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Jeremy Nedd is fascinated by infectious dances—on the street and on the web

by Lilo Weber

Some angels must have dropped him right into the midst of Switzerland’s independent dance scene. For Jeremy Nedd—a dancer and choreographer originally from Brooklyn and now based in Basel—has proven to be a true stroke of luck for that very community. For decades, the independent scene—particularly in German-speaking Switzerland—had remained trapped in a state of navel-gazing. And by the time it finally began to take an interest once again in the wider world and the issues surrounding it, it had all but forgotten how to dance.

That is when Jeremy Nedd appeared on the scene, accompanied by six men from the South African organisation Impilo Mapantsula. In 2019, they swept through the Kaserne Basel—bearing the weight of colonial history on their shoulders, a yearning for mystical connection in their hearts, and the rage of generations in their feet. A rage transformed into dance. Fast-paced dance—blazingly fast. Pantsula, a South African subculture that emerged in the townships during the Apartheid era, combines virtuosic footwork and complex rhythms with a specific dress code as well as a distinct vernacular and philosophy of life. And this form, born of rage, Jeremy Nedd and his co-dancers fuse with the praise of God: specifically, with the trance dances performed by the faithful in Pentecostal churches. Pantsula and Praise Break: an explosive fusion titled The Ecstatic.

Diversity of Perspectives
It all began with a residency in South Africa. “I had first become aware of Pantsula through music videos and wanted to learn more,” recounts Jeremy Nedd. What started as an exchange—a process of mutual learning and teaching—evolved into a long-term working relationship, resulting in three distinct productions. The Ecstatic was followed in 2022 by how a falling star lit up the purple sky, and in 2024 by blue nile to the galaxy around olodumare. A fourth production is currently in the works. “We come from very different backgrounds. They grew up as Black South Africans, while I grew up as a Black American in New York. I am interested in concepts and fields in which we are both anchored in some way, and which we approach from different perspectives. We explore how we bring these distinct viewpoints to bear on a subject that touches us deeply due to our respective origins. The first piece revolves around the history of missions; the second around the genre of Western, and the third around jazz.”

The Western as an experience of the African diaspora? “Yes, there were a great many Black cowboys. Yet they are entirely absent from Hollywood’s arrative. Our aim wasn't simply to play the role of cowboys. Rather, there is a long, rich history of Black cowboys and herdsmen—not only in the American context but in Southern Africa as well. So we asked ourselves: Why shouldn't we reclaim the Western as our own story?” Jeremy Nedd points to Westerns featuring Black protagonists such as Buck and the Preacher from 1972 which broke Hollywood Western tradition by casting Afro American actors for main characters. In fact, individual films featuring Black cowboys existed as early as the 1920s. Not appropriation, but reclamation; not subversion, but the act of rendering one’s own history visible. And all this without heavy-handedness or moralizing, but rather with an abundance of playful energy and a joy in movement. It is an ethos Jeremy Nedd shares with Trajal Harrell, with whom he has collaborated regularly since 2017: Do not demand, do not merely assert—simply do it; simply live it.

Ownership Rights for Dance Steps?
It is entirely fitting, then, that an artist like Jeremy Nedd would find inspiration in a copyright lawsuit—such as the one filed by the rapper 2 Milly. His piece from rock to rock ... aka how magnolia was taken for granite—which he developed in collaboration with four American performers—takes the “Milly Rock” as its starting point. The move itself is simple: a two-step accompanied by a left-and-right arm swing. It is a movement ripe for expansion. And expanded it has been—countless times over. On the internet, these variations proliferate by the million: one’s own creations alongside those of others—captured on video, shared, and subsequently re-interpreted once again. This is precisely what fascinates Jeremy Nedd about “The Milly Rock”. And specifically, the fact that someone came along and said: “Hey, that’s my move.” In 2018, 2 Milly sued the video game company Epic Games for incorporating the dance into their game Fortnite without his consent. Yet, can one actually own a dance step? Could Filippo Taglioni have copyrighted his daughter Marie Taglioni’s pointe technique? Would he have liked to? Did he perhaps rejoice in its dissemination and further evolution?

That’s not the point, argues Jeremy Nedd: “I believe 2 Milly would be delighted if people performed his dance step, spread it far and wide, and if he were associated with it. But we are talking about a multi-billion-dollar industry. They can simply appropriate this move and ignore—or even conceal—its origins. They rake in billions upon billions without offering even the slightest shred of recognition.” The lawsuit against Epic Games was the first attempt to hold the video game industry accountable in court for what other U.S. artists also viewed as the appropriation of African American culture. However, the court ruled that 2 Milly first had to register his dance for copyright protection with the United States Copyright Office. After beeing denied by USCO twice he dropped the suit.

What Is Virtuosity?
Jeremy Nedd is not only concerned with questions of law and justice, but also with the significance of viral dances for the future of dance creation: “I believe the story surrounding this move offers a glimpse into where dances—and dance styles that capture people's interest—might be headed. How can ballet —or any form of contemporary movement—serve as a foundation for dance in the future? Perhaps TikTok steps represent the future of dance creation. Who knows?”

So, they improvise to “The Milly Rock”—after all, they are not alone. Jeremy Nedd and his four colleagues perform the dance in various configurations: in unison as a group, solo, in pairs, and in countless variations and permutations. This includes occasional attempts to pin down the move—or the dancers themselves—such as by strapping granite blocks to their shoes, or through an endless, vigorous shaking of hands. They dance on thin ice amidst an inhospitable landscape, beneath a boulder that threatens to come crashing down at any moment.

The “Milly Rock” leaves room for self-expression, for diverse backgrounds, for varied training, and, of course, for all manner of body types. It is, after all, a dance for the masses. Yet it also leaves room for virtuosity. Jeremy Nedd whirls across the stage—first solo, then joined by Nasheeka Nedsreal—soaring through the space in perfect sync with her, until the others join in.

Virtuosity—where does it manifest? How does it reveal itself? Jeremy Nedd uses the word “very cautiously,” as he puts it. Virtuosity does not always immediately catch the eye. “Dances can look simple, yet in reality be quite complex.” Take Pantsula, for instance. “It involves highly virtuosic footwork. It stems from a very specific, communally shared mode of movement and follows a rigorous training regimen.” This is also what fascinates him about social dances like Electric Slide Line Dance: the movements can be expanded and varied in many ways. Jeremy Nedd will show this on a Line Dance event during the Swiss Tanzfest on 8 and 9 May at Kaserne Basel.

And finally, this is also what fascinates him about the social dances found on the internet: “They originate from a specific collective energy and evolution. That’s what makes the vocabulary so accessible and infinitely expandable.” And that’s what reconnects him to his own background as a ballet dancer. “I want to rethink training. This is a different kind of training. It is still rigorous—not formal, perhaps, but embodied, demanding, and full of virtuosity.”

Does he still describe himself as a classical dancer? He isn't entirely sure. What is certain is that Jeremy Nedd possesses a classical background. When he was in elementary school in Brooklyn, talent scouts from the ballet school Ballet Tech appeared and recognized potential in young Jeremy. He was happy to go along with it. And so, twice a week, he would leave school early to take the bus to Manhattan for training. And he loved it. “Ballet found me just as much as I found it. And somehow, I stuck with it.” He first worked with Kyle Abraham and Abraham.In.Motion. That experience, he says, profoundly influenced him—right up to the present day. Especially now, as he embarks on a US tour with from rock to rock, he is once again in close contact with the company. “He remains a very important source of inspiration for me. It’s simply cool to have a role model like Kyle.”

In 2010, Jeremy Nedd moved to Europe to dance with the Semperoper Ballett. From there, in 2012, he moved to Basel to join Richard Wherlock. “Alongside his own works, Richard brought an incredible number of different choreographers into the company, and I was able to try my hand at creating my first pieces.” Indeed, no other Swiss ballet director has nurtured as much dance talent as the Basel-based Brit. Several of his former dancers now direct companies of their own—for instance, Cathy Marston in Zurich, Kinsun Chan at the Semperoper in Dresden, and Frank Fannar Pedersen in St. Gallen. Others are pursuing successful freelance careers, such as Jeremy Nedd himself, or Javier Rodríguez Cobos and Rachelle Anaïs Scott.

Jeremy Nedd says he learned an immense amount during his time at Ballett Basel. “Eventually, I found my way into Trajal’s universe, and I am very happy about that.” His collaboration with Trajal Harrell began at the Münchner Kammerspiele with Juliet & Romeo and continued at the Schauspielhaus Zürich. When Jeremy Nedd left Theater Basel, he enrolled in a Master’s program in Expanded Theater at the Bern University of the Arts. At the time, it was unclear whether he intended to dedicate himself entirely to choreography in the future; he could just as easily have envisioned working as a freelance dancer, absorbing new steps and working methods from a variety of different artists. But then the angels swooped down, picked him up, and dropped him right into the heart of Switzerland’s independent arts scene. What a stroke of luck.

Line Dances, 8 and 9 May, Kaserne Basel; www.kaserne-basel.ch

Background photo: from rock to rock... aka how magnolia was taken for granite by Jeremy Nedd; © Philip Frowein