Toni Basil was a Go-Go icon in the ‘60s. A street-dance pioneer in the ‘70s with The Lockers. And by that same decade, she was choreographing for Tina Turner and Bette Midler — shaping the stage presence of music legends before MTV even launched.
Oh — and she’s also the force behind “Mickey,” one of the most iconic pop hits (and videos) of the ‘80s.
In this episode of The Rest of the Story, we trace her extraordinary path — from a childhood in vaudeville to Elvis musicals, from bringing street dance into the mainstream to choreographing some of Hollywood’s most unforgettable films.
A one-hit wonder? Please. Toni Basil is the moment. Always has been.
Thank you to Cristina Benedetti for recounting Toni's viral story!
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
This story could have just been about the Gogo dancing queen of the 1960s, or the
(00:07):
street dance pioneer of the 70s, or the singer behind one of the most iconic hits of
the 80s, but she wasn't any one of those things.
She was all of them.
And more.
Welcome to my podcast, Hey Dancer, in this week's episode of The Rest of the Story, where
each week I bring to you the untold lives, legacies and lessons behind Dancer's most
(00:30):
iconic figures.
My name is Miller Dauray and make sure you're following or subscribed so you never miss
a new episode.
And hey, it only takes a moment to like, comment, share, review, and all the things wherever
you're watching or listening.
I'm a one-man team, so any engagement with the podcast tells the platform I'm doing
(00:51):
something right.
And that just means a lot to me.
Oh, and make sure you hang around for the outro because I'll share my personal connection
to today's subject.
Okay, let's get into it.
She was born in Philadelphia, but her childhood played out in the wings of the Chicago
theater.
Picture of five-year-old girl standing just off stage, watching the chaos and beauty of
(01:13):
Vodville unfold, night after night.
Her mother was part of a comedy agrobatic act called Billy Wells and the Four Fays.
They flipped, tumbled, juggled hoops, and even painted faces on their stomachs to make little
dancing men.
One night, she was handed a mic to hold so her uncle's stomach face could whistle.
(01:33):
Her father was an orchestra leader.
Music lived in the pit, movement lived on stage, and in between that little girl absorbed
it all, timing, rhythm, discipline.
It wasn't a lesson, it was just life.
Her dad led the band, her mom commanded the stage, and together they gave her everything she
(01:54):
needed to create.
That insanity was normal to me, she once said, and she felt lucky that her childhood was
filled with theater.
Then the mob came calling.
Her father was offered a job, music director for the lounges springing up in the Nevada desert,
so the family relocated to Las Vegas.
She attended Las Vegas High School, where she became head cheerleader, she brought music
(02:19):
quality and sharpness to the role.
Years later, those same crisp arms and precise timing would resurface in a video that defined
a decade.
All the while, she was never not training.
Ballet and jazz were her foundation, technique and instinct, sharpened from the wings of
Vodville to the mirrors of the studio.
(02:39):
In Las Vegas, for all its neon flash had depth, behind the casinos were floor shows, behind
the curtains rehearsals.
She soaked everything in.
She moved to Los Angeles as a teenager right after high school.
It wasn't glamorous, it was hustle.
Ballet class at 1130, acting lessons at 7pm, dance contests on the sunset strip at midnight.
(03:03):
Those contests weren't just fun, they were her go-go training.
The studios couldn't teach it.
There was no syllabus for grit, musicality or originality.
That came from the clubs, from experience, from failing, from showing up again.
She later said that most dancers trying to book beach movies or Elvis musicals look like
(03:24):
jazz dancers trying to do go-go.
"It didn't look real," she said, "but hers did, because hers came from the source, from
the late night contests, from building vocabulary, not borrowing it.
That edge made her stand out, and it was about to pay off."
She booked dance jobs fast, while still a teenager.
(03:47):
One of the earliest, the girl in the red dress in Viva Las Vegas.
Elvis sings the lyric, "See the girl with the red dress on?"
As she commands the frame, hips swinging crisp, electrifying.
That red dress moment became iconic, sharp, grounded, unforgettable, and she wasn't just
dancing on the film, she was also assistant choreographer to David Winters.
(04:12):
Another early job?
Robin and the Seven Hoods, with Sinatra being Crosby, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and
the list goes on.
She called it the first film where she was presented as a featured dancer.
In the movie, she walks arm in arm with Frank Sinatra while he sings, "Chicago, my kind
of town."
There's also a documentary on the making of the movie, and there's a whole segment
(04:36):
on the dancers, which is rare and quite lovely, and she is the one shown most prominently.
Next came Pajama party, "Go Go on the Sand," turns, jumps, and footwork on an unstable
surface.
It was a challenge, but she pulled it off.
That kind of stamina, musicality, and precision were already becoming her trademark.
(04:59):
Then came the Tammy Show, a 1964 concert film that captured the biggest music acts of
the moment, all on one stage.
She was again assisting David Winters.
The lineup was stacked, the beach boys, the Supremes, the Rolling Stones, but it was James
Brown who changed everything for her.
(05:19):
I thought I was fabulous, she said later, but then James hit the stage and I realized I was
on the wrong side of town.
It was his footwork, his control, his theatricality.
It took years to understand it, she said, but she was determined.
That night was a turning point, her movement would never be the same.
And you can see it start to shift in village of the Giants, a campy sci-fi teen film shot
(05:45):
shortly after.
She's still "Go Go," but it's darker now, grittier.
She's chasing new rhythms.
The performance isn't just stylish, it's evolving, her body is starting to speak a new dialect.
In 1968, she starred in the psychedelic monkeys film, "Head," "She" and "David Jones" danced
(06:05):
a slow, stylized duet, dreamlike theatrical and quietly groundbreaking.
Quentin Tarantino later called it one of the great dance numbers in the history of movies.
Around 1969, a friend of hers told her about this dance called "The Campbell Lock," that
Don Campbell was creating. So long before cell phones, GPS, navigation, YouTube, she went
(06:31):
looking for him. And then one day, it happened.
He blew through the side door of Asco's, a club on La Siena Gopolovard.
In his stripes, socks, knickers, and hat, and she knew immediately that it was him.
It was Don Campbell. She was struck by his uniqueness, how his moves were unlike anything
(06:51):
she'd seen since James Brown. He was redefining dance in American culture and she knew
it. Not long after, they started collaborating and soon formed a group that would become
legend.
The Lockers. At the time, street styles were raw, regional, and rarely seen outside of clubs,
(07:12):
but the Lockers changed that. They brought locking to national TV, "Soul Train," the
Night Show, the Carol Burnett Show, the second episode of "Saturday Night Live," and they
didn't do it by smoothing out the edges. They brought the style as it was, pure, funky,
joyful, and defiant. She wasn't just the only woman in the group, she was its manager,
(07:35):
choreographer, stylist, and visionary. "I staged the act," she said. She made sure each
dancer's personality and individuality stayed intact, no polishing, no dilution. For a
Smothers Brothers special, she paired the Lockers with ballerinas. She knew that street could
stand with concert dance. She was right and even nominated for an Emmy for that piece.
(07:59):
They opened for Frank Sinatra at Carnegie Hall and the Funkadelix at Radio City. What other
act could do that? It wasn't just crossover, it was a cultural shift, bringing street dance
as an American art form to prominence. She began shaping performances from music's most
iconic stars. In 1974, she was hired to choreograph David Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" tour.
(08:25):
It was dark, theatrical, and avant-garde, and Bowie wanted a choreographer who understood
character, not just movement. In rehearsals, she helped shape physical narratives. For panic
in Detroit, Bowie moved through a boxing match alone in the ring, ending in a dramatic
self-knockout per her recommendation. Their collaboration wasn't just steps. It was storytelling.
(08:49):
With Bet Middler, it was more than choreography, it was a creative partnership. In 1976, she
choreographed the Depression tour, helping translate Bet's body, humor, and emotional
nuance into movement. She later choreographed Middler's "Screen debut" in the Rose, shaping
not only the stage, but the screen presence of a star in the making.
(09:14):
Next came Tina Turner, newly solo reclaiming her power. She choreographed her first post-Ike
club act in the late 1970s, including numbers like disco in Ferno. She helped reshape Tina's
presence, bold, grounded, unstoppable, refining her onstage persona and contributing to her
(09:34):
musical renaissance in the decade to come. Then came the 1980s and a little song called
Mickey. She directed the video, she choreographed it, styled it, edited it, she wasn't just the
performer, she was the entire vision. The cheerleader arms were sharp, grounded, and instantly
(09:55):
iconic. She pulled from her own past, cheerleading, go-go, street, vaudeville, and yeah, she actually
even wore her original high school cheerleading uniform, still fitting flawlessly at 39 years
old. The result? One of MTV's earliest and most influential videos. The song topped charts
(10:17):
around the world and became one of the most recognizable songs in pop history, and the
stars she helped build never forgot her. When Tina Turner launched her 50th anniversary
tour, which was her final tour in 2008, she helped shape it. At the same time, she was working
on Middler's Las Vegas residency. That kind of loyalty only comes from a lifetime of vision,
(10:43):
tireless work, and a track record of making artists feel comfortable and looking like their
best selves. And also, she's one of films most accomplished and prolific choreographers,
from American graffiti to legally blonde. In 2019, Quentin Tarantino called, he wanted
authenticity for once upon a time in Hollywood, someone who had been there, who had lived it,
(11:08):
who understood what made 60s movement work. He called her The Goddess of Go-Go, and she
trained Margot Robbie in the twist, the pony, and the overall feel of the era. Then came
that video, the one that went viral. It was staged, it was a dance workshop led by Babson
(11:28):
Babasai, a director and choreographer visiting from Paris. When the class ended, he asked her
to freestyle. She hesitated, but then Christina Benedetti, who had organized the workshop,
raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, "You better do it." So she did. No rehearsal, no
(11:49):
choreography, just instinct. Babson posted it online and added her age in the title, 72. The
internet lost it. No gimmicks, no prep, just a lifetime of movement pouring out. She's
also known to younger generations as a guest judge for several seasons on So You Think You
(12:10):
can dance, educating the dancers with her vast knowledge of dance history. She's in her
80s now, still judging hip-hop battles around the world, still teaching, still showing up.
Sometimes she's referred to as a one-hit wonder, but dancers know otherwise. She wasn't
a moment, she was, and is, a movement, from go-go movies to global stages, from street battles
(12:37):
to stadium tours, from MTV to Tarantino. She changed the language of dance, and she's still
doing it. Her name, Tony Basil. And now you know the rest of the story.
Alright, dance fam, thank you so much for being here. I hope you loved this episode on
(12:57):
Ms. Basil, as much as I loved researching it, watching all of her footage. Oh my gosh,
this extraordinary, if you take a moment, it would mean so much to me to rate, review, share
with someone who needs to know Tony's story, to be inspired. Now you know I like to leave
you with a few extra nuggets because there's always so much more to the story. You know this
(13:22):
podcast isn't meant to be a two hour documentary, it could easily be, but I don't have that
kind of time. So I'm going to throw in a couple of gems here in the outro. So here we go,
Tony is also an actor. You might have caught her in Easy Writer alongside Peter Fonda or
in five easy pieces alongside Jack Nicholson. Yeah, her screen credits run deep. And some
(13:47):
of those earlier dance roles in films I mentioned, she also was an actor. She had lines in some
of those movies, pretty amazing. There's obviously so many stories, you know I have come across
and I'll share a few that made an impact on me once she had lunch with Anne Reinking because
she was this close to going into Chicago, the musical. She knew all the choreography. She was
(14:10):
ready. She'd been called in multiple times. It didn't quite from what I understand work
out though at the end of the day, but she had lunch with Anne, at least on one occasion.
And during that time, she asked Anne if locking was happening in one of those numbers.
And Anne said, yeah, oh my God, Bob, when you guys were on TV, he used to call people and say
(14:32):
they're on television. Well, Tony burst into tears because back then the lockers were, you
know, flying by the seat of their pants. They had no idea someone like Bob Fossy was watching,
let alone telling people to turn on the TV, right? I mean, imagine what that meant to Tony
in the moment. So amazing. And as I mentioned in the main script, she was 39 when she did
(14:56):
Mickey. And she also, by the way, from what I understand, could always sing and move to
LA to also sing and not just dance and act, but she told Dick Clark once on American bandstand
after performing Mickey that there were a lot of girl singers, but not so much choreographers.
So that's where she went. But I mean, look at her dancing just always period even today,
(15:21):
you see her at 39, which is very young, but you know, dancers are athletes and, you know,
tend to have shelf lives and maybe, you know, phase out at a certain age, but there she is,
basically 40 years old in the Mickey video and doing high kicks and splits and jumps and
turning all the things, proving that that dance doesn't have to have a shelf life. And can
(15:42):
we also talk about the fact that music artists are told that, you know, past the age of 22,
too late to break into the business and there she is at 39 reaching number one and breaking
all kinds of records earlier in the podcast. I mentioned the story of Tony going viral and
Christina Benadetti, who was in charge of the workshop, gave her that face like you better dance.
(16:06):
Well, Christina is a friend of mine and I reached out to her and asked if she wouldn't mind
giving us a sort of window into what it was like in class in that moment. And so lovely, she said,
"Okay, so thank you, Christina, and here she is." Wow, so many good memories about that class,
especially because today my friend Baphson is now with us anymore.
(16:27):
Rest in peace, we miss you, my friend. But that class was incredible, you know, it was a
class that myself and DJG from Brazil, or put together. We didn't tell Baphson that Tony Bessel
would show that. So when she arrived, Baphson was so excited. It was like a kid and then he brought
(16:49):
the energy to the whole class when a legend shows up to your class. It's pretty incredible.
You feel so honored and so excited. And then when we got to the end, you know, we made sure that
everybody knew who Tony Bessel was because you know, Tony comes to class. She just put herself in the
corner. She doesn't expect any recognition, anything, any special treatment. She just says she just
(17:15):
wants to train. She just wants to train and dance and learn. So she's just there, Kwaia and Baphson
made sure that, you know, everybody in the class knew who she was. That today we're here because of
our contribution to dance. We're very grateful to have her still showing up at events, dance classes.
It is a great example. I'm very grateful to have her as a friend. I actually met her in a dance class.
(17:41):
She's a great example. She's like, "Train doesn't stop. The love for dance doesn't stop." And learning
from anybody, all the young doesn't stop. Okay, so what is my random connection to Tony Bessel?
It's just a little thing and here is the crazy irony of it all and why this is a little bit
serendipitous, I think is because I kind of forgot. I forgot about this moment. So my mom was over
(18:06):
last night for dinner. Okay, right before I'm, you know, recording this podcast and I had just been doing
so much research on this Tony Bessel script. And I don't often tell my mom, which I think this is also
kind of a universe thing. I don't often tell her, you know, whom I'm working on. I like her to watch
the podcast, which she does, which is really lovely and supportive. And to be surprised, you know,
(18:27):
who is the subject this week? But last night I told her, "Hey, I'm doing Tony Bessel this week." And she
said, "Well, you know, you worked with her, right?" And I'm like, "No, no, no, no, I, mom, I didn't work
with her." I mean, she was, you know, part of the same project and I remembered the project. Okay,
so it was this Peewe Hermann fashion show in the very late 80s or super early 90s. So Peewe had a
(18:52):
fashion line for kids. And I just googled this right now and it says, "Fro back to 1989 when Peewe's
Playhouse had a kid's fashion line at JC Penney's. I booked the job of like a dancer model in a fashion
show kind of thing. I remember it was under this huge tent and I had to wear his clothes, which were
(19:13):
really, really colorful. And you know what, side note, this is my memory. It could be wrong, but I think
also Margarit Derrick's was one of the choreographers there for a certain segment. And I didn't know
who she was yet. She was, because I used to take from her, I consider her a mentor of mine, but I
hadn't yet. And she also wasn't really famous yet, but I remember I felt really intimidated by her
(19:38):
dancers. It just that moment stuck with me because they were so amazing. Anyway, I remember Tony was
there, but I didn't remember being choreographed by her and my mom was like, "No, it was her." She
choreographed you kids and she put you in the wardrobe and decided who was gonna look like what?
(19:58):
And my mom reminded me that the, and now I remember it because I was mortified and I don't know if this
was Tony's idea or not, but they dressed me up super, super nerdy. They split my hair in the middle
with gel and then had that alfalfa thing. You know that hair sticking up in the back and I looked
(20:20):
again really nerdy and my mom said that when she saw me, she was like, "Oh my god, what a
Tony do to my son." What I do remember, part of the performance was I was on a scooter and I was
wearing, you know, these really colorful clothes, I guess, by Peeley Herman and I was on the ramp
of the fashion show, scooting down on the scooter, feeling super self-conscious with how I looked
(20:44):
and that's the time I worked with Tony Basil. I don't remember any of the dancing. I knew who Tony
was at the time though. I knew that she was a legend. I was always good about knowing, you know, dance
history to some degree, but I don't know. I guess my young brain just didn't store the fact that she
choreographed me, but hey, that's what parents are for. My mom remembered and I guess I can say I was
(21:06):
choreographed by Tony Basil. What a freaking honor! What? One more thing, something that she really said
in one interview that I caught that really stuck with me and honestly it echoes why. In many ways, I
make this podcast at all. She said, talking about younger dancers today, quote, "I mean that they
don't even know about Gwen Verden. I mean to me, it just blows me away. Do they know about Nuriyev?
(21:32):
Do they know about Barish Nakhof? Do they know about the Nicholas Brothers? They don't know anybody."
I mean, maybe they get it in college, some of the colleges that teach a lot of dance, but I don't know.
They don't know anybody. End quote. That's why I'm doing what I do to keep these names alive,
to tell the stories. All right, until next time, dancers, keep moving, keep learning, keep passing it on.
(21:55):
[Music]
This story could have just been about the Gogo dancing queen of the 1960s, or the
(00:07):
street dance pioneer of the 70s, or the singer behind one of the most iconic hits of
the 80s, but she wasn't any one of those things.
She was all of them.
And more.
Welcome to my podcast, Hey Dancer, in this week's episode of The Rest of the Story, where
each week I bring to you the untold lives, legacies and lessons behind Dancer's most
(00:30):
iconic figures.
My name is Miller Dauray and make sure you're following or subscribed so you never miss
a new episode.
And hey, it only takes a moment to like, comment, share, review, and all the things wherever
you're watching or listening.
I'm a one-man team, so any engagement with the podcast tells the platform I'm doing
(00:51):
something right.
And that just means a lot to me.
Oh, and make sure you hang around for the outro because I'll share my personal connection
to today's subject.
Okay, let's get into it.
She was born in Philadelphia, but her childhood played out in the wings of the Chicago
theater.
Picture of five-year-old girl standing just off stage, watching the chaos and beauty of
(01:13):
Vodville unfold, night after night.
Her mother was part of a comedy agrobatic act called Billy Wells and the Four Fays.
They flipped, tumbled, juggled hoops, and even painted faces on their stomachs to make little
dancing men.
One night, she was handed a mic to hold so her uncle's stomach face could whistle.
(01:33):
Her father was an orchestra leader.
Music lived in the pit, movement lived on stage, and in between that little girl absorbed
it all, timing, rhythm, discipline.
It wasn't a lesson, it was just life.
Her dad led the band, her mom commanded the stage, and together they gave her everything she
(01:54):
needed to create.
That insanity was normal to me, she once said, and she felt lucky that her childhood was
filled with theater.
Then the mob came calling.
Her father was offered a job, music director for the lounges springing up in the Nevada desert,
so the family relocated to Las Vegas.
She attended Las Vegas High School, where she became head cheerleader, she brought music
(02:19):
quality and sharpness to the role.
Years later, those same crisp arms and precise timing would resurface in a video that defined
a decade.
All the while, she was never not training.
Ballet and jazz were her foundation, technique and instinct, sharpened from the wings of
Vodville to the mirrors of the studio.
(02:39):
In Las Vegas, for all its neon flash had depth, behind the casinos were floor shows, behind
the curtains rehearsals.
She soaked everything in.
She moved to Los Angeles as a teenager right after high school.
It wasn't glamorous, it was hustle.
Ballet class at 1130, acting lessons at 7pm, dance contests on the sunset strip at midnight.
(03:03):
Those contests weren't just fun, they were her go-go training.
The studios couldn't teach it.
There was no syllabus for grit, musicality or originality.
That came from the clubs, from experience, from failing, from showing up again.
She later said that most dancers trying to book beach movies or Elvis musicals look like
(03:24):
jazz dancers trying to do go-go.
"It didn't look real," she said, "but hers did, because hers came from the source, from
the late night contests, from building vocabulary, not borrowing it.
That edge made her stand out, and it was about to pay off."
She booked dance jobs fast, while still a teenager.
(03:47):
One of the earliest, the girl in the red dress in Viva Las Vegas.
Elvis sings the lyric, "See the girl with the red dress on?"
As she commands the frame, hips swinging crisp, electrifying.
That red dress moment became iconic, sharp, grounded, unforgettable, and she wasn't just
dancing on the film, she was also assistant choreographer to David Winters.
(04:12):
Another early job?
Robin and the Seven Hoods, with Sinatra being Crosby, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and
the list goes on.
She called it the first film where she was presented as a featured dancer.
In the movie, she walks arm in arm with Frank Sinatra while he sings, "Chicago, my kind
of town."
There's also a documentary on the making of the movie, and there's a whole segment
(04:36):
on the dancers, which is rare and quite lovely, and she is the one shown most prominently.
Next came Pajama party, "Go Go on the Sand," turns, jumps, and footwork on an unstable
surface.
It was a challenge, but she pulled it off.
That kind of stamina, musicality, and precision were already becoming her trademark.
(04:59):
Then came the Tammy Show, a 1964 concert film that captured the biggest music acts of
the moment, all on one stage.
She was again assisting David Winters.
The lineup was stacked, the beach boys, the Supremes, the Rolling Stones, but it was James
Brown who changed everything for her.
(05:19):
I thought I was fabulous, she said later, but then James hit the stage and I realized I was
on the wrong side of town.
It was his footwork, his control, his theatricality.
It took years to understand it, she said, but she was determined.
That night was a turning point, her movement would never be the same.
And you can see it start to shift in village of the Giants, a campy sci-fi teen film shot
(05:45):
shortly after.
She's still "Go Go," but it's darker now, grittier.
She's chasing new rhythms.
The performance isn't just stylish, it's evolving, her body is starting to speak a new dialect.
In 1968, she starred in the psychedelic monkeys film, "Head," "She" and "David Jones" danced
(06:05):
a slow, stylized duet, dreamlike theatrical and quietly groundbreaking.
Quentin Tarantino later called it one of the great dance numbers in the history of movies.
Around 1969, a friend of hers told her about this dance called "The Campbell Lock," that
Don Campbell was creating. So long before cell phones, GPS, navigation, YouTube, she went
(06:31):
looking for him. And then one day, it happened.
He blew through the side door of Asco's, a club on La Siena Gopolovard.
In his stripes, socks, knickers, and hat, and she knew immediately that it was him.
It was Don Campbell. She was struck by his uniqueness, how his moves were unlike anything
(06:51):
she'd seen since James Brown. He was redefining dance in American culture and she knew
it. Not long after, they started collaborating and soon formed a group that would become
legend.
The Lockers. At the time, street styles were raw, regional, and rarely seen outside of clubs,
(07:12):
but the Lockers changed that. They brought locking to national TV, "Soul Train," the
Night Show, the Carol Burnett Show, the second episode of "Saturday Night Live," and they
didn't do it by smoothing out the edges. They brought the style as it was, pure, funky,
joyful, and defiant. She wasn't just the only woman in the group, she was its manager,
(07:35):
choreographer, stylist, and visionary. "I staged the act," she said. She made sure each
dancer's personality and individuality stayed intact, no polishing, no dilution. For a
Smothers Brothers special, she paired the Lockers with ballerinas. She knew that street could
stand with concert dance. She was right and even nominated for an Emmy for that piece.
(07:59):
They opened for Frank Sinatra at Carnegie Hall and the Funkadelix at Radio City. What other
act could do that? It wasn't just crossover, it was a cultural shift, bringing street dance
as an American art form to prominence. She began shaping performances from music's most
iconic stars. In 1974, she was hired to choreograph David Bowie's "Diamond Dogs" tour.
(08:25):
It was dark, theatrical, and avant-garde, and Bowie wanted a choreographer who understood
character, not just movement. In rehearsals, she helped shape physical narratives. For panic
in Detroit, Bowie moved through a boxing match alone in the ring, ending in a dramatic
self-knockout per her recommendation. Their collaboration wasn't just steps. It was storytelling.
(08:49):
With Bet Middler, it was more than choreography, it was a creative partnership. In 1976, she
choreographed the Depression tour, helping translate Bet's body, humor, and emotional
nuance into movement. She later choreographed Middler's "Screen debut" in the Rose, shaping
not only the stage, but the screen presence of a star in the making.
(09:14):
Next came Tina Turner, newly solo reclaiming her power. She choreographed her first post-Ike
club act in the late 1970s, including numbers like disco in Ferno. She helped reshape Tina's
presence, bold, grounded, unstoppable, refining her onstage persona and contributing to her
(09:34):
musical renaissance in the decade to come. Then came the 1980s and a little song called
Mickey. She directed the video, she choreographed it, styled it, edited it, she wasn't just the
performer, she was the entire vision. The cheerleader arms were sharp, grounded, and instantly
(09:55):
iconic. She pulled from her own past, cheerleading, go-go, street, vaudeville, and yeah, she actually
even wore her original high school cheerleading uniform, still fitting flawlessly at 39 years
old. The result? One of MTV's earliest and most influential videos. The song topped charts
(10:17):
around the world and became one of the most recognizable songs in pop history, and the
stars she helped build never forgot her. When Tina Turner launched her 50th anniversary
tour, which was her final tour in 2008, she helped shape it. At the same time, she was working
on Middler's Las Vegas residency. That kind of loyalty only comes from a lifetime of vision,
(10:43):
tireless work, and a track record of making artists feel comfortable and looking like their
best selves. And also, she's one of films most accomplished and prolific choreographers,
from American graffiti to legally blonde. In 2019, Quentin Tarantino called, he wanted
authenticity for once upon a time in Hollywood, someone who had been there, who had lived it,
(11:08):
who understood what made 60s movement work. He called her The Goddess of Go-Go, and she
trained Margot Robbie in the twist, the pony, and the overall feel of the era. Then came
that video, the one that went viral. It was staged, it was a dance workshop led by Babson
(11:28):
Babasai, a director and choreographer visiting from Paris. When the class ended, he asked her
to freestyle. She hesitated, but then Christina Benedetti, who had organized the workshop,
raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, "You better do it." So she did. No rehearsal, no
(11:49):
choreography, just instinct. Babson posted it online and added her age in the title, 72. The
internet lost it. No gimmicks, no prep, just a lifetime of movement pouring out. She's
also known to younger generations as a guest judge for several seasons on So You Think You
(12:10):
can dance, educating the dancers with her vast knowledge of dance history. She's in her
80s now, still judging hip-hop battles around the world, still teaching, still showing up.
Sometimes she's referred to as a one-hit wonder, but dancers know otherwise. She wasn't
a moment, she was, and is, a movement, from go-go movies to global stages, from street battles
(12:37):
to stadium tours, from MTV to Tarantino. She changed the language of dance, and she's still
doing it. Her name, Tony Basil. And now you know the rest of the story.
Alright, dance fam, thank you so much for being here. I hope you loved this episode on
(12:57):
Ms. Basil, as much as I loved researching it, watching all of her footage. Oh my gosh,
this extraordinary, if you take a moment, it would mean so much to me to rate, review, share
with someone who needs to know Tony's story, to be inspired. Now you know I like to leave
you with a few extra nuggets because there's always so much more to the story. You know this
(13:22):
podcast isn't meant to be a two hour documentary, it could easily be, but I don't have that
kind of time. So I'm going to throw in a couple of gems here in the outro. So here we go,
Tony is also an actor. You might have caught her in Easy Writer alongside Peter Fonda or
in five easy pieces alongside Jack Nicholson. Yeah, her screen credits run deep. And some
(13:47):
of those earlier dance roles in films I mentioned, she also was an actor. She had lines in some
of those movies, pretty amazing. There's obviously so many stories, you know I have come across
and I'll share a few that made an impact on me once she had lunch with Anne Reinking because
she was this close to going into Chicago, the musical. She knew all the choreography. She was
(14:10):
ready. She'd been called in multiple times. It didn't quite from what I understand work
out though at the end of the day, but she had lunch with Anne, at least on one occasion.
And during that time, she asked Anne if locking was happening in one of those numbers.
And Anne said, yeah, oh my God, Bob, when you guys were on TV, he used to call people and say
(14:32):
they're on television. Well, Tony burst into tears because back then the lockers were, you
know, flying by the seat of their pants. They had no idea someone like Bob Fossy was watching,
let alone telling people to turn on the TV, right? I mean, imagine what that meant to Tony
in the moment. So amazing. And as I mentioned in the main script, she was 39 when she did
(14:56):
Mickey. And she also, by the way, from what I understand, could always sing and move to
LA to also sing and not just dance and act, but she told Dick Clark once on American bandstand
after performing Mickey that there were a lot of girl singers, but not so much choreographers.
So that's where she went. But I mean, look at her dancing just always period even today,
(15:21):
you see her at 39, which is very young, but you know, dancers are athletes and, you know,
tend to have shelf lives and maybe, you know, phase out at a certain age, but there she is,
basically 40 years old in the Mickey video and doing high kicks and splits and jumps and
turning all the things, proving that that dance doesn't have to have a shelf life. And can
(15:42):
we also talk about the fact that music artists are told that, you know, past the age of 22,
too late to break into the business and there she is at 39 reaching number one and breaking
all kinds of records earlier in the podcast. I mentioned the story of Tony going viral and
Christina Benadetti, who was in charge of the workshop, gave her that face like you better dance.
(16:06):
Well, Christina is a friend of mine and I reached out to her and asked if she wouldn't mind
giving us a sort of window into what it was like in class in that moment. And so lovely, she said,
"Okay, so thank you, Christina, and here she is." Wow, so many good memories about that class,
especially because today my friend Baphson is now with us anymore.
(16:27):
Rest in peace, we miss you, my friend. But that class was incredible, you know, it was a
class that myself and DJG from Brazil, or put together. We didn't tell Baphson that Tony Bessel
would show that. So when she arrived, Baphson was so excited. It was like a kid and then he brought
(16:49):
the energy to the whole class when a legend shows up to your class. It's pretty incredible.
You feel so honored and so excited. And then when we got to the end, you know, we made sure that
everybody knew who Tony Bessel was because you know, Tony comes to class. She just put herself in the
corner. She doesn't expect any recognition, anything, any special treatment. She just says she just
(17:15):
wants to train. She just wants to train and dance and learn. So she's just there, Kwaia and Baphson
made sure that, you know, everybody in the class knew who she was. That today we're here because of
our contribution to dance. We're very grateful to have her still showing up at events, dance classes.
It is a great example. I'm very grateful to have her as a friend. I actually met her in a dance class.
(17:41):
She's a great example. She's like, "Train doesn't stop. The love for dance doesn't stop." And learning
from anybody, all the young doesn't stop. Okay, so what is my random connection to Tony Bessel?
It's just a little thing and here is the crazy irony of it all and why this is a little bit
serendipitous, I think is because I kind of forgot. I forgot about this moment. So my mom was over
(18:06):
last night for dinner. Okay, right before I'm, you know, recording this podcast and I had just been doing
so much research on this Tony Bessel script. And I don't often tell my mom, which I think this is also
kind of a universe thing. I don't often tell her, you know, whom I'm working on. I like her to watch
the podcast, which she does, which is really lovely and supportive. And to be surprised, you know,
(18:27):
who is the subject this week? But last night I told her, "Hey, I'm doing Tony Bessel this week." And she
said, "Well, you know, you worked with her, right?" And I'm like, "No, no, no, no, I, mom, I didn't work
with her." I mean, she was, you know, part of the same project and I remembered the project. Okay,
so it was this Peewe Hermann fashion show in the very late 80s or super early 90s. So Peewe had a
(18:52):
fashion line for kids. And I just googled this right now and it says, "Fro back to 1989 when Peewe's
Playhouse had a kid's fashion line at JC Penney's. I booked the job of like a dancer model in a fashion
show kind of thing. I remember it was under this huge tent and I had to wear his clothes, which were
(19:13):
really, really colorful. And you know what, side note, this is my memory. It could be wrong, but I think
also Margarit Derrick's was one of the choreographers there for a certain segment. And I didn't know
who she was yet. She was, because I used to take from her, I consider her a mentor of mine, but I
hadn't yet. And she also wasn't really famous yet, but I remember I felt really intimidated by her
(19:38):
dancers. It just that moment stuck with me because they were so amazing. Anyway, I remember Tony was
there, but I didn't remember being choreographed by her and my mom was like, "No, it was her." She
choreographed you kids and she put you in the wardrobe and decided who was gonna look like what?
(19:58):
And my mom reminded me that the, and now I remember it because I was mortified and I don't know if this
was Tony's idea or not, but they dressed me up super, super nerdy. They split my hair in the middle
with gel and then had that alfalfa thing. You know that hair sticking up in the back and I looked
(20:20):
again really nerdy and my mom said that when she saw me, she was like, "Oh my god, what a
Tony do to my son." What I do remember, part of the performance was I was on a scooter and I was
wearing, you know, these really colorful clothes, I guess, by Peeley Herman and I was on the ramp
of the fashion show, scooting down on the scooter, feeling super self-conscious with how I looked
(20:44):
and that's the time I worked with Tony Basil. I don't remember any of the dancing. I knew who Tony
was at the time though. I knew that she was a legend. I was always good about knowing, you know, dance
history to some degree, but I don't know. I guess my young brain just didn't store the fact that she
choreographed me, but hey, that's what parents are for. My mom remembered and I guess I can say I was
(21:06):
choreographed by Tony Basil. What a freaking honor! What? One more thing, something that she really said
in one interview that I caught that really stuck with me and honestly it echoes why. In many ways, I
make this podcast at all. She said, talking about younger dancers today, quote, "I mean that they
don't even know about Gwen Verden. I mean to me, it just blows me away. Do they know about Nuriyev?
(21:32):
Do they know about Barish Nakhof? Do they know about the Nicholas Brothers? They don't know anybody."
I mean, maybe they get it in college, some of the colleges that teach a lot of dance, but I don't know.
They don't know anybody. End quote. That's why I'm doing what I do to keep these names alive,
to tell the stories. All right, until next time, dancers, keep moving, keep learning, keep passing it on.
(21:55):
[Music]
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