Home is . . . Everett and the Smiths’ compelling Road BY JOHNETTE RODRIGUEZ

In yet another extension of their family members’ creativity, Everett Dance Theatre co-founders Dorothy and Aaron Jungels invited their nephews/cousins, Chris and Dave Smith, to join them in a collaborative work that speaks to issues of home and homelessness. Titled Cryin’ On the Shoulder of the Road, this piece has Everett’s characteristic energy, in the Smiths’ guitar work as well as Everett’s dances; their thoughtful exploration of socio-economic issues; and the painfully revelatory look at mental illness and disability that has appeared in their recent pieces. It continues at the Carriage House Stage June 20 and 21.

Cryin’ On the Shoulder of the Road opens with a video of quick-snap person-on-the-street responses to the question, "What is home?" Short replies include "my loved ones," "where I put my pencil down," and "the place marked by my food." Next up is a dance/text/mime sequence called "Fred," written and performed by Aaron Jungels, Rachael Jungels, Sokeo Ros, and Bravell Smith, and edited and directed by Dorothy Jungels.

Aaron Jungels portrays a homeless person, Fred, who is shell-shocked by divorce, a roommate leaving, a building being condemned, and by "test results" that show that the one thing he is good at is being homeless. He tries sleeping in the hall, the elevator, and a public park, but each time he is tossed out, roughed up, and sent on his way. The other three are police officers who don’t necessarily want to mend their ways but who are in various stages of re-training about dealing with homeless individuals — i.e., put away guns, stop kicking them, stop abusing them verbally. Fred, for his part, begins to spout proverbs, to throw out radical political analyses, to quote Proust at them. It’s a piece that makes a statement, for sure, but it does it with humor and a gentle humanization of Fred.

Another video pops up, this time of the Smith brothers in Santa Monica, California, where they’ve lived for the past three years in their white van, along with dozens of others, near the 3rd Street Promenade. They explain that they don’t really feel homeless; they have just chosen to "lower their standard of living" in order to play music all the time without having to hold boring, dead-end day jobs.

Both Smiths write fiction (novels, short stories, plays, screenplays, poems) as well as songs, and have recorded three CD albums as R&R Crossing. Their first two live songs in the show, by Dave, are light-hearted portraits of the February rains in Santa Monica ("Umbrella") and watching his daughter (now 14) as a youngster ("Sprinkler Child"). The lyrics to these songs are not expansive but they allow a lot of good feeling to be poured into them, and Dave’s voice is quite fine. Both brothers have honed their guitar chops, as their eight songs amply demonstrate.

After Dave, Chris takes the mike for a "medley" about their travels. His voice is thin and reedy, with the limited range and all the earnest sincerity of outsider music. Dave joins in for a nice harmony, but it’s the picking, bending, and running of notes on the guitar that are their forte. After sojourns in Chicago (where they grew up), in Nashville, and in LA, Chris advises anyone following their path to put "new tires on your courage, so as not to fall off the edge of the earth."

In California, the Smiths encountered many an Okie who had headed West during the ’30s. The Smiths’ dad, Bob, reads a poem Chris wrote about them, while the Everett dancers capture the mind-set of those Dust Bowl folks. The four dancers partner each other in ever-shifting sculptural frieze-frames, sometimes stopping for a second in almost classical poses, then moving again, running around each other, with each other, under each other.

Aaron and Smith lift Rachael from either side, as she does ballet-like jumps and leaps; Ros does cartwheels, one-handed round-ups, a B-boy riff. At one point, Ros and then Aaron fly up through the air, as the other three catch him. Throughout the piece, the dancers are alternately supporting and catching, pushing and pulling each other, just as the Okies had to do for one another. The dance is a breathtaking flow that catches at your heart as well as your eye.

But when it comes to heart-tugging, it’s the video called "Brother Joel," by Aaron and with music by the Smiths, that will stay with you for days. Three-quarters of the film are alternating interviews with Dave and Chris, talking about their older brother Joel, who taught them to play guitar and loved playing himself. Aaron is extremely skillful in building suspense, so that we wonder what happened to Joel. An accident? An illness? Is he still alive?

Suddenly, Chris relates the first time he heard Joel murmuring about the voices in his head. Chris falters and breaks down, as does Dave after him, remembering that same intimation of schizophrenia. They wonder what Joel’s childhood was like and we see footage of home movies. They mention that although the voices drove him away from his music for years, he has recently come back to it, and then, there on the screen is Joel, strumming and singing, as Dave and Chris join in from the stage.

This is powerful and evocative storytelling that asks wrenching questions: What makes up family? What makes up home? How do people drift away from both of those? Go see Cryin’ On the Shoulder of the Road.