Bumpity Bump
David Parker at DIA Center for the Arts
June 27 and 28

I was so impressed with David Parker's We're Not Married (a tap duet with Kathryn Tufano) at a DTW showcase last season that I was curious to check out the version he's doing now with Jeffrey A. Kazin, and see what else he has up his sleeve. As performed by Parker and Kazin on a program shared with Lynn Shapiro, We're Not Married deals delicately with the standoffish balance of competitiveness and friendship when competition is a good part of what forged the bond. With Tufano, the piece seemed more about the touchy ups-and-downs of a comradely and competitive relationship that mingled affections—all, in both cases, deftly expressed through taps, slaps, and smacks.

Under has Mary R. Barnett in a black gown and Kazin in tailcoat and undershorts. Both are masking Parker, who's underneath, in underwear (Barnett's sitting on him). The couple's got to accommodate themselves to Parker's presence, and he often mediates their relationship. As awkward as it sounds, it's a puzzling, contrived concept, but as Parker, who's initially unseen, becomes central to the piece, the odd geniality and moderation of his demands becomes increasingly intriguing.

A mostly prone duet for Parker and Kazin, the brand new Bang demonstrates Parker's very dry, patient, cagey sense of humor. They life face down in dark suits. Alternately or simultaneously they arch their chests up, reach behind to smack their legs, bump backs, smack their hands on the floor. Parker rhythmically lifts his buttocks into the air and claps his hands together underneath. They pull each other over in brief wrestling holds,
slide around pushing on their elbows and palms. Lying down, hands over heads, their snapping fingers send rhythmic bumps down their bodies in waves.

But Bang is also smart about the way partners take cues from each other in a relationship, and there's something dear in the solemnity of their teasing belligerence. In the spookily poignant finish, they lie ear to ear, on their backs, each with his head in the hollow of the other's shoulder, and, back and forth, in turn, endless transfer the other's head from one shoulder to the other. To maintain even the minimal burden of this relationship requires
a blur of incessant adjustments.

—Burt Supree
The Village Voice
July 16, 1991