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( CHAPTER EIGHT: UNSPOKEN LIES) March, 1992
❝ you came to me! ❞
◯
"Devon, you ready?" Devon looked up, tearing his eyes away from the notepad in his hand to give an answer. He locked eyes with the director, who stood by the built in runway, where the four group members of En Vogue stood.
The male then turned back to the notes in his hand, somehow un-phased by the grandness of his surroundings. The set for En Vogue's new video Free Your Mindwas visual storytelling like no other. The set had a brick backdrop and a white, metallic runway that stretched along the length of the set, reflecting the blue, yellow and white strobe lights that was beaming in the air.
Relentless hours were spent putting together a routine to go well with the song, which was a fusion between rock, new jack swing and traditional hip hop. It was a unique song, and Devon knew that he had to organise a dance sequence that would match that specific energy. The beat, and the intense, politically charged message of the song made Devon want to ten times work harder to translate the message through the movements of his choreography.
Luckily, he was growing more confident in his abilities, and he was even more sure that the routine would fit perfectly with the tempo and the meaning of the song. Mark Romanek, the big-time director gave Devon enough creative freedom with the choreography. He trusted him, stating that Devon's buzzing reputation proceeded him. A flattering choice of words, definitely, but Devon refused to let it get to his head.
"Morning ladies," Devon politely said, standing just below the runway.
"Morning," they all said in unison, offering him a smile. They were all clad in black clothes, dark makeup and edgy hairstyles. "Ok, the first few minutes y'all are just gonna walk down the runway and improvise a little. I'm gonna teach some choreography to the other dancers, then at the end I'll show you the small bit of choreography to close the video. Makes sense?" Devon asked, and all the women nodded in agreement.
"Great, I'll be back," the young man said, turning on the balls of his feet to address the other dancers, each of them clumped together in smalls groups, patently waiting for some sort of direction. "Can I have everybody's attention!"
The dancers obediently turned towards him, dressed in fairly simple, yet sophisticated clothes. "I'm Devon, I'm the choreographer here, if you could all look here, I'm gonna show y'all the first few steps," the male continued, calmly setting aside notes cradled in his hand to demonstrate his dance number.
Devon marked out the first steps in a slow manner, making sure that others were following his exact movements. He wanted everything to be precise and smooth, and by the time he mapped out the first steps, he turned to watch the others with a keen set of eyes. He spotted every quirk and mistake that each of them did, making sure to smooth out the routine before the cameras began to roll.
