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El Trilogy is a three part work, that comprises Five Part Weather Invention, Rapture to Leon James and Groove and Countermove, with interludes framing the second tableau. Through this piece Brown makes her first foray into jazz, collaborating with Down Beat’s Jazz Artist of the Year, trumpeter Dave Douglas. Brown aims to "seize the spirit of jazz", focusing particularly on its exuberant and improvisational nature.

The first of the three different sections: Five Part Weather Invention, opens with a painted set by Terry Winters. Doodles in black ink on a large, white backdrop include spirals, curves, and circles; somewhat reminiscent of musical notes on a stave. Three dancers clad in red, yellow and blue jump-suits enter the stage as the music begins. The trio lift one another, swivel hips, fold limbs, and break lines as quickly as they form. Douglas’ ‘live’ music accompanies their rather light-hearted moves; scratchy violins, plucked chords, and an accordion successfully reinforce the humorous ambience... the dancers’ smiles are infectious, filling the theatre with surprising gaiety. As a trumpet resounds, the portly dancer in yellow re-emerges with wide open, swirling arms, jetting her arms in salute and turning repetitively around her centre. (Sylph-like ballet bodies have never reigned supreme in the Brown company. Instead, the dancers are ‘humanised’ because of their many different shapes and sizes, and the non-uniformity is certainly interesting).

As a fourth dancer appears, the trio develops into two couples. They skirt around one another with deft footwork, as respective partners perform grandiose leaps and gesture dramatically into general space. The energy mounts, and the four exit, only to quickly return bringing another three dancers onto the stage with them. An S-shaped line forms; a meandering ‘snake’ of dancers (perhaps referencing a chorus line?), a choreographic device that is returned to at varying intervals in the piece. They move as disparate unity from stage right to stage left, and then random becomes organised as the eighth dancer joins them. Within the context of her structured vision, the dancers establish one of Brown’s basic conflicts between order and disorder. The ensuing unison is deliberately messy, as the seven follow the eighth and the "Simon Says" game commences. Their arms scoop the air, and they intermittently jump in and out of the line. Frenetic violins build to a climax, and an elevation section includes grand jetés, and reaches outward from centre. The ‘snake’ returns, becoming a comforting link amidst the complex Brown vocabulary.

Just as the audience begins to tire of the chaos, a duo enters ‘as one’. The musicians cough loudly, and are rewarded with sporadic laughter, and then a quintet intrudes dynamically from stage right. One dancer ‘falls’. In polite confusion, the audience seems concerned - dancers can make mistakes after all. However, the second time that a dancer drops loudly to the floor (as others leap above), the audience begins to titter, realising that it is premeditated. Ignoring their ‘disgraced’ colleagues, the others continue to perform their sophisticated Brownian moves. As the lights go down, the silhouettes of bodies create a dancing landscape that stretches out from one side of the stage to the other.

With a casual air, a stage hand enters, marking the next section of the piece: Rapture to Leon James. Brown’s inspiration for this section came whilst watching a film featuring Leon James, a star dancer at the Savoy Hilton in the 1930’s. Stunned by his technical brilliance and the delight he took in dancing, Brown told The New York Times: "He was the picture of ecstasy. How he looked as he danced is why I dance". Brown’s choreography includes elements of Jitterbug, Charleston, Lindy Hop, Broadway and Jazz dance vocabulary, with improvised variations on the same moves. The "Simon Says" theme returns, and a ‘follow-my-leader’ competition ensues, each action rippling from body to body down the line. Somehow Brown has developed a system that enables her dancers to improvise superbly in performance.

Traditionally shrouded in darkest secrecy, scene changes are visible, and indeed fully integrated into the piece. The ‘man in black’ erects the long line of golden discs (evoking cymbals or vinyl records) in full view of the audience. Spotlights descend, and a soloist in grey performs movement experiments to the clanging of cymbals, while other stage hands join the scene and dancers warm up in various corners of the stage. The soloist’s movements involve anguished crawling and flexing on the floor. After her exit, the audience lights dim (deliberate reversal), and two female dancers enter in grey satin skirts. Singing and sighing contentedly to themselves, they amusingly challenge the notion of the silent dancer, as they mirror one another’s movements from opposite sides of the stage. This rondo section is repeated three times in the piece.

Men and women in ‘50’s skirts and casual pants and shirts appear, swinging and swaying together in duets. They are accompanied by colourful lighting changes from downstage, elongated shadows projecting strongly onto the backdrop. When the group of eight finally congregates, they dance in a line across the stage, shaking hands, slapping feet and drawing upon elements of vaudeville and tap dancing. It is reminiscent of a rehearsal session. Occasionally a circle forms, with a pair performing Lindy Hop lifts at its centre. A dancer repeats the word "Spanish" whilst walking nonchalantly between the group members, and a spontaneous, passionate kiss evokes the red-hot ambience of a jazz club.

The final section, Groove and Countermove, commences with another prelude by the soloist in grey, this time dancing inside an aluminium stepladder. The strange mixture of furniture and flesh soon draws chuckles from the audience. The dancer achieves extraordinary balances on different levels with her horizontal body positions, and tips the ladder precariously (with her head intertwined in a rung) in an effort to find a counterpoint. Other dancers drift casually in fluid independence on and off stage. A backdrop is lowered, illuminating charcoal drawings of helixes and globes. Dancers move in front of this, through turns, jumps, and poses that are fleetingly held. This section seems to contain an exploration of the body’s capacity for transferring weight, sliding, breaking and bracing. Circling legs and restless hand gestures accompany. The whole is joyous, the rainbow-coloured dancers delighting in their freewheeling routines.

Near the end, the music quickens and movement vocabulary becomes more modern. The human ‘snake’ reappears, this time with rotating limbs and elbow digs performed in canon from both ends of the line. A female soloist in grey follows, initially contrasting their dynamics with her minimalist phrases. However, this develops into one of the most vivacious solos in the entire piece, as she displays swooping spirals, angled limbs, circular leaps, and a general movement content that is both rich and extensive. The piece begins to draw to an end with different number combinations, in which dancers move through playful lifts, slinky jazz gestures, and dynamic elevations. The final crescendo is memorable, as dancers leap towards the wings and dramatically fall to the floor, landing in sideways contracted positions that are half on and half off the stage. Fragmentation at its best...

In this trilogy, Brown clearly explores innovative choreographic strategies that reflect the musical structures in the accompanying jazz music. In particular, her athletic and frivolous vocabulary embodies the improvisational qualities of jazz. Indeed, the dance and music bubble with a busy combination of structured improvisation. The artists surpass the level of "jamming", and achieve wonderful choreographic wholeness through their intricate collaboration.