Robert Nelson was Butterfly lite. With his son in attendance, he tamely twirled torches, like the gentleman he was dressed as. Ho­Hum. I lost interest fast, and went to get a drink, which was as tepid and weak as the stage acts (Busch LITE??? That's an onxymoron! Miller beer in THREE varieties??? PEPSI WITHOUT CAFFEINNE??! ! ). I bypassed most of it, until Saturday, when Greg's Hemisphere got filled with imports and ice, and Butterfly dark took over.

 

Saturday night rocked hard. Mark Faje used his head, pulling a wagon full of Bob

Nickerson around with his hotdog on a leash, proving that his time with the Sideshow wasn't wasted. When Butterfly started ripping into whip-weilding Vince Bruce, I had to hold on to keep from spilling. Masahiro jumped in, and I just gave it up. Ngaio hosted, assisted by Dave Walbridge in fine voice. Together they kept performers from the dark side, so your video would look sharp and bright.

 

HARD SELL:

Vendors were prepared for a lean year. Ben looked Serious Juggling. Henry wasn't busy, so Joe had a lovely festival, putting the diabolos through their paces, rollerblading in the park, and staying very happy. I hung at Club Todd, watching Jerry, Suzanne and Todd relieve the Wise-Guys of their milk money. The beer was good, but the jokes are funny even without it, and the long-handled European is one tout­sweet club. The new lighter dowel makes them near perfect, so, after due consideration, I passed on the Renegade 85 mm, in favor of Todd, and my five club pattern is beginning to show some progress.

 

Maybe it was mere exposure. Snake, in paintball urban cammies, was smooth with five clubs, but the killing moment was Mike Hilicki turning to talk to Peggy "Certified Outstanding Woman" Reuss, before recalling that he was juggling five clubs and perhaps should give some attention to his pattern. He turned back to watch it cruise as calm and easy as he had left it. Numbers are as common as Mills Mess, but I was watching five clubs running blind!

 

HOOP THEMES:

After the public show everyone was walking around with a blissed-out stare, murmuring their new mantra: "that's the best public show I've ever seen." The audience stood at least five times throughout the evening, mostly for Vince Bruce (can that cowboy ever milk it!), and Bob Bramson, showmen extraordinaire. Yeah, I'm gushing on, but, gosh-dam it, it WAS a good show, and Dick Franco deserves a tremendous amount of credit, erasing his debt from last year's tedium, thank you.

 

The Native American hoop dance opening was powerful. Putting it before the intro was a good call, making for a truly magical beginning, setting the stage for a very special evening.

 

David Deeble, as personable host, had bits and pieces to last the night, balancing juggler jokes and small talk (including acknowledgements) with more accessible humor based on simple household items, including a highlighter, a marshmallow and hanger, a lighter, a hat. Deeble works a crowd into an intimate gathering, and that's one reason there was so much love in that room. I'm still glowing!

 

The chuckwagon dinner had me twitching at the thought of trick-ropers, but Vince Bruce was simply stunning. Not only was he technically incredible, but he put also put on a brilliantly entertaining and fast-paced show. I despise unicycles, but even I could not resist Silver, especially when Dick Franco kept rolling him out on stage.

 

Dan Bennet was fine doing his brand of tricks with patter, including the bowling ball kickup to the face, and a five ring exchange.

 

OCCIDENTS HAPPEN:

Japanese object manipulation has been seen twice too often. We could have forgone this, and a spinning-top performance that had the classic tricks (walk a sword, a string, a fan) lost in the glitz of the garish presentation (loud music, louder costuming), devaluing them from elegant and amazing, as seen in Fargo, to a brassy production number.

 

There was better Vegas in the house that night. Dick Franco and Noelle entertained in a perky and professional manner, and Albert Lucas was on hand, with numbers rings, torches, and those swishy pocket catches, which look less cheesy and more interesting in real life.

 

Bob Bramson didn't steal everyone's heart, because we gave it up gladly. His work is incredible, his manner lovely, and we were lucky to have him close his professional career on our stage. The four hoop body rolls are gorgeous, the hooprolling legendary, he juggles numbers with a face balance, AND he tap dances. Booking Mr. Bramson for this fest was a very, very good thing, and I am sure it pleased him to be so appreciated - could you ask for a better crowd?

 

Peter Davison's juggling and drumming piece was an interesting idea, marred by his rhythm (or lack thereof), which is kinda sorta important for drumming. The narrative was flat, which I found more alienating than powerful. And Peter never seems to have fun on stage. The technique could have yielded a happy piece, but I guess if it isn't self­conscious, then it isn't art.

 

What about the Jon Held dancers? That's art, AND it's lighthearted and lovely! This year's performance included two pieces: a diabolo folly tableaux, with some clever rigging to get that high toss to stick, followed by a lovely chorus of club juggling, which was a wee bit droppy. It was not as grand or epic as previous years, but we are spoiled; it was wonderful, and fitted the show perfectly.

 

WANNA PASS?

When will the IJA give us a good pass? This year's reflected an annoying trend, being a mylar rockshow wristband. It not only gave me nasty flashbacks, it also got in the way, and made us all look like underdecorated Europeans. The best part? They twinkled merrily in the limelight! Peggy looked dressed for the evening on stage, wearing hers as an anklet.

 

The t-shirt was good, as was the hat (but you had to work for that), featuring the simple, colorful hoop theme, in four colors the shades of South Dakota landscapes. Very tasteful, and I actually wore my gear during the fest. Maybe I didn't pack enough clothes. Next year, in Pittsburgh...