Movement is a staple of Sylvan Esso videos.
Think of the community dance in โ€œCoffee,โ€ the lone male dancer in โ€œKick Jump Twist,โ€ and the choreographed exuberance of โ€œPARAD(w/m)E.โ€ In part, itโ€™s just a natural extension of the Durham duoโ€™s potent, rippling rhythms. What better way to materialize their sound than to show bodies moving in tandem with it?

Movement again features prominently in Sylvan Essoโ€™s newest videos, โ€œFerris Wheelโ€ and โ€œRooftop Dancing,โ€ as their third album, Free Love, approaches on September 25. The visuals do more than demonstrate movement for movementโ€™s sake: They celebrate the way physicality connects us to our bodies and our bodies connect us to our communities at a time when that feels more precious than ever.

Finding our unique rhythms in the beat of a songโ€”what those with grace to spare call โ€œdancingโ€โ€”helps us to inhabit not just ourselves but the world at large. But the coronavirus pandemic has changed the nature of movement, confining us to our homes and deterring us from gathering together. Being โ€œout and aboutโ€ now feels less like sharing space and more like maneuvering through it as quickly and distantly as we can, which is what makes Sylvan Essoโ€™s latest videos so gratifying.ย ย ย 

In โ€œFerris Wheel,โ€ singer Amelia Meath dances by herself in an empty amusement park, winding and wending as if her body were water. Itโ€™s evident and empowering how much she lives in and loves her body. Meath has regularly appearedโ€”and dancedโ€”in Sylvan Essoโ€™s previous visuals, but here, she commands the empty space, asserting her body and its might.ย ย ย 

The focus on Meathโ€™s solitary form against the parkโ€™s saturated backdrop came out of necessity. Sylvan Esso explained on Instagram that the video was shot safely, which meant limiting who appeared in front of the camera. But โ€œRooftop Dancingโ€ is different, broadening the number of people while relying heavily on video shot using digital camcorders and smartphones. Thereโ€™s nothing official about the productionโ€™s crew and set, and it captures a reverential glimpse of the way people still move, still dance, despite everything.

โ€œRooftop Dancingโ€ shows a mishmash of New Yorkers dancing in parks, streets, and on rooftops, as the title promises. Indoors or outdoors, they move quietly, their twirls and sashays restrained, as though they can still hear the echoing cautions from earlier this spring, when the city morphed into an epicenter. But nevertheless, they move.

โ€œFerris Wheelโ€ and โ€œRooftop Dancingโ€ elevate the power of movement in Sylvan Essoโ€™s music higher than ever before, not despite but because of the circumstances in which they were created. I, for one, feel moved to moveโ€”not for exercise or errands, but as a means to reconnect to the present moment and the space I require for it. As Meath sings on โ€œRooftop Dancing,โ€ โ€œWeโ€™re all running, outrunning death/Summertime breaking, but weโ€™re chasing it/Forever rooftop dancing.โ€


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