Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Earl 'Snake Hips' Tucker

Melissa tells me I need to work on loosening up for Latin dances. Cuban hips and all that stuff. I'm trying - I do the exercises and I try to remember the whole slow-hip-quick-hip-quick-hip-slow-hip routine but I have to say it doesn't come natural. In fact I'm pretty sure it doesn't come natural for most men in the U.S. We're taught that any moving of the hips is to be avoided for certain moronic social reasons. Never underestimate the power of stupidity (and coming up in a public school system with about 3000 little morons looking for their chance to make your life miserable).

Anyway, today I was trolling around YouTube and I came across a video that made me want to just give up the whole Cuban hip routine. This guy is Earl 'Snake Hips' Tucker. He came on the dance scene in mid-20's Harlem as a sort of dance freak act. He hung out with the Savoy gang and danced at the Cotton Club performing his unique interpretation of the 'Snake Hips Dance' which was possibly an interpretation of a ritualistic African dance.

All I can say is it appears the man has no bones!

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Out of Time

I look young for my age. This is interesting, because what used to be an insult is now a compliment. It is also context specific, because looking young is a huge hassle just when you don't hassles. For example, college. Go home, little girl, go back to high school, and on and on. I used to hold a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other (I drank the beverage, let the cig burn) just to make me look older. It didn't, I'm sure.

Now, of course, I find it handy, especially since my husband and I enjoy many dancing venues that draw a young crowd, like swing dancing. Even so, I know that we do stand out. I may look young, but I don't look like a teenager.

So that was what made this Sunday's dance so interesting. Gary and I attended a concert given by the Indianapolis Jazz Club. The music was 1920's. There were some young people there, but most were probably 70 or 80. I loved watching grey heads bobbing up and down with the music, and singing along. It made me wonder what future young kids will think of me mouthing the words to Nine Inch Nails. Anyway. We danced a lot. We garnered quite a few compliments, all related mostly around "you young people sure look good", or, "we think it's nice that young people enjoy our music." I also got a "young lady" now and then. Funny.

I also got to dance with my dad. We did the foxtrot. And there's nothing that makes one feel like a little girl again than dancing with your dad.

All of this got me thinking about who you are in relation to other people. And not just age. What you have on may look weird in one crowd, but blends in another. A dance that you do may not be the dance others are doing, but the steps fit just fine. For me, it's important to know who I am no matter what is going on around me.

And okay, so most of the time I choose to be an odd, against the grain, teenybopper. I saw a white headed woman last night jitterbugging and giggling as her man whirled her around. I hope I am her when I get to be that age.

Swing baby, swing.

West End Jazz Band

Sunday we caught a good show at the Sterrett Center on the east side of Indianapolis. The West End Jazz Band is an outfit out of Chicago and they focus on the music of the Jazz Age (20's and 30's). They were in good form too, tearing it up with up-tempo music of the era. Unfortunately a lot of 20's music is too fast for swing dancing - triple-steps become shuffles and the singles become…well…just wild. Dances like the Charleston were meant to be wild - exuberant, an outlet for the pent up energy of the day's youth and the new-found affluence of the middle-classes. All that pre-depression joy welling up and spilling out in music, booze, and women rouging their knees. I highly recommend F. Scott Fitzgerald for anyone who gives a hoot about the 20's - The Great Gatsby is a personal favorite but if you're in the mood for a short story try Bernice Bobs her Hair or maybe Diamond Big as the Ritz (mind you, that one shows the racial bigotry of the time).

I want to learn the Charleston. We've been picking up a few odds and ends in association with learning the Lindy Hop but those steps are really watered down from the original dance. I've tried to look a few of the foot patterns online - Mixed Pickles has a little information and even some verbal descriptions of the dances…which have led me to believe that no human being can learn to dance by reading instructions! I guess I should be satisfied with the fact that the Foxtrot and Waltz are dances which remained popular throughout the 20's - either that or buckle down and get someone who can teach me to Toddle!

Then again, I'm not so sure my personal outlook lends itself to the dances of the 20's. Like I said, they were wild and exuberant - they were meant to be fun: fling off the shackles of every-day life along with all those repressive social mores (shocking was the fact a woman would show her ankles let alone her knees…and no sleeves? You might as well be nude!) have a few drinks, catch some hot jazz, and get on the dance floor. I'm all for abandoning social mores - it's the giggling and goofing that sometimes escapes me. I'm more comfortable with a bit of the depression era seriousness and soberness to play off - it makes me a lot more fun.

Anyway, back to the West End Jazz Band. The crowd at the Sterrett Center always pleases me. They're almost all seniors and most of them very senior, seniors but they're out there having a good time even if it is at half tempo. Plus there's the added pleasure of the comments - yes, I'll admit it, I like to get compliments on my dancing…is it a crime to want to hear that you're doing well? The Sterrett Center is special though - we've attended two dances there and both times I've had some elderly person toddle up to me to ask if Kelly and I are professional dancers or if we teach dance. Damn that feels good! It makes all those days where I'm not sure I can hit the floor with my feet a lot easier to bear!

The one thing I couldn't figure out, though, was the tickets for the Sterrett Center dance…