The Goat Story
Dance Online, January, 1997

Though Scott Heron's performances are rarely a disappointment, he outdid himself with "The Goat Story", his recent evening-length piece at P.S. 122; he has also been fortunate in his collaborators. As we walk in and clouds of incense waft toward us, we are confronted with an amazing profusion of objects--fishbowls (sans fish), candles, fruits, flowers, bowls on top of pedestals on top of tables, all shiny and silvery, like Heaven redesigned by Donald Trump--and that is just one small corner of the set. This installation, by a person called Cypress (not credited very clearly in the program, I'm afraid), spreads little islands of strangeness all around the space. Over here a bunch of old tin cans with some sort of grass growing in them; on the other side of the stage, a curtain of plastic bottles and a forest of tinkly bits of metal hanging from above. The able lighting design is by David Herrigel. Music and other sounds are provided by bassoon maven Leslie Ross, and what soun!
ds like chanting Tibetan monks may well be just Ross lurking in the shadows and playing some sort of massive contra-contra-bassoon.

At the rear we see Heron himself, who seems to be finishing up a snack. He picks up the phone, rotary-dials over the phone buttons, has a chat with someone in German--"Nein, es ist keine Schule, es ist ein Theater"--and disappears, leaving only a mysterious floating hand waving at us. Linda Austin, the Stage Hand, appears, got up as a yuppie in heels and what is apparently a Chanel suit. She carts off Heron's dinner and keeps us amused by putting a little mechanical diver toy in the fishbowl, where it splashes around. She also manages to work in a short dance with flamenco-like stomping.

Heron reappears and gets a cardboard guitar (the wrong side says "WRONG SIDE") and finger-synchs to music actually played by Chris Cochrane. Michael Portnoy appears with roses in his armpits while Heron, clad in a mass of brightly colored ribbons, crawls gibbering into a bathroom, only to reemerge with his normal-looking hair gone and some sort of nasty green plaster on his head. As he and Portnoy dance around with sheets, Ross appears across the stage, tinkling the tinkly hanging things. She is wearing an enormous bird cage and nothing else, unless you count the birds flying about in the cage. Heron is now leaping up the back wall, now scattering plates over the floor. Portnoy runs into the audience and unwraps a long ribbon from around himself, hanging it here and there, all around the space. Ross tootles and rumbles on one of her bassoons. Austin dances in the other corner. Shadows of the dancers leap on the walls. That mechanical diver from the fishbowl is now crawling d!
oggedly across the floor.

Anarchic is putting it mildly. The piece is not without occasional slow moments, but it is generally delightful and even exciting. I wouldn't miss his next one if I were you.

—HENRY BAUMGARTNER