Contemporary Needs More Than Melancholy

Stop Leaning on Sadness

Look, I get it—contemporary dance and emotion go hand in hand. But somewhere along the road, moody playlists and staring at the floor became the main course, not the seasoning. Ever been in one of those classes where every combo is just another slow-motion heartbreak moment? I have. I’ve even been guilty of making them, especially after watching too many sad music videos or bingeing So You Think You Can Dance marathons.

But here’s what grates on me: if you strip away the angst, what’s left? Can you still move people if you’re not chewing scenery? Or is it just a bunch of sways and arms with nothing underneath? Real depth in contemporary doesn’t need to crawl into a cave every time the music gets minor. I’ve seen the best pieces flip from joyful chaos (think Jon Boogz and Lil Buck’s collaborations) to sharp, technical, almost clinical work—even within the same eight-count.

What actually hits, every time? Versatility with your emotions. That dancer who can do Cacti and then switch to Crystal Pite without it all blurring into the same wrist-floppy, watery-eyed blur. Sad is easy. Nuance is hard.

Embody, Don’t Imitate

Here’s where things get messy in class: emotion as a costume. You see it when someone runs a phrase, all the classic moves—reach, drop, face buried in hand—then resets in the corner with zero connection left. It feels separate, like flipping a switch instead of letting it leak through your body. Ever notice how in actual performances, the people who keep you locked in are the ones who look like they’re living it, even in the pauses? Akram Khan, for instance. It’s not about sad faces; it’s how he lets tension radiate from his core out to his wrists.

The difference is internal. If you’re not feeling something honest, your body gives it away. I remember one rehearsal where my friend Kevin was doing a phrase set to some slow indie ballad. His movement was clear, lines were beautiful, but the teacher watched quietly and then just asked, “Who are you talking to?” That’s it. The whole phrase changed. Suddenly, every gesture had weight, not because he tried to be ‘deep,’ but because he decided on something real.

There are so many tools in contemporary beyond the “I’m sad” toolkit. Playing with texture. Building tension through stillness. Letting joy or even awkwardness sneak in. Not every phrase needs to end looking like a defeated character in a French art film.

Choreography Isn’t Therapy (Well... Not Always)

I know some people roll their eyes at this, but the studio shouldn’t always be your therapy couch. Sometimes dancing out your heavy stuff is cathartic, but it’s not an excuse to phone in musicality, technique, or actual storytelling. When every piece hinges on the audience understanding your personal heartbreak, you risk alienating them. They don’t know your backstory—unless you craft a world for them.

I’ve learned this the hard way. Back when I was obsessed with spilling my guts every time I set a phrase, my mentors would ask, “What makes this universal?” The best routines invite people in, even if you’re working through something internal. Think of Hofesh Shechter’s company: the raw energy is there, but it doesn’t club you over the head with “look how sad I am.” Instead, you feel the tension collectively, like you’re sweating it out with them.

Besides, sometimes choreo needs to move. I worked with a junior group last year who begged me to set another “emotional” rep piece. I flipped the script and gave them high-tempo, risky footwork with moments of suspended stillness. Their bodies resisted at first. But by the show, they found something more exciting than just one big mood—they found real presence.

Expand Your Emotional Vocabulary

Here’s the push: give yourself permission to feel something besides melancholy. Try irritation. Or wild joy. Or absolute confusion. When you prep a phrase, ask what’s behind every move—sure, but don’t let it default to yearning or pain. Find the moments in the music that ask for something sharper, cooler, or even comedic.

Real talk: audiences tune out when everything is the same flavor. You ever sit through a regional competition and see ten groups back-to-back, arms outstretched, soft focus, sad indie song looping? Blending in is the opposite of what got you into dance, right?

Test yourself in class. If your teacher sets a moody combo, see if you can give it another edge. Sometimes, the best feedback I give students isn’t about their turns or lines—it’s when they surprise me with the intention behind a simple step. That’s the stuff that sticks.

Bottom line? Don’t let the genre’s reputation for “deep” become a shortcut for actual artistry. Real depth in contemporary isn’t one-note. It’s a symphony—sometimes messy, sometimes sharp, never just a single sob.