TravisKnights_1

Reasons Behind the Rhythm

By Meghan Yuri Young Photography Max Power After learning to unapologetically centre his Blackness, Travis Knights is using his tap dance career and passion to help expand his audiences’ worldviews. Listen to tap dancer Travis…

By Meghan Yuri Young
Photography Max Power

After learning to unapologetically centre his Blackness, Travis Knights is using his tap dance career and passion to help expand his audiences’ worldviews.

Listen to tap dancer Travis Knights long enough and you might mistake him for a historian. He effortlessly tells the stories of the dance form and of his personal history. It’s the powerful narration of a person whose individual and professional lineage means a lot to him. Almost immediately, it also becomes clear that Travis doesn’t take lightly the fact that he is one of very few Black tap dancers in the city, let alone the country.

The passion and palpable energy help you to quickly arrive at the only possible conclusion: For Travis — who has performed globally and received the Jacqueline Lemieux Prize in 2020 for his outstanding contribution to dance in Canada and the 2022 Dora Award for Outstanding Performance by an Individual — tap goes much deeper than entertainment. Each tap, shuffle step, drop, and dig of his heel make up the language Travis uses to express his purpose of helping to shape, alter, and inform people’s perspective of tap — and of the world around them. 

close up of man wearing tap dancing shoes

Meghan Yuri Young: Travis, why did you choose a recording studio for our interview? 

Travis Knights: I’m a tap dancer, so we straddle both worlds between dance and music. We’ve been heavily in the dance world, and yet tap dancers aren’t allowed in a lot of dance studios. 

MYY: What!

TK: There’s about — and I’m not overstating this — three studios in all of Toronto that will allow you to tap dance on their floor. And, if they do allow it, a lot of the time it’s Marley floor, which is this kind of [vinyl] that really doesn’t do well for the sound of what we’re doing. So, what I’ve been doing, partially in response to that, is just coming to music spaces where the sound is wonderful, where I can bring my own floor and work with musicians. It’s really an organic, obvious place for tap dancers to come and do their thing.

MYY: You bring your own floor? How does that work?

TK: This truck was making deliveries outside my home one day, and my wife was an angel and said, “Hey, what are you doing with all those crates in your truck?” The driver was like, “Oh you want them? I’ll give you all of them for, like, 60 bucks.” We just took seven, which is already too much, and bought some hardwood to put on top of it. What’s important about the crates is that they have resonance. Once I get on a box, imagine an acoustic guitar, that resonance is what happens.

“When I step down onto my heel, the bass that comes out of it just goes to your soul and increases the joy I feel when I dance.”

MYY: With regards to the fact that there are limited spaces for tap dancers to rehearse in, would you say that this form of dance is declining?

TK: That’s been the rhetoric since 1949. Every May 25th, tap dancers all over the world celebrate the birthday of Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, born 1878. Bill is celebrated as a phenomenal tap dancer. When he died in 1949, they called that the beginning of the decline of tap dance in terms of its popularity.

Here’s where I push back. For me, my approach to tap dance is cultural. As a Black person in North America, I can’t point to a place where I feel like Black culture is safe. If you know anything about flamenco, it’s safe because it’s protected within the borders of Spain, right? There’s a national pride that’s associated with flamenco. Same thing with Irish step dance. Ballet is also protected within nationalistic cultural bravado. But when it comes to Black culture, whether it be jazz, or rock ‘n’ roll, or the blues, or hip-hop, everybody has access to it. There is this allowance or agency everyone feels towards this culture. It’s easy to argue that it’s just a byproduct of slavery and the commodification of this word, “Black,” which is not associated with a single country. 

So, in regards to, “Is this a dying art form?” I’d say no. I’d only say yes if you are thinking of it as a commodity. In terms of people getting together and communicating with it and connecting with each other through tap, it is very much alive and thriving. That’s where I want to be, that’s what I want to uphold: community and culture.

man tap dancing outside of a building beside an orange carMYY: You went from one mind-blowing perspective to another and another. It actually reminds me of one of your past interviews in which you explore the origins of tap dance itself. Can you speak on the history of tap dance as you know it?

TK: Absolutely. It’s important to start in Africa because, especially in this day and age, it’s a revolutionary beginning in my mind as well as, I imagine, the minds of a critical mass of people whose paradigms are shifting. I grew up accepting that the main character on earth, quite frankly, was the European perspective. It’s been an astonishing paradigm shift to centre yourself, to centre Africa. What happens if you centre Africa? That means you’re not starting with slavery; you’re starting with Africa. You’re starting with that culture. You’re starting with the people. You’re starting with the family. You’re starting with that sense of community. You’re starting with these ancient rhythms that crossed overseas in a very violent and horrific way that we are still trying to process.

These 12 million people were kidnapped and shipped overseas all over the Americas. I think it was, like, 600,000 specifically in the United States. Fast forward to 1739, there was a rebellion. It was successful in the sense that you had these enslaved Africans who made a plan and then signalled the beginning of the plan with drums, which were communicating across plantations. They killed their captors and were moving down south to Florida. They were eventually captured. The Stono Rebellion, as it’s referred to in history, was squashed. The year after, 1740, they created something called the Negro Act, which severely restricted the ability of Africans to travel. It made it illegal for Africans to learn how to read or write — and they banned the use of drums. Those ancestral rhythms were transferred and remembered corporeally and a new form called buck dancing began. Over time, buck dancing becomes known as buck and wing and then buck and wing becomes known as tap, which predates jazz. 

The reason I like to emphasize jazz, and emphasize the Harlem Renaissance, is because I’m once again centring the African experience. There was a time at the end of the First World War when a critical mass of former Africans — now considered Black people — were moving from the southern United States to northern cities like Kansas, Chicago, and Harlem, New York. What that means is that you have these different pockets of culture. So, you had all of these rhythms and styles and cultures merging in places like Harlem. Scholars and musicians and dancers and singers and storytellers and visual artists were getting together and forming this new identity called the Harlem Renaissance. Within this new identity, the cultural expression is called jazz, which takes over the world. And, one of the elements that influenced that culture is tap dance. When I say “tap dance,” that’s what I’m talking about. 

MYY: Did you learn about that lineage and legacy from your teacher? I read she was from Harlem and when she moved to Montreal, she became known as Montreal’s Queen of Tap.

TK: Yes, my teacher [Ethel Bruneau] is from Harlem, New York. She came to Montreal and stayed. Most of my approach, my foundation, comes from this daughter of the Harlem Renaissance. It’s also important to recognize that borders, when we’re talking about Black people, are porous. The jazz culture is international.

“In terms of people … connecting with each other through tap, it is very much alive and thriving. That’s where I want to be, that’s what I want to uphold: community and culture.”

MYY: How did you get into tap?

TK: I was nine years old and miserable. I was a shy kid and my parents said, “We’re social animals, so this is not gonna work. Put him into team sports.” They put me in hockey; horrible. They put me in baseball; a little better but horrible still. 

Then, I watched this program where all of Hollywood came out to pay tribute to Sammy Davis Jr. He was dying at the time but this was a celebration. Stevie Wonder was on the gig. Michael Jackson was on the gig. Eddie Murphy hosted. Gregory Hines came out and did this beautiful tap dance tribute. I was like, “This is great!” Toward the end, Sammy put on his tap shoes. Even though he was frail, he walked up on that stage and it looked like a deity was walking. He had all the strength in the world, and they communicated with each other “tapothetically.” I’d never seen anything like this before and I just wanted to be a part of it. 

So, I asked my parents. Thank God I had parents that listened. My mother went to work the next day talking about, “Finally! My son has some kind of interest in something. He wants to tap dance!” One of her colleagues told her to take me to Ethel Bruneau. The key to that story is Ethel is not in the phone book. It’s [the early ’90s]. There’s no internet. For her, it was only word of mouth. So, everything about my tap dance journey is a miracle.

MYY: Wow. It was meant to be! You met Ethel in Montreal, but what brought you to Toronto? 

TK: That’s one question with a multi-pronged answer! I moved to Toronto for, like, 10 seconds before I moved, for three years, to Austin, Texas. Then, I moved back here officially in 2014. Montreal is great. It’s not a great city for ambition. That’s not to say that great things aren’t happening, it’s just that I needed more of a push. Every time I visited Toronto, I was like, ‘The pace here is different.’ You can see it on our highways. People are in a rush to get to a place. There’s just room for much more here.

MYY: Before we officially started chatting, you also mentioned that you had a moment in Montreal that acted as a catalyst to your move.

TK: Once upon a time, June 1996, I got this miraculous opportunity to dance with the person that got me started in [tap] in the first place. Gregory Hines came to the Montreal Jazz Festival. He invited tap dancers who were in the audience up on stage. I went up. I was 13. I was adorable. My God, my voice hadn’t even cracked. Because I’m a nerd for the dance, I had already stolen a lot of his steps. So, I did Gregory’s steps in front of him. He stopped me so we could do the steps together. CBC was there filming, and they ran this story of a child realizing a dream dancing with his idol. The next day, I get a call from Gregory Charles, who had a show on television called Chabada. It was a late-night talk show. I show up at this television studio. I do my little tap dance. It’s fun. 

Years later — I’m in my 20s and my ego was just through the roof — I see Gregory Charles again. He’s the host of this festival called Festival Blues in Montreal. He’s giving me advice that I don’t necessarily agree with about how to become successful as a tap dancer. Then he goes up to introduce me on stage. He says, in French, “Ladies and gentlemen, you’re in for a treat. You’ve never seen anything like this before. Please welcome to the stage the local Travis Knights.” That use of “local,” it messed me up so hard. Within, maybe, two or three months after that, I moved away from Montreal. Thank you, Gregory!

“Every time I visited Toronto, I was like, ‘The pace here is different.’ You can see it on our highways. People are in a rush to get to a place. There’s just room for much more here.”

MYY: What did you want to accomplish in Toronto that you felt you couldn’t in Montreal?

TK: I want to be a reflection or a continuation of Gregory Hines, so that when I say the word “lineage,” I can point to him as lineage. That’s my initial impression of this charismatic figure who’s able to speak brilliantly rhythmically in a way that just captivates. His way of communicating and connecting with audiences is something that literally changed my life. I wanna follow in his footsteps. The journey has been wonderful. But, let’s be clear, I’ve also been constantly smacked down by the universe in ways that I appreciate because, in my 20s, my ego got in the way of lessons that came back around and around until I learned them.

women on left interviewing man on right sitting on a brown couchMYY: That’s a true full circle reason. Now, you’re in Toronto, continuing the lineage! What are you excited to be doing in the city?

TK: I need to make a concerted effort to seek mental health counselling. Whereas tap dance used to be just about joy for me, now as I get closer to my goal, be careful what you wish for! I recognize a responsibility to tell stories that help the audience shape or adapt their perspective, their worldview. The stories that I feel I need to tell are painful. 

One story that I’m really looking forward to telling, and at the same time I’m terrified and sick to tell, [involves] going behind the camera to shoot a subject named Jonathan Morin. Jonathan Morin is one of the best tap dancers in Canada. If y’all don’t know, look him up. He’s phenomenal. He’ll wow you with his feet and you’ll leave scratching your head. He’s an Indigenous tap dancer. Jonathan Morin has little to no connection with his heritage. That’s because of residential schools and Canadian policy. So, as a tap dancer, as a storyteller, I felt a responsibility to help introduce him to his culture through tap dance. We’re gonna travel to Alberta, where he’s from, and we’re gonna dive deep into his culture. He’s gonna learn this, that, and the other; I’m gonna be there with the camera. It’s going to be painful. I’ve already gotten a glimpse of his backstory, which is heartbreaking, which Canadian policy is responsible for. That’s the type of work I’m engaged in. 

[In 2021, I also workshopped] a show for Soulpepper called The Trial of Uncle Tom. It was about my complicated relationship with Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, who I mentioned before. He was the highest paid Black performer in America. But, if you look him up, you’ll see that he made choices that lived forever. You’ll see him in these Hollywood pictures where he plays the butler. He plays an apologist for the American south. At the same time, he’s considered the mayor of Harlem and was single-handedly responsible for keeping many Black families in their homes by paying their rent during The Great Depression. It’s this complex, complicated character that gives me an idea of the contemporary choices that I have. Am I going to be an apologist? Am I going to go along? Or am I going to have the courage and the strength of conviction to say and do what needs to be done? 

Anyways, [there] are exciting projects, but I’m not necessarily emotionally healthy.

MYY: What you’re recognizing right now is so powerful. It’s a lot to process and work through! Thank you for sharing that. I wanted to ask you about your summer 2022 performance in the Legacy Tap Dance Concert at High Park, in association with Canadian Stage. During that performance, I understand you held space for your audience. So, in experiencing your production, they were also sitting with their feelings. 

TK: [I had gotten back] from a tour in Europe. I was doing a show called Ephemeral Artifacts, which is what made me go, “Oh, I think I need to talk to someone.” It’s been in development since 2017. It’s highly improvisational but has this structure of signposts that I go through. I take soundbites from my podcast of different luminaries in tap dance or jazz culture who have basically mentored me, and I play them throughout the show. I then react to those soundbites on stage. I press a button and my teacher’s voice says, “Whose shoulders are you standing on?” or the great late jazz musician Dr. Barry Harris says, “You tap dances on musicians.” Now, in Europe — Germany, hella diverse cities like Paris — I’m in front of an audience, I look out, and I see no Black people. I am the only Black person on faculty or in the audience. The reaction that I had to that was not healthy. 

In contrast, with Toronto’s dance Immersion’s Legacy Tap Dance Concert, the audience was diverse, which informs the culture of the audience. So, in this concert, we opened with music by musical director Donny Milwalkee, which led into old school Missy Elliot, Sock It 2 Me vibe, and the audience got it. 

At the same time, it hurts me when an audience member comes up to me, inspired like I was by Gregory, and asks, “Hey, do you, do you teach?” Hell no, I don’t teach! I’m trying to do this thing! It confuses me and hurts me because I realize I’m one of the handful of Black tap dancers in the country. So, if a Black person comes up to me and asks me, “Where do I go?” I struggle answering that. Maybe I’ll find the answer the next time we speak. It takes a village. 

MYY: I interpret that so much more positively, to be completely honest. I think there’s an understandable level of confusion you experience, but you had said your mission is to continue the legacy of Gregory Hines, to inspire other generations of future tap dancers. Clearly, you’re doing that. Perhaps they’re just not expressing it the way you expected, so your sense of responsibility rears around heavily. But you are doing! 

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