Through The Years

The Movie List begins and quickly spirals into an obsession. 'Dance and Stuff' as a phrase that means absolutely everything and nothing.

It all started in Jack Ferver's Greenpoint apartment—kombucha in the fridge, all-black wardrobe, and elaborate meals. Jack and Reid, friends since their Interlochen days, launched Dance and Stuff as a way to talk about what they were seeing, making, and obsessing over in the dance world and beyond. For nearly 200 episodes, the podcast was a sprawling, intimate conversation between two downtown dance artists who could go from Beth Gill's Catacomb to a full Melancholia retelling to deep Cunningham technique philosophy in a single breath. The show became a document of NYC dance culture in real time—Lincoln Center debriefs, downtown experimental work, ballet politics, and an ever-growing Movie List that would eventually become its own cultural artifact. Jack's apartment was the unofficial studio and the whole thing felt like eavesdropping on the smartest, funniest, most chaotic hang in the dance world.

Voice memos from hotel rooms, grad school, and the other side of the world. Reid talks into the void and the void talks back.

When Jack stepped back to focus on other work, Reid kept the podcast going—but it transformed into something quieter, more diaristic, more like voice memos from the road. They were in grad school, recording from Philadelphia, then Australia and wherever their costume design work took them. The show became deeply personal and reflective, less structured, more vulnerable. This era captures a specific kind of artistic solitude and uncertainty—what does the show even mean when it's just one person talking into the void? But that void-talking turned into some of the most emotionally honest episodes. Reid processing grief, isolation, travel, costume deadlines, and the strange suspended animation of grad school during a pandemic. It's the quietest era, and the most tender.

Line dancing, hawk paranoia, and Little House on the Prairie wannabe country house domesticity.

Jeremy Jacob, who'd been lurking in the background and guest-appearing, officially becomes co-host. The show transforms again—this time into a chronicle of domestic life, obsessive movie-watching, and the arrival of THE CHICKENS. Christina, Pretty, Blackie, Mystery, and Belinda become recurring characters. Food discussions reach unprecedented levels of detail and passion. The Movie List hits 1,700+ films and becomes a genuine cultural document. Book clubs start happening. Reid's costume design career explodes—they're working for Ailey, Royal Ballet, Ballet Idaho, Miami City Ballet, the Vienna State Opera. Jeremy's making art, filming, and reporting from the chicken-coop. The show is looser, funnier, more chaotic than ever before. They're watching everything: Japanese reality TV, Love Island UK, Popstar Academy, plus every art film and Merchant Ivory oddity they can find. Line dancing becomes a thing. Domestic life in the country (tomato abundance, Bosch screw guns, Japanese label makers) sits alongside dance-world rigor and political rage. It's the longest era, the most sprawling, the most fully itself. The show has become what it always wanted to be: two artists talking about dance and stuff, with emphasis on the stuff.