An in-depth interview with queer choreographer par excellence, Jonte’ Moaning…
Story and interview by Elio Iannacci
Photos by Spencer Ostrander
Make up by Isabel Perez
Hair by Paul Lodge
Styling by Ramon Baynes and Megumi
Although Beyoncé’s Renaissance was released in 2023, the side effects of the album are still very much affecting the zeitgeist. This musical project, which was motivated by the shimmering sights and sounds of Black, queer dance music (and B’s dearly departed Gay Uncle Johnny), has been able to do what no other album in her discography has done. It has pushed us all to pay attention to the LGBTQ+ liberation and innovation embedded in our clubland history. The album, its world tour and its subsequent film each stress the importance of B’s collaborative choices in some way or another. How she moves, who she moves with and which movements she aligns herself with have shaped her persona and her purpose.
One of the many queer figures who have helped her define herself through art is choreographer Jonte’ Moaning. His multidisciplinary approach to dance and performance – fuelled by his prior work with Janet Jackson, Thalia and Mya – aided Beyoncé during three pivotal career shifts. The pair’s first big collab was with B’Day, an album that can be likened to Janet Jackson’s Control album (both artists were breaking free from old management teams and artistic limitations placed on them by both the music industry and their respective families). After doing B’Day, Moaning went on to choreograph for one of B’s most successful world tours to date, 2006’s The Beyoncé Experience and then reunited with Ms. Knowles for the Renaissance tour in 2023.
Aside from working with B continuously for nearly two decades, Moaning has also helped shape the careers of Korean girl groups such as Blackpink, Wonder Girls and Miss A with his moves. Yet he has also always made it a point to stand out on his own. Through the years, he’s released music that cherry-picks from Prince’s repertoire, the sounds of the international Ballroom scene and setlists from past legendary queer parties in New York City such as Mr. Black.
In this wide-ranging interview, Moaning spoke with IN about the complexity of his artistry, the synergies he’s created via collaboration and the part he played in some iconic moments in popular culture.
In an interview you did early on in your career, you quoted Nina Simone and said, ‘How can you be an artist if you don’t reflect the times?’ How do you reflect the times?
I was basically raised by southern Black people. I have great parents who believe in me. My grandparents experienced Martin Luther King and the rise of civil rights. So I was basically raised by people who told me that it’s okay to be whatever or whoever you want or need to be. They reminded me that they survived during those tough times. They already fought for me, so I can’t let them down.
During your high school days, you said you stopped being bullied because you got everyone on your side by focusing on being the best dancer. How did that work out for you?
I had to infiltrate. Most of the times when you’re gay, you want to be introverted and so you keep trying to push yourself away from being a part of the crowd. I did the opposite. I used to perform at all of the basketball halftimes – doing the coolest songs that came out in the ’90s from artists like Aaliyah and Missy Elliott – but I was still myself. The basketball team had respect for me because I made sure they knew that I was talented and I was supporting them with my show.
Fast-forward years later, and you’re on stage dancing with Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake at the Super Bowl during what so many comedians called ‘Tittygate.’ What did that experience give you?
First of all, I did not know that titty was coming out. I was right in between Janet and Justin and it came out. We didn’t rehearse that. What bothers me is that we spent three months rehearsing so many moves and all people talk about is her titty. So much talent was there, but the titty was taking over the whole conversation!
What was the most challenging choreo to understand for Janet’s performance?
‘Rhythm Nation.’ You can’t mess up when it comes to something so iconic – the moves were militant and hard to get down. Months of rehearsals went around of that one freaking song. Janet would make each dancer dance – one by one – in front of a room of the best choreographers in the world. People were standing up front and in the back of you, clocking every side of your body to make sure you didn’t mess up.
You released your first dance track, ‘Make Up,’ on Myspace, and went on to release tracks like ‘Bitch You Betta’ and ‘Ya Rude.’ The latter tracks have been played in so many queer clubs for years. How have LGBTQ+ clubs and dance spaces inspired your art?
Those nightclubs were like my night school. They taught me so much. “Makeup” was written by Prince for Vanity 6 back in 1982 – the year I was born. I heard it at a club and was so inspired that I wanted to create a visual for it. Myspace and YouTube were my outlets at that time. ‘Makeup’ started the whole upward spiral for me. I went to parties in New York City that [promoters and club icons] Suzanne Barton and Kenny Kenny would throw. I also went to Mr. Black, of course. There was a night called Plaid that Boy George and Grace Jones would show up to. This was after September 11 and before social media. We could actually talk to each other. It was cool.
In your videos to ‘Bitch You Betta’ and ‘High Kick Pow,’ there are nods to Grace Jones. Was she someone you wanted to emulate?
I was trying to pay homage to Grace. But I can only be Grace in essence since there is only one Grace Jones. I do think it’s important to respect the artists that came before you. To incorporate their work in your work – without being a copycat – is part of that respect.
Tell me about the first time you met Beyoncé.
We met in the Amsterdam airport. It was in 1998 during Destiny’s Child’s The Writing’s on the Wall album. They were going to London to promote the album and I was about to go to Scotland for the Edinburgh Dance Festival. I was in line behind [Beyoncé] and complimented her Nikes. We took a picture – and almost 10 years later, we ended up working together. I had always been a fan of Destiny’s Child and Beyoncé. Her vocals are just so amazing to me.
What do you think she saw in you when you finally worked together?
She wanted the pizzazz that I had. She was also learning from the people that I had been dancing with for many years – talents like Danielle Polanco. Danielle made Beyoncé watch all my YouTube videos and said, ‘This is who you need to work with next.’ Working together is easy-breezy because we respect each other’s talents. We are now both able to tell each other the truth.
What was witnessing her transformation like?
She was ready to break free and she needed someone to help her do it. I just remember me and Ms. Tina [Tina Knowles, Beyoncé’s mother, and costumer at the time] in the back room talking back to each other (laughs). I was trying to show Beyoncé how to move and show her all the things that I’ve learned being a performer and club kid in New York City. I told her, ‘Beyoncé, you’ve got to lick your lips after dancing for [the video to the song] “Kitty Kat.”’ Beyoncé’s mom was like ‘Don’t get her to lick her lips like that!’ I remember saying, ‘Ms. Tina, we got eight “Freakum Dresses” that need to be made, and guess what? You have not made one. Let me do what I do. Go do what you do.’
How do you think Beyoncé ended up becoming more liberated after collaborating with you?
Oh yes, all of it. In her work, in her life. I feel like she was such a church girl and a country girl. With so many stars, everything is so scripted. I’m not afraid to tell anyone, ‘I’m not afraid to tell anyone, ‘You see how much of a mess I am…? And I’m still proud!’ She certainly learned – I mean, look at Renaissance. She understood that she couldn’t be me, but she could be me in essence. You know what I mean? She adjusted and interpreted the vocabulary that was given to her with me. When I choreographed the Tina Turner tribute for her Grammy appearance, I was showing her how to slink into the chair we had on stage. She said, ‘Jonte’, you know I can’t sit like that. My hips are too big!’ I said, ‘Well, figure out how to make your big hips look good!’ I am not a yes man. I think that’s why she wants me around, because I say no all the time. I love to say no all the time. And she accepts it. Honestly, we just let loose. I always told her, ‘You have the power to be fucking fabulous and so do I.’
How did it feel to see your dance moves on the Renaissance tour stage?
It felt amazing to see…and to be on that stage with her. There were so many full-circle moments for me on that tour – especially after we performed, when we would hit the clubs in all the cities I’ve never been to. I had people in those clubs who have been watching me online for years. Club kids kept coming up to me and telling me how much they adored me – it felt so nice to get that love. I was in New Orleans and this guy said, ‘Jonte’, do you know the reason why I didn’t commit suicide was because of you?’ I told him, ‘Baby. I’m so happy that you were there to receive that message.’
You also spent a lot of time in Japan – what brought you there?
An old Japanese guy who was not even a dancer. He was an investor and had tons of studios in Hiroshima. This was right after September 11, so when he asked me to fly over and teach, I was afraid to travel. When he told me how much I was getting paid, I said, ‘I’ll be there.’
During the pandemic, you reconnected with your family that you hadn’t seen in 20 years. What was that like?
Oh God, you’re so deep. When I left Portland, Oregon [his birthplace], in 2001, my nieces and nephews were one and two. When I came back, they were in their 20s with kids. When I finally came back to see them, they still had love for me. I wish I could have been there to see them grow up, but I had to sacrifice my family for my career.
Why do you think your choreography is in a lane of its own?
It’s a mixture of ballet, Brazilian martial arts, traditional and modern African dance, and so many invented moves.… All these different elements bring a vibe.
Is it important for us to protect Blackness and queerness from being attacked, watered down or overly commercialized?
It is, because I remember how it was. I live in Harlem and I used to walk out of my house and be called a fucking faggot or have people chasing me and trying to beat me up. Now when I walk out of my house, someone says, ‘You’re fierce.’ Sometimes I miss the days when I had to fight more.
How can fighting for your art transform an artist?
It makes you work harder. It makes you push harder. When I got called a faggot, I went on stage – sometimes [with] people like [transgender model and artist] Amanda Lepore – and I let out all the anger. I bring all of what I went through that day right to the performance. My testimony comes from all that I had to absorb.
What’s the longest amount of time you ever rehearsed for a project, and why?
I’m still rehearsing for a project and I am always asking why. That’s my life. My life is a project and I am always questioning things.
Who are you most excited to work with next?
Me. It’s time. Why are so many of us artists always stuck behind the girls? It’s time for us to be the girl. I’m flattered by those who put me beside them. It’s very honest to me. It lets me know that my work has not been in vain. Some of my inspiration, especially Bob Fosse. I try to incorporate his movement in my movement.
What did you learn, if anything, from being part of the Alvin Ailey education system?
That I can’t be put in a box. When I first went there, I had cornrows – which had taken four years to grow – and they told me to shave my head. They started to make the dancers look the same and have the same uniform basically – especially the male dancers. This is not for me. I’m a free spirit. They didn’t understand that. I pretended I was going to Alvin Ailey – just to tell my parents that I was going to school – but I was starting to audition for MTV, Madonna, Aaliyah, all of them. The first gig I booked was Pink’s first tour. I didn’t do it, because I called my mom and told her and she said, ‘I don’t know who Pink is, but your ass going to be blue, come home.’ So I had to finish high school. I did and worked with this Spanish artist named Thalia. Then Mya and then Janet [Jackson].
What did you learn from being on the road with those three? That I could be queer and be on stage in front of a whole bunch of straight people and be accepted.
What are you excited about bringing to life in the next year?
I’m working on movement coaching. I’m building it all on my website, jontemoaning.com. I’ll continue working on choreography, workshops, lessons and collaborations with people and brands.
What do you notice the most when you look at the next generation of queer choreographers?
The fact that they’re fearless. They have examples to look at on TikTok or social media and it helps them dream when they see the dancers before them. It’s like they’re an extension of who we were but they have so many more outlets to express themselves than we did. That gives me hope.
ELIO IANNACCI is an award-winning writer, poet and a long-time arts reporter for The Globe and Mail. He has contributed to 80 publications worldwide, including Vogue Italia, The Hollywood Reporter, Maclean’s, The Toronto Star, and Sotheby’s Insight magazine. His Master’s thesis, Queer-Diva Collaboration in 20th Century Popular Music, was nominated for a Governor General’s Gold Medal.
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