tiger west is a composer, poet and multimedia artist, born 1983, with a Bachelor of Music in Composition from the Conservatory of Music at Brooklyn College. This October I had the pleasure of attending the debut of 2 works by tiger west: screen/memory and opioid suite. These performance pieces were presented at The Brick Theater the night of October 1st, 2024. screen/memory is a movement and sounds based performance featuring the dancer Julie Fotheringham. opioid suite is a sort of operatic vocal-centric minimalist performance, the piece is performed by John Montez (vocals), Christie Offenbacher (vocals and synth), Mara O’Malley-Montez (vocals), Jason Royal (vocals), and Carolyn Stallard (percussion).

In viewing this work it was clear the connection, commitment, and deep trust which all of the artists held. These works were built and performed in a space of enjoyment, all for the pleasure of performance and creation. It was a powerful thing to witness as someone who has spent a lot of time onstage as a performance artist in many different contexts. To naturally bring an energy of ease to the stage, when working with this many performers is a challenge – tiger west was able to create a space on the stage where everyone was heard, and featured as an individual as well as a collective. There was spaciousness, and in that space the room as a whole was able to fall into a breadth of understanding and care. It’s this kind of curation that can meld the gap between the audience and the work.

☆☆☆

The night begins like this:

screen/memory commences and Julie Fotheringham’s hands are solidified horseshoes –

fingers melded and locked into the familiar shape of an action figure. She moves about the wooden floor of The Brick’s stage in slow, and distinctly charted circles. Dressed in gray overalls, her only physical accompaniment is a phonograph placed distinctly downstage, almost centered. Through this speaker plays a complex soundscape with the focal point being a voice, recorded in dialogue with itself. The gentle crunch of gravel and heave of breath accompanies the train of thought, our speaker is running. This dialogue is chopped up, looped for emphasis and cut for the same. All the while Fotheringham continues her movement – feet always flexed, hands always held, face blank, breath visible in her chest during moments of rest. The hands shift, as they begin to dig at the air, at the body – our speaker’s voice holds the room's focus: “DO NOT DESTROY YOURSELF.” it says, “IT’S GOING TO TAKE MORE THAN A KALE SMOOTHIE TO LEARN TO LOVE YOURSELF.”

I’ll admit, I walked into the theater already teary-eyed. I had experienced a day of dealing with the American medical system’s impossible hurdles, private insurance companies' extensive filing processes, and the constant hassle of attempting to receive care as a trans person.

It had been a hard day on a personal level, and this first half of the night brought me to tears repeatedly. To witness west’s work as an audience member can be akin to a repeated wake up call; the thrum of inner wisdom that connects us on a human level. It acknowledges that late stage capitalism is structured to keep us alone in our suffering, rather than offer an understanding that we are all affected. That our values do not have to align with the values we are taught to uphold.

Fotheringham exits the stage and we applaud rigorously as more performers move to take the stage.

They stand in a half moon facing us. In the front row I am only a few feet from the glockenspiel. When the first voice sounds in the small theater, I can feel the room freeze, it is assured, strong, and flows effortlessly into a round involving all the vocalists. The room is full of breath and long held notes melting from voice to voice. It is as if the few people on stage are a group of 50.

opioid suite weaves itself a harmonic and haunting story around topics such as gasoline, labor, the natural world, consumption and other products of late-stage capitalism. It is a piece constructed in five parts. The performers stand completely still behind their singular sheet music stands. They are dressed in matching gray jumpsuits, with opioid suite embroidered into each of their breast pockets. The five voices are accompanied by a synth and a glockenspiel, which makes for great punctuation and harmony amongst the layering and puzzling of the notes sung. Most of opioid suite is structured in rounds – the lyrics “daddy’s girl” and “the son, the daughter” stand out, as well as the repeated listing of, “feminist, propane, cocaine” or “timber, tomato, wages, labor.” The message is clear before it is conveyed literally – we are machines.

Throughout both works, there is a level of monotony within the costuming, body language, and composition that aid to the performance’s emphasis on how deeply ingrained capitalist ideals have overtaken our lived experience – which has become even more clear since the pandemic began. To create work surrounding late-stage capitalism, in a group, for no reason other than the commitment to the work, and the act of performance is an added piece of knowledge that makes tiger west’s work hit that much harder.

This debut was a gorgeous display of interpersonal commitment that held context with the substance of the work. It has been a great joy to mull over, and process into words after my initial viewing. Thank you to tiger west for the commitment to the practice of slow development, and depth in an industry, and world, that so often values production and consumption over understanding and connection in all its forms.