Dance review: Agrimony melds indie concert, movement, and masks into spellbinding new hybrid
Sophie Dow and Laura Reznek’s meld of live music and dance created a warm, dreamlike experience
Agrimony. Photo by Max Putintsev, courtesy Sophie Dow
Agrimony was at the Scotiabank Dance Centre on September 20 and 21
IT’S SURPRISING HOW seldom contemporary dance hooks up with the live-music scene—especially when you consider how exciting the results can be. A pre-pandemic visit by Montreal’s Frédérick Gravel with the riveting Some Hope for the Bastards at the PuSh International Performing Arts Festival was the last time in recent memory that a rock concert—complete with roaring guitars and depth-charge synths—melded with adrenalized choreography for an unforgettable show.
A very different kind of magic awaited at the weekend’s Agrimony, an atmospheric, headily engaging production that joined the forces of dance artist Sophie Dow and former Vancouver-based, current U.K.-based singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Laura Reznek. This was not a dance work accompanied by a band, and neither was it a concert featuring dancers; it was something else entirely its own. Agrimony grew out of Reznek’s mesmerizing 2021 full-length indie-pop album of the same name, and a deep, years-long collaboration by the two artists.
Off the top of the show, a voice over the speakers told us to turn off our cellphones as “technology has no place here” and announced “this dream lasts 55 minutes”. And a dream was exactly what this production felt like, from beginning to end, with its lush and layered music, its eerily alluring papier-mâché animal masks, and its golden-lit figures moving around a dark void. Through what felt like an album coming to vivid life, the dance and the lyrics explored identity and transformation, pain and healing, and the masks we put on and take off to survive in the world. The vibe was like a dark fairy tale undercut with raw human emotion.
One of the show’s big strengths was the band, specifically Reznek’s arresting crystalline, jazz-slurred vocals that, at moments, had shades of Cat Power and Frazey Ford—not to mention her ability to move with ease between violin, guitar, and piano. The musicianship of the band matched her talents, the four members (Jonah Ocean, Roisin Adams, James Daniel Baxter, and Chris Bede Marriott) switching adeptly between bass, cello, horns, and reverberating guitar. They built haunting, dense orchestration to back up Reznek’s beautiful voice.
On its own, the group would have put on a riveting concert, but here they became an integral part of the moving tableaux. Reznek would often step forward with her violin to become part of the action with the masked dancers—one momentarily grabbing and moving with her bow.
For their part, Amanda Testini, Tavia Christina, Mohammed Rashead, and Dow herself provided a flowing interpretation of the lyrics, looking surreal in their ram, rabbit, coyote, and barn-owl masks (beautifully crafted by Christian Borrego). At times, characters seemed afraid to put on the masks to see who they would become; at others they would free themselves of the masks—sometimes setting them up on holders that made the stylized pieces hover ghostlike over the action. The choreography moved from turbulent solos to supportive group work—at one point, a dancer fell back and back into the others’ arms while Reznek repeated the soothing words “Just rely on me, just rely on me”.
The entire evening was like a warm embrace—not surprising for a work named after a healing folk-medicine herb. It was all deeply thought out, with a photo exhibit explaining the symbology of the masks in the lobby and free herbal tea being served at the concession. Agrimony was a piece that created a different, welcoming world for an hour—and then it was time to leave the “dream” and head out into reality again. 
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