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John O'Brien in June 2016. Photo: Andrew Florides (
John O’Brien in June 2016. Photo: Andrew Florides (

When John O’Brien died on 11th May this year, I suggested to the RAD that they should do something to remember him, since he taught for many years there, quite apart from being the proprietor of Dance Books. It’s hard to imagine the world of dance scholarship, or discourse about dance generally, without the history of that shop and publishing company. What follows is the tribute to John I wrote for the RAD’s in-house staff newsletter. It’s one of quite a few such pieces on my site now, so forgive any small repetitions. No sooner had I finished it, than I thought of dozens of other things I could say about John and what made him such a great teacher and person, but I hope this is at least the beginning of a worthy tribute. 

Lightly up, up, up: John O’Brien

Mention the name John O’Brien to people above a certain age in the dance world, and they’ll usually start showing you one of the exercises that started his famous continuous body conditioning barre: lightly up, up, up, gently down, down, down, arm halfway across, and open out, out; or the leg-swings, followed by the leg-swings, bending the knees. He had started these body conditioning class for the orchestra at Ballet Rambert when he was a dancer there, and later taught developments of it at the Actors’ Centre, the old City Lit in Stukeley Street, and Pineapple Dance Studios, where he also taught ballet classes on Saturday afternoons that incorporated a continuous barre.

At RAD headquarters, John taught boys’ ballet classes on a Saturday morning, and body conditioning on the LRAD course, which is where I first met him in 1986, just before I left to go freelance. I then played for him almost exclusively for the next three years, sometimes for nearly every class he taught in the week, excluding the private lessons. On a free morning, I would sometimes drop into the RAD and play for him there for free, just for the joy of working together. One week, I accompanied classes he gave at Crystal Palace to an Olympic diving squad. They started the week looking muscle-bound and defensive. After a few days, they looked like dancers.

John became so well-known for those body conditioning classes, that people often forgot—if they ever knew at all—that he was first and foremost an outstanding ballet teacher and coach. At the same time, “body conditioning” doesn’t begin to describe what those classes were about—it was just a name for something that incorporated all kinds of approaches to working with the body, that inspired and helped generations of dancers, figure skaters, gymnasts,  actors, and anyone else who had an interest in movement. The seemingly endless list of people he’d worked with included Maggie Smith, Jane Fonda, Fenella Fielding and George Chakiris, yet he was humble to the point of complete self-effacement: he was not a “personality,” or the life and soul of the party, or a character, or someone who impressed you with the amount of their knowledge, or the wit of their one-liners. John’s presence in a room was deeply pacifying and refreshing, it had a kind of hum and energy to it that went out to others rather than drawing attention to himself. When he taught, it was never about transmitting knowledge, but about enabling, challenging and nurturing people until they were more fully themselves, and better at what they did.

Music and the continuous barre

Those continuous barres really were continuous. John would say “if you need to take a break, just stop, and drop back in again with the music when you’re ready.” He meant it, of course, and I often did take a rest for a couple of exercises, but he also knew that I couldn’t resist the challenge of trying to keep going. In one of the longest non-stop barres, we finally took a break after 45 minutes.

A lot of the repertoire I have now, I learned in those classes. It was before the days of iPads and electronic scores, so I had to arrange music books all over the piano and on the floor, just managing to switch between them and turn pages in time for the next exercise. Often, I would go straight from class to Zwemmers music shop in Litchfield Street to pick up more repertoire books: buskers’ books, the Irving Berlin songbook, or scores of ballets that John had mentioned, like Les Forains by Sauguet, a work I would never have known without him. He gave me several scores from his own collection, including a book of Gershwin songs that I now know by heart.

I would set myself challenges, such as trying to play everything in 3/4 time until I ran out of ideas, or everything in four, switching sometimes between double or half time. As I grew more confident, I would challenge both of us: to suddenly change from three to four or double to half-time between exercises, or play music that was minimal and quiet on one side, raucous and loud on the other. He loved the challenge, but was never caught out, probably because he had long ago practised with Marie Rambert some of the Dalcroze-inspired rhythmic exercises she had used to help dancers in the original cast of Rite of Spring. In the centre, his exercises would have Dalcroze-based challenges in them—step across left, step across right, in a foursquare rhythm, while doing something else with the arms, then saying the days of the week (which of course, come in sevens, and with different numbers of syllables, so they would never align with the feet or arms). The idea was not to achieve perfection, but to keep trying, to keep nagging the brain and body out of their habits. I am sure there are people who had been going to those classes for years, if not decades, but were still challenged by this part of it.  


These are just some of the ways that John’s musicality was unique and extraordinary, which was why most musicians loved playing for him. Apart from anything else, you could play almost any song from any show from 1900 to the present day, and he’d know it, recalling the words instantly. I’d make him smile with ironic segues from one song to another, like Love and Marriage on one side to It ain’t necessarily so on the other. With his voice he kept an impeccable rhythm, secure but never controlling, as fluid and expressive as a conductor’s beat, and with a musician’s sense of phrasing. During the last few counts of the second side of an exercise, he would usually give the instructions for the next one, but sometimes this would be shortened into a single gesture right at the end of the phrase, raising his arm, for example, in preparation for the arm-swings that were about to come. Somehow you knew from the slightest breath or movement what he was going to do next, how much to hold back or push on with tempo. He listened not just to what you were playing, but how you were playing it, and always left space for you to play expressively. It didn’t matter if you made a mistake, or if what you played didn’t quite work: he kept the rhythm going for you and the dancers, so you could quickly find your place again. It was this that enabled me to try out so many things for class in our time together, because you could go wrong, and it didn’t matter. If there was a way to make them work, he’d find it, and if not, well, we’d try again another day.

You can’t teach this kind of musicality, but neither, I think, can you unlearn it once you have experienced it. Many years ago, I took Christopher Hampson (now artistic director and CEO of Scottish Ballet) to one of those classes, eager for him to see what had inspired me so much. He loved it, and began to use continuous barres in his own classes, always acknowledging the debt to John. Alex Simpkins, John’s partner, restarted the body-conditioning classes last year, working together with former members of the class, some of whom had been to them for literally decades. Playing for both Chris and Alex, I feel the same kind of freedom as I had working for John: a musical conversation in the class that often spills out into an excited verbal one afterwards. 

To a large degree, this has nothing to do with music at all, but with sensitivity and communication. John once said that for pianists in a class, it can be a bit like being on the outside of a dinner party, when you don’t know anybody, and nobody makes you feel at home until all of a sudden, somebody says something like “and where do you come from?” and then it’s fine. John was always looking for a way to open, maintain and develop that contact, to make the pianist feel welcome, at home, at one and engaged with the class, because he knew that if it was lost, or never there in the first place, both teaching and playing were a thankless task.

And on the other side

John was one of the most down-to-earth people I have ever met in the ballet world, which is why he was so refreshing to work with, yet at the same time, he had what I feel obliged to call, for clarity’s sake, a “spiritual” side—though I’m not sure I ever heard him use the word: it implies a division between body and spirit that was foreign to him. He was as many people know, a healer, and in his teaching, coaching, and classes, he always remained open to the mysterious, the numinous, and the transpersonal, in the sense of that something that happens between people who do things together that is intensely felt and experienced, but is difficult to identify or describe. There was nothing strange or awkward about any of this. It was a humility, an openness to something beyond himself, as natural as feeling the breeze through an open window. As he put it himself in class one day, rousing everyone to action with his characteristic big smile, “This thing’s bigger than all of us!”

London 1st June 2019

Other posts on this site about John O’Brien

13 thought on “Lightly up, up, up: John O’Brien, legendary dance teacher”
  1. jonathan, i also want to comment on this post: john o’brien is no one i would know, but you’re writing about class and the years-ago with him is quite lovely for me–i want to add this: in the states we call it “power barre” and i think “continuous barre” is obviously a calmer way of putting it–in my experience (45 years) it’s only been 2 or 3 teachers from ny city ballet who found their way to the sf bay area who asked me to accommodate such a thing (for advanced level school class, not open class)–when i was young it was reckless and exhilarating–these days i play for an old timer who’d like to do it now but i tell him i can’t…–no, now i want your judith espinosa to tell me the motivation for each exercise, the set up, and then the cue, “we’ll have a polka”

    1. Thanks for the message! It’s always surprised me that more people haven’t done power barre/continuous barre. It saves so much time, and achieves so much. I think the Judith Espinosa class approach could definitely catch on, I’d love to play for one!

      Incidentally, I’ve just been listening to some of your tracks on CD Baby—I LOVE THEM! These are really fabulous albums.

      1. jonathan, thanks for the cd baby plug–me, i’m really delighted with the album you made with the oboist–i found it through your link in this blog

        i should tell you i’m always rather sorry to hear people are trying to listen to my class cd’s on cdbaby: those are clips–but what i really want to tell you (and probably a lot of your followers) is that i have a site devoted to a czerny project which i think is far more interesting than class cd’s–but somehow even my friends have a hard time navigating to it, so i must be doing (or have done) something wrong when building it (tho i had professional help)–anyway, you discuss op 335 in connection with riisager’s etudes and have mentioned it in passing elsewhere–last month i uploaded the 2nd installment of my library of tracks, scores and commentary which is devoted to op 335–it’s at–the google search always offers a second-guess search: “rudy apffel-czerny”–but i ask people to decline and insist on, which should bring up a search headed by “czerny for ballet class” and that’s the place–it’s been explained to me that i should also ask people to simply type in the address in the little url window at the top of their screen

        jonathan, when i first discovered your blog i was impressed at how far back it goes–you’re a pioneer, and now after all these years something of a museum and a library with the huge range of media and topics–my czerny for ballet class is a month old and a one-note-johnny but i really think you and a lot of our fellow accompanists would be interested

        aside: i’m a little shocked that john o’brien did continuous barre in open class–also, the one virtuoso teacher i worked with who did it a lot for level 8 made up the next combination during the ongoing one and he stood beside me and did it with his hands, and i knew whether he wanted to go faster or double time–but as you know, once you hit ronds de jamb all kinds of train wrecks are ahead as for tempo and character

      2. Thanks for the link — I guess the reason I and others link to your CD Baby pages is because that’s what comes up when you search. I love the Czerny stuff, so I’m thrilled you’ve done a whole site on it. I’m going to do a blog post on it, though not as long as I would like as I have other work to finish right now—but the sooner the better, because you should get referrals.

        You’re one of the few people to notice how far back my blog goes — though as you can probably see, I had no idea what I was doing at the start, so there are some quite stupid posts. It’s tempting to delete them, but that just wouldn’t be in the spirit of blogging! I remember the day I discovered bloggers for the first time, and wrote to a very web-savvy friend to share my enthusiasm. He said something like “Yes, I’ve heard of them, but I don’t think it’ll take off.” I just loved the idea, and the technology. Rebecca’s Pocket is still for me the one true early blog, but Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings is another (later) contender for what I think great blogging is about.

  2. Hi Jonathan! Fascinating as ever to read your piece! By ‘continuous barre’ I suppose you mean one which is pre-set and which just runs from beginning to end, but with different music for each exercise? I could say that I do mini-runs of two or three exercises joined together, but I don’t keep the same exercises for very long, so it’s not easy to do often until rehearsing the end of year Exam class.
    But you remind me that working continuously is very good for stamina and concentration – thank you!
    Perhaps linked to this concept is a teacher devising a set of floor barre exercises for dancers to use for warm up or staying in shape during holidays. More likely that they will do them if they are easy to remember and come in a ‘package ‘.

    1. Up to a point yes, but remember that these were open classes so although there were regulars, there were always some people who were (relatively) new to the class. Also, even after years of playing for it, the exercises still somehow seem novel, not least because they are simple enough that you can play many different things for them, and always find something new to highlight. It’s almost the opposite of how I find some ballet classes: I’ve played for thousands of ronds de jambe exercises in my life, but no matter how differently choreographed they are, in the hands of many teachers they seem like the same tired grind, and the bandwidth of possible music for them is so narrow, that “ronds de jambe” is a form in itself, with heavily policed boundaries.

      When I’ve played for Chris doing continuous barres in a ballet class, he sets the first exercise, but thereafter (like John) he starts setting the next exercise during the last few counts of the second side of the one in progress. It looks like it should be the most impossible kind of multitasking, but the exercises are simple enough in construction that they can be grasped quickly. Again, the simplicity of construction allows, I think, for greater musical freedom. You’d have to ask him for more details on that!

      Many years ago, a mature student at the RAD did a research project as her dissertation on the effect of teaching continuous barre in an adult ballet class over the period of a term. One of the most interesting findings was that the dancers’ musicality improved hugely over the term. She felt that this effect was a result of the increased strength and stamina: they became musical because they could be. In a way, it’s blindingly obvious, especially if you transpose that to learning a musical instrument: that’s exactly what practice is for, to gain the facility to play things in time with the music, which is a physical, not intellectual or cultural skill. Incidentally, another of John’s beliefs about class was that students should gain skill by doing, rather than stopping and starting with endless explanation and talk in between. It’s rather ironic that it would be very difficult for a dance education student to adopt that practice these days, because in teaching assessments everyone is listening out for the verbal proof of knowledge and understanding. *Bangs head on table.*

      Thank you for the comments as always!

  3. Jonathan, My Favourite Pianist, thanks for the wonderful article on John O’Brien, my favourite teacher. You captured this very enigmatic man perfectly.

  4. John O’Brien is my Uncle David’s brother. We are in Australia, John left here many years ago because he could expand his career much further in England than what he ever could here. Uncle David visits their sister Margaret every weekend, she lives in Coburg Victoria and he had also managed to do 2 trips to England to visit his brother over the last 10 years.
    I came across your website because I am researching for our family tree and I will add your article to his notes so his history is recorded for future generations.
    He sounds very talented as well as being a nice man.
    Jen Harris

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Jonathan Still, ballet pianist