A rock classic: Astarte remembered; a former member of Joffrey Ballet recalls the company's controversial 1967 multimedia ballet - how choreographer Robert Joffrey, dancers Trinette Singleton and Maximiliano Zomosa and others contributed to the creation of this work - Cover Story

Dance Magazine, August, 1994 by Christian Holder

Nineteen hundred sixty-seven--a year of music and a year of war. Everywhere one turned, the Beatles' "Sergeant Pepper" album seemed to be playing. The sounds of the Doors, Ravi Shankar, and Jimi Hendrix wafted together with the smell of incense. The Summer of Love. The Mod years were giving way to Psychedelia. Begins, love-ins, happenings--those words would evoke an era, a culture.

In New York City, for instance, the Living Theatre was expanding the definitions of what constituted a performance. James Rado, Gerome Ragni, and Galt MacDermot were creating their milestone tribal love-rock musical, Hair, at the Public Theater. Andy Warhol's films, as well as his artworks were exploring unconventional territory.

Ever inquisitive and intuitive, Robert Joffrey was well aware of these cultural influences. His curiosity kept him abreast of events and attitudes in the theater and the art world as well as in dance. He had begun work on what would become the first multimedia spectacle produced by a classical dance company, a ballet whose two protagonists, Trinette Singleton and Miximiliano Zomosa, would grace the cover of the March 15, 1968, Time magazine, which had proclaimed, "Joffrey Ballet's Astarte."

Originally, Joffrey had begun shaping the piece on Singleton and Dermot Burke (both charter members of the new Joffrey company, founded in 1965). Rehearsals had been closed. The daily schedule on the call-board simply stated, "New Joffrey work." By the time the company started its July residency at the Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, Washington, Burke had been felled by one of the many knee injuries that would haunt him throughout his career. Eventually the role went to Zomosa.

Because Burke and Zomosa were very different types of dancers. the look of the choreography changed accordingly. A solo that had had an earthy, legato feeling now became more percussive and angular. Zomosa wasn't as accomplished a partner; he depended on brute strength (as Singleton's black-and-blue marks would later attest). But what Zomosa did have was an intensely male stage presence; he was tall and muscular with a craggy face that was broodingly, distinctively handsome. These attributes would make his performance in Astarte unforgettable.

We would often see Joffrey darting to and from rehearsals for his new work, smiling like the Cheshire cat as he tried to cover up the hard-rock record albums tucked under his arm. What was he up to? A few of us were then called to a rehearsal--without Singleton and Zomosa. There was to be a discotheque scene, and Joffrey worked on some movements taken from sixties social dances with company members Haynes Owens, Robert Talmage, Richard Brown, Arlene Shuler, Nora Esteves, Rebecca Wright, and me. We were impressed, enthusiastic, and flattered--we had been chosen for a new work by our director. Our euphoria ended abruptly; Joffrey scrapped the idea a day later.

It was in Seattle, Joffrey's hometown, that Hub Miller, a formidable musician, began his close association with Joffrey. Miller introduced him to the Seattle hippie scene, particularly to Crome Syrcus, one of the groups that performed regularly at Eagles Auditorium. A Syrcus member, Lee Graham, who performed vocal and played guitar and flute, had written a song called "Take It Like a Man." This song became a pivotal part of the commissioned score for Astarte when Joffrey hired the group.

Joffrey, Singleton, and Zomosa left us before the end of our Pacific Northwest tour and flew home to New York to put Astarte together for its September premiere. Time was running short. On the plane the two dancers first learned what the ballet was about. It was to be a theatrical psychedelic "trip" as experienced by Zomosa, who was to be seated in the audience. The music would start, a light show would begin, and the spell of Astarte (the ancient goddess of fertility, danced by Singleton) would draw him up onto the stage. As if in a trance and participating in a ritual, Zomosa would strip down to his briefs. Approaching Astarte he would manipulate her reverentially in a slow-motion pas de deux, his eyes fixed on her impassive face adorned with a symbolic lotus tattoo on her forehead. As the music intensified he would become more assertive and aggressive until he dared to vilate her by besgtowing a passionate kiss upon her lips. For a brief moment he would experience nirvana, but his ecstasy would be cut short. The goddess would force him in turn to surrender to her inescapable powers. Humbled, he would retreat to the back of the stage, where the door to the loading dock would open as if by itself. He would continue to walk to the back door of the building, which he would also pass through, disappearing onto the city street, dressed only in his briefs. The doors would close behind him. The curtain would descend.

There was no time to lose once we were in New York City. Films of the dancers were to be projected on Thomas Skelton's undulating stretch scrim curtain throughout the performance, so Singleton and Zomosa were rushed to filmmaker Gardner Compton's studio. Compton captured the images of the dancers on celluloid, assisted by his apprentice, Emile Ardolino (later to work on PBS's "Dance in America" and to direct Dirty Dancing and George Balanchine's The Nutcracker). Singleton, in her paisley unitard, had her lotus tattoo applied by designer Hugh Sherrer. She and Zomosa ran through their pas de deux, repeating sections of it over and over, first with her hair up, then with it loose around her shoulders.