rigid contexts and forces them into fresh, unpredictable dialogue.
Teicher’s tap, in this context, felt almost avant-garde. Rather than the showy, syncopated footwork linked to tap’s golden age, their movement embraced an architectural simplicity, sketching the music’s outlines instead of merely dancing atop them. In Schoenberg’s atonal Walzer, Teicher’s angular, restrained rhythms mirrored the piece’s fractured structure, transforming tap into a percussive commentary rather than mere embellishment.
Yet in Rhapsody in Blue, the familiar jazz-inflected melodies invited a rare moment of synchronicity. Teicher’s footwork largely followed the piano’s melodic contours, not in lockstep, but as an interpretive shadow—responding to Tao’s phrasing with an elasticity that kept the conversation alive. It was here that the essence of Counterpoint revealed itself: not in strict adherence to rhythm or melody, but in the spaces between them, where tap became less a rhythmic flourish and more a conversational voice, reacting, echoing, and occasionally pushing back against the piano’s lead.
What truly set Counterpoint apart, however, was its refusal to adhere to conventional collaborative dynamics. Rather than functioning as accompanist and lead—a framework often imposed when music and dance share the stage—Tao and Teicher frequently stepped aside, ceding the spotlight to one another in moments of solitary exploration. These asides were not mere interludes but integral to the performance’s architecture, reinforcing the idea that dialogue is as much about listening as it is about speaking.
Tao’s solo passages, unanchored by Teicher’s percussive presence, revealed the full breadth of his pianistic language. His interpretation of Art Tatum's Cherokee was a masterclass in virtuosic improvisation, the breakneck stride patterns unfolding with an almost reckless freedom, as though testing the limits of the instrument itself. In these moments, Tao didn’t merely perform—they interrogated the music, stretching phrases until they nearly unraveled, then snapping them back into coherence with an effortless fluency that left the audience breathless. This improvisational approach echoed their earlier collaboration More Forever, where spontaneity was not just a feature but a guiding philosophy, ensuring no two performances were ever quite the same.
One of the most unexpected moments arrived when Teicher, now acting alone onstage, broke the fourth wall entirely. Addressing the audience directly, they offered insight into the roots of a flat-foot sequence they had just performed, tracing its lineage to Nic Gareiss's Solo Square Dance, itself a tribute to the legacy of Bascom Lamar Lunsford. Lunsford, a folklorist and musician, was known not just for preserving Appalachian music but for documenting the region's dance traditions—forms often overlooked or dismissed by those outside the culture. Appalachian dance, Teicher explained, was never confined to the group formations commonly associated with square dancing; instead, it encompassed a diverse array of expressions.
Bascom Lamar Lunsford's Dancing/Instruction
To illustrate this, Teicher performed a flat-footing phrase inspired by Lunsford's archival footage—a square-dance-inspired solo, delivered with understated clarity and rhythmic precision. The impact, however, came not from the steps themselves but from their context: these movements weren’t originally staged for an audience but captured as part of Lunsford's tireless efforts to document and sustain Appalachian culture. In this light, the dance became less about performance and more about preservation—an echo of history carried forward through repetition and reverence.
For Teicher, the moment transcended historical reference. It underscored Counterpoint's central ethos: that artistic dialogue thrives when traditions intersect and evolve. Just as Tao and Teicher spent the evening dissolving boundaries between classical piano and tap dance, this fleeting solo revealed how seemingly disparate forms—whether rooted in Appalachian hollows or European concert halls—share common ground. By bringing Lunsford's folk movement vocabulary into conversation with contemporary classical performance, Teicher demonstrated how art, when unbound by institutional constraints, naturally seeks connection across cultures and eras. It was a fitting reminder of why the fight to protect artistic freedom—emphasized by Witt earlier that evening, citing Rutter—remains as urgent now as ever.
Resources
• Follow Meany Center for the Performing Arts on Ode for events and updates
• Read New board elects President Trump chair of Kennedy Center on NPR
• Follow Conrad Tao and Caleb Teicher on Instagram
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