Annabelle Lopez Ochoa

An abbreviated conversation on choreography and music for a Columbia University article.

How do you define “musicality” in dance?

“There's not one definition. It's always a dialogue, and it really is what you want the audience to experience. Do you want them to see the music? Do you want them to feel the music? Or do you want the music to add something to the movement?

It's really a symbiotic thing.”

How has your relationship to music developed or changed over the course of your career?

“When you're a young choreographer, you just want to address the steps first…and it takes away from your focus on what you want with that scene or that ballet.

So I give more time to all the layers of the music. I studied more about what the instruments are, what the bass is, what I want to highlight, instead of maybe highlighting what is obvious. I might highlight something that is not as obvious.

But I still remain a very intuitive choreographer…The music will guide me, will confine me, will tell me where to go. The music always wins. You think the choreographer makes the decisions? No, the music makes the decisions.

It has become a valuable partner, the music, and definitely the one that is commanding more than my ideas choreographically.”

When working with pre-existing music, how do you decide what to keep, alter, or emphasize?

“Every piece has a certain journey and breath.

It is a marriage between the visual and the music. I always say the music goes immediately to the heart, the visual goes through the eyes to the heart, and then words add more—it's a little more complex, it goes through the brain, needs to process it, then goes to the heart.

So when you have lyrics, sometimes it's distracting, because the audience understands with a different part of their brains.

The rhythm is so ingrained into our tribal sense of being. And then melodies are more emotional—it can make you melancholic, happy, grief.

Music definitely touches you in different ways, and I cannot control what the audience is going to take from it.

Silence is music too—that’s very important. It’s a moment for the audience to reflect, feel, or be ready for something new. Silence allow time to breathe, turn the page, and get ready for the next thing.”

I really love that imagery between music, the heart, and the brain.

And tell me about the process of working with a composer?

“For Broken Wings, I worked with the composer Peter Salem.

I write words, he creates sound, and then I put movement to that. And there is always interpretation from the dancers—that is the magic.”

Do you see choreography as a translation of music, an extension of it, or something more autonomous?

“All of it. You can either go with it, copy it, or imitate the music, and then it becomes a visual. You can be autonomous and see what tension it makes.”

So when you intentionally choreograph against the rhythm or structure of the music to create tension or surprise, how do you navigate those moments?

“It's more mathematical, and I discuss it with the dancers. So I say, okay, you know what, it's getting boring—let's go against the stream.

So how do I navigate that? It's because I'm very critical of my work. I look at it and think, okay, now it's becoming predictable—what can I do to surprise?

The music inspires you. If it's good music, it definitely inspires you to say, okay, you've been following me for two minutes, now you have to come up with your own voice.

So I remain in dialogue with the music. Sometimes it calls for interpretation. Sometimes it calls for poetry, just an image, not movement.

Let movement transform you, instead of already being transformed.”

You said something I want to ask more about: the absence of music. Silence—can you talk me through the power of that? What does the absence of music represent to you?

“...music.

It's punctuation. If you don't use punctuation well, your message will never land.

And stillness allows your message to land. And that's the same for silence. It's not the end of something; it's not a void. On the contrary, it's so full of things.

Silence has a purpose. It's not ‘we needed a bridge to the next thing.’ No. It has a purpose: we finish here, and we allow.

There is power in silence.”

That just brought me back to John Cage—his 4'33”.

“Yes, John Cage did a lot with the perception of music and dance. He and Merce Cunningham really changed everything.

If you're writing about the relationship between music and dance, that's your guy. He revolutionized how we perceive music.

Before, it was: we will portray the music we chose because we love it. And if you don't do that, you're not musical.

And he said: no, no, no.”

I’m also an aspiring choreographer—do you have advice for navigating the world of dance as a young choreographer?

“Choreography is a craft. You have to practice, practice, practice.

Choreography is not something you can just write down like music or painting. You have to pass it on, and something always gets lost and something gets added. But you must practice, fail, learn—and then ask yourself what you really want to say.

Because if you have nothing to say, you should not make art.”