Mark Morris returns to the work that helped anoint him the 'wild child' of dance

"Dido and Aeneas" has it all: love, betrayal, death. Drawn from Virgil's epic "The Aeneid," the tale is ancient yet timeless. During the 17th century, composer Henry Purcell made it into opera.

Fast-forward 300 years to 1989, when Mark Morris paired Purcell's creation with his choreography and, well, the rest is dance history. Northrop at the University of Minnesota will present "Dido and Aeneas" by the Mark Morris Dance Group on Wednesday.

Why select an English baroque opera for a dance?

"It's one of the greatest pieces ever; that's good enough," the dependably blunt Morris said.

Purcell's effort was a breakthrough for its era, he explained. "It was a shocking new kind of thing that was specific and concise and varied. This piece is a miracle."

But Purcell wasn't the only draw for Morris, 59, who formed his Brooklyn-based troupe in 1980. The AIDS crisis was ravaging the arts world in the late 1980s, and although Morris wasn't ill, he feared the possibility.

He cast himself in the roles of Dido and the Sorceress — and briefly considered taking on every part — saying he felt "dramatic, frightened and histrionic at the time."

His performance was a tour de force, admired to this day, sparking conversations about gender and dance. The Seattle-born Morris, with his long, curly mane of hair and classic profile, was a stunning sight.

Now, he said, anyone can play the parts (in the years since, women have taken on the roles); the work endures because of "its deep drama and variety." He added, "If it weren't interesting, I would drop it."

Morris' name is synonymous with musicality in dance.

According to keyboardist Colin Fowler, who serves as the company's music director, Morris has a very deep knowledge of music, one that led the choreographer to take up the conductor's baton for "Dido" and other works.

Morris connects with musicians through mutual respect for the art form. "He may use a different language or want different things" when conducting, Fowler said. "It's a fresh approach. He'll ask for things you don't expect."

Morris studied with several conductors and learned how to direct from a different vantage point. In "Dido" he manages the relationship between the dancers and musicians and four soloists as well as a 16-member moving chorus while ensuring that the rhythms and the dance stay on track, even during improvisational sections.

"I'm modulating everything," he said, adding, "It's a high-wire act and a very specific process."

For Fowler, who plays the harpsichord in "Dido," "The music is just genius in the way it's constructed.

"The most famous section is Dido's lament. As she's dying, the bass line is descending [by] half-steps. You hear despair; the music just creeps down into a sadder harmonic structure."

The movement in "Dido" draws upon modern dance and aspects of East Asian dance forms as well as American Sign Language in its specific gestures. The chorus of dancers seems transported from an antique frieze, but Morris is quick to point out that "an archaic design in two dimensions was modeled after something that was in three dimensions."

Laurel Lynch, who will dance the roles of Dido and the Sorceress at Northrop, appreciates the test of portraying two opposing characters.

"Dido's body language is so formal, I try to use some of the tension in those poses to express the conflict she feels as the story progresses," she said. "The Sorceress is the opposite of that — she's someone who has abandoned herself to her lower impulses."

Artists are rule-breakers by nature, and Morris, known as dance's "wild child," is certainly a leader among them. But his subversion is more subtle than shocking. It's all in the details. He is interested in "human beings doing human things on stage," said Lynch, adding that Morris upended her ballet training.

"I tend to retain some of those stylistic elements, trying to be lighter, and he's often encouraging me to take up more space, drop my weight and get wider.

"There's a lot of time in the studio when you first join the company when he teaches you to walk again, run again. He tries to get rid of all your adaptations. It's hugely rewarding, the power I feel as a performer. I have strengths to draw on that I didn't have before."

As Morris strips away affectations, he also celebrates the individuality each dancer brings to the stage. All are professionals capable of great virtuosity, but they are also fallible enough to allow an occasional misstep while caught up in the passion of the moment.

"I use living people," Morris said. "If you want perfection, then use computer-generated graphics. If you don't want something soulful, then you can have all the robots you want."

Caroline Palmer is a Minneapolis dance critic.