DANCE REVIEW : Lyon Opera Ballet Takes Wing With 3 San Diego Premieres : Benefit: Choreographers offer diverse pieces in performance to aid cash-shy San Diego Foundation for Performing Arts.

Tuesday night’s concert by the Lyon Opera Ballet, presented as a benefit for the ailing San Diego Foundation for Performing Arts, made abundantly, distressingly clear how much San Diego stands to lose should the foundation succumb to its current fiscal crisis and go under.

Not only did the Lyon Opera Ballet bring superb world-class dancing to the Spreckels Theatre, but thanks to the French troupe’s policy of commissioning dances from diverse choreographers, the concert also offered local premieres of pieces by three important international dance-makers, Ralph Lemon and Bill T. Jones from the United States and Angelin Preljocaj of France.

Lemon’s piece, which opened the program, was evocatively titled “My Tears Have Been My Meat Night and Day.” It ranged from the sublime--a vertical line of dancers in which the person in front tenderly kissed the next dancer before moving away--to the silliness of a contest, announced by a woman dancer, to see which of two men could jump higher. “Remember,” she said mock-seriously, “male energy emanates from the penis.”

If dances were judged by how well a choreographer has realized his or her intentions, then “Tears” would have fallen short. Lemon stated in the concert program that the work dealt with “community and the conflicts within it.” However, apart from a tiny drumbeat sometimes overlaid on the Monteverdi vespers score, conflict was in short supply.

In the “jumping contest,” one man lifted the other up rather than competing against him. The lighting by Stan Presser was soft, as were Katherine Maurer’s colorful, draped costumes of tunics and wide-legged pants. Even a segment in which the dancers staged “sneak attacks,” coming from behind and grabbing another dancer around the waist, seemed more playful than assaultive.

Happily, whatever Lemon’s intentions, he created a dazzling dance full of breath--lots of wide, extended arms--in which the dancers grouped and regrouped fluidly. A section toward the end, in which all 15 dancers leaped and swung on stage, seemed to reflect Lemon’s sheer joy at having so many bodies to work with.

Preljocaj’s “Larmes Blanches” (White Tears) contrasted the chaos and harshness of modern life with a calmer, more orderly past. Annik Goncalvese costumed both men and women in au courant black pants and white shirts. However, the shirts had ruffled cravats and one sleeve with a ruffled cuff. Anxiety-evoking taped sounds of distorted speech and a ticking clock competed with a Baroque harpsichord score.

The dancers, often in male-female pairs, were placed on stage as neatly as partners at a 17th-Century ball, but their movements were jerky and mechanical--the postmodern grimaces of figures in Robert Longo’s “Men in the Cities” paintings.

Although “Larmes Blanches” showed off virtuoso dancing, it felt excessively cold and formal--a dance that came entirely from the head. That provided a vivid contrast to the finale, “Love Defined,” which seemed to speak straight from choreographer Bill T. Jones’ great, compassionate heart.

In “Love Defined,” Jones’ work (whose “Last Supper at Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was a highlight of the San Diego Foundation’s 1990-91 season) ran and soared with some very odd and wonderful songs written and performed by Daniel Johnston.

Deceptively amateurish and sung off-key, Johnston’s little songs are superficially goofy, but with something touching underneath. How can anyone not laugh at a line about meeting over the embryos in the jars . . . and not feel a twinge when the singer says it used to be love--”What is it now? It’s pain.”?

Jones’ choreography artfully used the music and the Lyon company’s talents. At times the dancers were spaghetti-limbed, performing distorted movements with no visible tension. To one of the livelier songs, Jones drew on the jitterbug, the twist and other popular dance forms.

Especially poignant was a song about King Kong--”They thought he was a monster, but he was a king”--in which the dancers seemed to accompany the music, moving with a hushed, held-in quality, as if they too were hearing the song for the first time and didn’t want to miss a word.

Several times, two women on pointe appeared with their hands over their ears, as if the weird music disturbed them. “Love Defined” ended with the sweet image of the other dancers, loosely grouped on the stage, reaching out to the two women and taking them into a comforting embrace.