Memorial Day Jam

I'm not very good about living up to my promises. I know I said I'd get a report on the Old Coney Island Memorial Day dance aired last weekend but I didn't come through. Sorry about that, it's been one of those weeks!

Old Coney Island is worth a look if you're in the Cincinnati area. You can see the remnants of its old soul through the newly added water slides and wave pools. Deco elements are visible as you drive in through the gates and the pavilion where the dance was held (not the Moonlight Pavilion as promised but still) is the same sort of venue you'll find if you visit High Bridge Kentucky. According to my father-in-law, you used to be able to find an outdoor venue like the one at Old Coney just about any side of Indianapolis - that was the way of the late forties: Friday night you'd drive down to the pavilion and dance. Westlake here on the West Side of Indianapolis had a particularly memorable pavilion where Bob described seeing Louis Armstrong and standing so close to the bandstand he could see the beads of sweat rolling down Louis' forehead on a warm spring night. I'll never gripe about having an air-conditioned ballroom for my dancing but when I hear that story I kind of feel like some the native magic of dancing's been irrevocably lost to the mechanical churning of progress.

The dance felt a little like taking a step back about 65 years. The organizers did a great job by modeling the event after a USO event of the war-time 40's. The band wore military uniforms and the bandleader called out the soloists by rank as well as name. The effect was transcendent - one moment you're in 2009 with all that implies and the next you're in '43 at some army base located in the armpit of god-knows-where taking a brief break from the blood and tears. The band strikes up a hot Glen Miller tune and you go into a jivey swing hoping the physicality of the dance and holding a woman close will exorcise the death and despair of war. For a few hours the mortars are replaced by tom toms and you can almost reclaim the youth you've donated to your country. Well, almost.

There's one interesting thing I've noticed about all these reenactment-like dances. They inevitably miss one fact and that is the collision between the military and zoot-suit communities. The song Zoot Suit Riot wasn't written just because, you know? It was a reaction to actual rioting between Latino youths and Navy sailors and Marines in Los Angeles during the war. It turned out to be yet another sad instance of minorities suffering the lynch mob mentality that would plague the country right up through the 60's.

Still, every one of these dances will have at least one guy in a zoot suit in attendance. Ah, the amnesia that time endows us with - sooner or later people will believe sailors got off the boats in LA, put on their zoot suits, and went to party in some jazz bar.

History aside, the floor at Old Coney is pretty brutal if you're used to dancing on hard wood. It's advertized as 'terrazzo' which you should read as 'linoleum' and it's (of course) right on top of a concrete slab. The end result is a slick surface that will leave your feet tired and your knees sore. Not the best place to display your moves. The crowd at the dance was - well - typical. There were more dancers than floor space (a tribute to the organizers) and they contained the usual percentage of louts and clods. It wasn't as bad as Fountain Square but it definitely wasn't stunningly better on the floor etiquette side of the equation. Still fun was had by all and we're planning a return to the venue in hopes that it will be a little less crowded on a non-holiday weekend.

USO Memorial Day Swing Dance at Coney Island, OH

My dad was in the navy during the Korean War. I knew that, of course. I’d even seen pictures; Dad dressed in his uniform with his buddies, coming out of the surf on same far away beach, and lots of scenery pics from Japan. I’d also petted the silk gown and drooled over the pearls he brought bad for my mom. Oh, and admired that cool anchor tattoo on his upper arm. I think I knew then I’d have a tat someday. Sorry mom.

But I never asked him much about his military service. If I did he’d shrug and say the enemy didn’t have an air force or navy, so his ship would sit off shore and lob shells. Occasionally one would come back from the shoreline, but not often. In general though, I really never thought much about my dad being a vet.

So being at a dance especially to honor veterans was really neat, and more emotional than I thought it would be. The venue was a beautiful outdoor pavilion that had been there forever, in a charming park that looked straight out of the 50’s. The band was great, the singers really good too. The band was dressed in full military garb; they played dance selections from the 40s along with military numbers like Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Mom and dad danced a lot. They were laughing and having a blast. Gary and I did too. Then they had a part where the band played the branch songs of every part of the military. Vets were supposed to stand when they heard their song. When it came to Anchors Away, my mom poked my dad. He frowned. I don’t want to, he said. I said please dad, I want to clap for my dad. So he did. And I did. I almost cried, darn it.

I said later to Gary it’s not often a girl gets to applaud her dad. And no matter what he said, being in a war is dangerous business. I’m so proud of him. And every other man or women who serves this country. No matter what my beliefs about certain wars, who ever served or is serving now deserves our respect and appreciation.

And that wasn’t the only nostalgic heartstring. The band also played a few numbers my mom used to sing to me when I was a baby. I looked over at her and she was softly singing along with my favorite. I started leaking again. Blast.

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

How you can love!

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

Heavens above!

You make my sad heart jump with joy,

And when you're near I just

Can't sit still a minute.

I'm so, Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

Please tell me dear.

What makes me love you so?

You're not handsome, it's true,

But when I look at you,

I just, Oh, Johnny!Oh, Johnny! Oh!

Fountain Square and Terry Lee and the Rockaboogie Band

First, hey Fountain Square venue bookers…that’s TERRY not JERRY. I’m hoping Terry was flattered. Terry plays in that style, but he is his own person and writes his own stuff. He’s fabulous in his own right.

Seeing Terry again was wonderful, and Gary and I had a good time. Not great. And that wasn’t because of Terry, that was because of the mostly teen crowd. Don’t get me wrong, I love being around young people. And I’m glad there is a new generation of dancers. I also remember what it was like to be 17…wanting so much to catch some young man’s eye, afraid that I wouldn’t, so insecure I did some really dumb stuff worse than what anybody did at FS. Anyway. I understand that for many who come to Fountain Square it is less about the dancing and the music and more for social reasons. Teens don’t have many places to go and FS is a very cool venue.

I get it. I really do. Saying that, the throngs of giggling girls blocking the floor, the wild flailing of some young men trying to impress said girls, and general lack of floor craft makes dancing hard.

Which got me thinking about the Casa Loma last year and why I enjoyed it so much. The crowd was a mixture of young, old, and middle aged. Different ethnicities and orientations were represented. Various levels of dancing know how. The energy was wide and deep; enough young people to make it exciting and free, some older folks to keep it grounded, fabulous dancers to watch, non dancers hopping around to make it fun, transvestites to add flare, and enough latin and funk to liven up what can be white man boring. I might also add the ‘Loma is much bigger than Fountain Square, which also helps.

And so while visiting a teen hang out, going with my parents to a senior night, or attending a ballroom event are great, my favorite places are diverse in every way. I hope Terry and his band had fun. People certainly were dancing. But I noticed a table full of middle aged ladies who left soon after the show began. I had heard them earlier laughing in the ladies room about twisting the night away. They seemed like big fans. I don’t think they got to dance. Sad.
I could SO see Terry at the Casa Loma. Other Rockabilly bands play there. Maybe he’d also consider another dance at High Bridge, KY. Or more appearances at Mike’s Dance Barn. Or the Willowbrook near Chicago, rockabilly bands are there as well. Or with the Rockabilly festival here in Indy in June… they have it every year.

Lessons Learned

It's good to be reminded of the fact you're not insane. We go through life making decisions and, months later, we can't remember the reasoning which led to our conclusions. Sometimes the logic is totally lost and sometimes you discover it was so flawed that you don't want to claim responsibility for being so irrational. Other times, though, you discover that you're a pretty smart person gifted with a keen sense for discerning what you want to do again from what you'd only do if forced at the business end of a cattle prod. Last night at Fountain Square was a unique combination of both experiences and I'm convinced that I've got a split personality when it comes to dance decision making.

The positive side (on which I promise Kelly I will dwell) was Terry Lee and the Rockaboogie Band. Terry's a genius - a genuine musical Einstein with a keyboard slide-ruler of boogie. You've heard the old expression 'music hath charms to sooth the savage beast'? Well, apparently the same is true for the savage cold because the entire night I got past the hacking cough that's kept me grounded and I pretty much cast off the fatigue of the flu. Absolutely amazing what a good band can do for you! I know I've said it before but I'll repeat myself without shame: see this band.

The less positive side? Fountain Square is still in the possession of pre-teens who'd rather stand, slack-jawed on the dance floor than move their feet and the events there are still hosted by a group that hasn't figured out what dance floor etiquette is all about. After being stepped on three times I remembered why we stopped going to Fountain Square.

In about three hours we're going to take off for Cincinnati and Old Coney Island. I'll pen a report on that one either tomorrow night or Memorial Day.

Happy Memorial Day!

Into the Lion's Den

After almost two weeks of being sick and about a week of hard-core antibiotics, I'm getting back on the dance floor. Oh, and I'm not gently stepping it up. Tonight Terry Lee is playing Fountain Square and we're braving the tiny dance floor an ill-mannered dancers to get our rockaboogie out.

Terry burns up a mean Jerry Lee Lewis-style show which means some true rockabilly music at a blistering pace. I'd say that Rockabilly isn't an intimate music but I'm not sure that's true. Think about it: you're out there on the floor, snaking around your partner in figures that barely clear one-another, keyed to the beat and synchronized, and under the hot lights both of you are sweating and grooving. I don't know how much more intimate you can get! It's certainly more physical than most ballroom dances and a lot more connected than East or West Coast Swing.

All that philosophy probably will go out the window tonight, though. I'm just hoping I can dance a few sets without my sinuses making me so dizzy I fall on my butt or my cough coming back with such vengeance that I can't catch my breath. The real pain in the ass about getting older is the fact it takes too darn long to recover when life kicks you in the seat of the pants. The twenty-something me never was into exercise but I got to think he would come back from a cold a lot quicker than the forty-something version does.

This weekend promises to be a dance extravaganza too. We're heading off to Cincinnati tomorrow to visit Coney Island. Okay, so you're telling me that Coney Island is in New York, not Ohio. Yeah, you'd be right – partially. Cincinnati is home to Old Coney Island Amusement Park and Moonlight Gardens Pavilion where we'll be joining a group of WWII vets for a Memorial Day dance. What's now called Old Coney Island Amusement Park started back in 1886 and through over a century it has evolved but mostly stayed open to the public. Dancing at Old Coney will be interesting – I checked and they have a terrazzo dance floor. It'll be like swinging in a bathroom!

I promise pictures of all our weekend activities will be added to the blog and flikr stream as soon as possible! Wish me luck with my poor, feeble lungs!

I Hate Snot

It's troubling to think that for two years running I've had a spring bronchial infection that's played major havoc with my dancing. Last year it was pneumonia and this year it's a lingering flu-like thing that's worked its way up from my upper respiratory tract to my sinuses. This year's version is hanging on for all its worth and if it's still here next Monday I'll be going to the doctor for serious antibiotics. We did a brief practice last night and I was absolutely gassed afterwards. I absolutely hate it.

It does bring home just how physical an act dancing is, though. Sometimes I think of swing dance as just a thing we do, kind of like some people go to Starbucks every morning on their way to work. It's easy to forget that it's aerobic until your lungs don't want to work the way they should. So, for the time being I'm confined to hacking and coughing and dancing very little. Tonight we'll sit out the Any Swing Goes dance we'd hoped to attend in favor of popcorn in front of the TV.

Man I'm ready to be well.

The Paranormal Ball, Revisited

I’m not going to write a lot about the dance itself, as Gary has already done so. In short, it wasn’t exactly what we thought, but we enjoyed the venue, being with each other, and dancing. The people there were fascinating. The night was cool and crisp. And as we walked arm in arm back to our car we were bathed in silvery light from the prettiest full moon I’d seen in a long time.

And that got me thinking about dancing and just how much it’s changed out lives for the better. It’s not just the actual dancing, although that in and of itself has been a tremendous shift. It’s also that dancing has become a focus for why we travel. Gary and I are both homebodies. We are writers and we both enjoy being at home. We do get out. We have friends. But left to our own devices, we are hibernators.

Dancing is mostly a public event. We do have our own dance floor. But to really be able to execute our moves we have to go out. And dancing out is just…different. There’s the energy from the crowd. And when you know people are watching, you try just a little bit harder. We have our familiar places, such as the Starlight and the Roof, and we enjoy those. But dancing has also caused us to reach out to historic venues, interesting venues, and far away venues. There is nothing else in our lives that have caused us to do this.

Other people do it around different things: food, fashion, music, bodies of water, etc. Until now, I could never see Gary and I doing this, although the occasional search for ice cream or perfect beach is fun. Dancing has become a passion and a way of life. I never thought it would happen to me. I especially never thought it would happen with dancing.

Something else happened too. In the process of dancing “getting us out there”, we’ve encountered other wonderful things, like that lovely full moon the other night. I’m not sure we would have seen it otherwise.

I hope everyone finds that special something that causes them to explore, especially homebodies. Nothing wrong with being introverts; I think we are many fathoms deep in a way extroverts are often not. But…having an activity to base forays upon can lead you to places and vistas you might never have imagined.

“The world is full of such marvelous things, I’m sure we should all be as happy
as kings.” -RLS

Happy (Belated) May Day!

Something Spooky Going On

Sorry for the delay in getting my latest addition to the blog posted. I ran into a little bout with laryngitis and I've been sick in bed since Sunday night so I haven't had a chance to do anything but cough up flem and sleep. I don't feel much better today – but well enough to get to work and, therefore, well enough to tap out a few words about the weekend's dancing.

As you know, we went to the Indiana Paranormal Convention masquerade ball on Saturday night. The event was a bit hit and miss: when we first saw an advertisement for the ball it was supposed to be in a hotel ballroom, and then it was in the Danville 4H Fairground Convention Center, but when we arrived it turned out to be scheduled for the small animals barn. Yes, I said barn. A genuine, fairground, pole barn with a stage at one end and a bar set up at the other – oh, and a concrete floor.

I'd like to take a moment to talk about the connotations of words. When you hear the world 'masquerade' what comes to your mind? I imagine that scene from Labyrinth where Jereth dances with Sarah, you know: elaborate costumes, dancing, and all that entails. There's a certain cache involved when you use the word masquerade. You have a high bar to clear and you've got to put a lot of effort into getting over it. What we attended at the Paranormal Convention is more like a costume party (and kind of a dud of one at that). Costume parties are a lot less formal. You're talking a few friends, a bowl of chips, some dip, and masks or tossed-together costumes. Nothing too elaborate.

Kelly and I dressed down, just kind of weird t-shirts, nothing more, so we expected to maybe be the slobs of the night. To be honest we hoped our dancing would carry us through – if we danced well enough maybe people would cut us slack on the costumes. Come on, can you imagine doing serious swing dancing while dressed as Marie Antoinette?

Well, I knew we were in trouble when I saw that we'd be dancing in the Small Animals barn. Nothing about seeing that phrase outside your dance venue is good. We got inside and found that we'd be dancing on concrete. No problem, it'd curtail our dancing a little and there'd be no nice sliding about but we still could dance. We found a table in the middle of the room near the dance floor and waited for the guests to start showing up. We waited…and waited…and waited some more.

I think in the end there may have been thirty people in the venue. Some of them had serious costumes. I saw several Phantoms of the Opera and a couple of Victorian or Edwardian ladies. There was a gorilla but no Bigfoot (how disappointing). It took a while to realize that the roadies who were setting up the stage actually were the opening band. I think the realization kicked in when I realized they were warming up with Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water". They weren't bad but they were LOUD. Note to anyone who's going to play the small animal barn at the Danville 4H Fairground: you don't need to go to 11 on your amps. Seven will work just fine.

I'm not shy about dancing. I'm not the fool who starts dancing in Wal-Mart when I hear the muzak version of a tune I know but if there's one other couple out on the dance floor I'm willing to get out there (and sometimes I'm willing to be the first if we're at an event that's specifically dance related). It took at least thirty minutes before anyone started dancing and even then it was the fair organizers doing the white-boy shuffle. That was enough to get us on the floor, though. I think we did several WCS's and a couple ECS's before we leaked out of the venue under a full moon.

I might have encountered a rogue rhinovirus but I didn't see any UFOs. Dang.

The Microbe

Over the weekend I contracted some kind of bug. A nasty thing: low-grade fever, coughing up vile green stuff, laryngitis, and less attractive features. Two days later and I'm still getting over it. Anyway, the experience reminded me of a sheet music cover I recently saw. I think my father-in-law has this rag but I'm not sure.

The cover of The Microbe is (appropriately) printed on green paper and features a trio of distinctive bugs out for a stroll. I can't help but notice the racial stereotypes in the artwork. The bug on the far left is dressed as a early twentieth century street cop and has characteristics meant to indicate Irish lineage. The center bug is smoking a big meerschaum pipe and wearing a stylized helmet meant to indicate German-ness. The third in the trio has a long moustache and wears a hat that makes me think the artist meant to depict him as Italian. Beyond the apparent racism of the artwork you also have to consider the implied racism. Science is just beginning to understand the nature of many diseases and the microscopic invaders (microbes) that cause them and here the cover art of The Microbe depicts these germs in the role of another invading hoard: immigrants. Maybe I should feel more sympathetic toward my illness?

The rag itself was penned in 1909 by Webb Long. I could only find three other pieces by this author: The Popular Rag (1912), Imp Rag (1910) and Sing Rock-A-Bye Baby to Me (1913). Beyond that the author seems to disappear. I found nothing about his life, not even birth and death dates. It seems strange that someone could author a piece of music, have it published, sell it in numbers large enough to remain in print a hundred years later yet nothing of the person remains. I hope the same fate awaits my cold.

The Cute Little Wigglin' Dance

I had a few moments during lunch today so I set out to harvest some graphics for the blog. I'm like a Viking when it comes to old graphics. I set forth in my computerized longboat, scouring the shores of distant lands for old ads, articles, paintings, and the like which I can loot. Then I return to my little cyber-village with my hoard, happy and ready to feast. You've seen the results of some of these forays – adulterated ads from the 40's and 50's that don't promote anything but a general sense of weirdness. It's fun and it satisfies my penitent for graffiti without requiring spray paint or the chance of going to jail.

Well, today I found myself on the waters of old sheet music and I started perusing cover art. There is some amazing cover art for the music of the teens, twenties, and thirties. After that it all becomes muggy headshots of Sinatra or Elvis done in low res on a purple or blue or pink background. The ragtime era stuff is much more inventive if you can stomach occasional racist imagery and titles. I tend to like the covers with a deco flare and that (along with the weird title) drew me to the piece of sheet music I'm writing about today.

"The Cute Little Wigglin' Dance" had me at 'wigglin' dance'. I mean, that's such a visual: what exactly is the wigglin' dance? What sorts of steps does it have? On what occasion would you do the wigglin' dance? Part of me thinks it’s a great euphemism for really having to pee yet another part of me wants to make it a lot bawdier. You know the Victorians came up with names for body parts just so they wouldn't have to say 'leg' in public so maybe it's no different with wigglin' dance?

The artwork's got it all. Look at that bullet hat the poor girl's wearing. Is she dancing or is she about to be shot from a cannon? She's dressed in some kind of triple-decker dervish dress that's flaring out in spite of the fact she seems to be standing still. Maybe each layer is supported by some kind of cantilever system? Maybe this is a whole new and sadistic use of underwire? Of course, in the teens definition of modesty she's wearing an ankle-length underskirt in spite of the fact the bottom layer of her dress extends past her knees. Wouldn't want anyone thinking she's got loose morals – even if they might mistake her for an extra off the last Flash Gordon movie. Hey, at least she's wearing sensible shoes. Oh, and did you notice she's surrounded by huge mutant bacteria? Maybe the wigglin' dance is actually the last stage in some horrid, early 20th century plague that claimed the lives of youth during the ragtime era? Maybe this woman is dressed in the traditional garb of a culture that was wiped from the face of the earth by the unstoppable advance of the wigglin' dance epidemic of 1919? Only this bit of paper remains to tell of their once glorious civilization.

The song's architects actually have a pedigree worth mentioning. John Turner Layton (1894 – 1978) penned the music for "Way Down Yonder in New Orleans" in 1922 (used in an Astaire/Rogers dance number in the film The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle (1939)) and "Whoa Tillie" (1923) which was popularized by Bessie Smith. Layton also performed in Vaudeville and eventually moved to England where he performed up into the 1960's. Henry Creamer (1879 – 1930) was the lyricist of the pair, writing the words to such songs as "After You've Gone" which Sophie Tucker popularized. In 1924 when he parted company with Layton, Creamer teamed with pianist James P. Johnson and contributed to such songs as "Alabama Stomp" and Ruth Etting's "If I Could be You". Creamer founded Club Clef with James Reese Europe in 1920.

I found the song on Rhapsody. It was performed by the Frisco Jass Band (no, not a typo, it's supposed to be 'ss'). It's a bouncy piece (I guess a wigglin' dance should be bouncy) with a sloppy trombone bit and a New Orleans feeling clarinet. Unfortunately, the version I heard didn't include any lyrics but I imagine they'd be the sort of words that would strike Bertie Wooster as 'pippy'. I'll never know, I guess. For now the lyrics are lost to time and maybe that's just as well. Sometimes when you actually reach back into the past and get hold of something like The Cute Little Wigglin' Dance you come back disappointed; it turns out to be less than you imagined. I won't stop looking though because I've got to know how Creamer described his 'wigglin' dance'. Hey, who knows what else I might find while I'm looking!

Para-Something. Paranormal, I believe.

Kelly and I like to seek out new dancing experiences. We've danced in historic venues like the Indy Roof Ballroom, the West Baden Springs Resort, and St. Louis' Casa Loma Ballroom. We've danced in new venues like Starlight Ballroom and the Atrium. We've danced at a casino, a retirement center, and an outdoor pavilion. We've danced at weddings, Halloween parties, and Flag Day celebrations. But we've never danced with ghost hunters – until this weekend.

This weekend we're going to a masquerade party hosted by the Indiana Paranormal Society and I'm jazzed. All my life I've been into this stuff. I blame my grandmother who subscribed to UFO Magazine. I used to find her copies and read them when we visited. They terrified the heck out of me and left me afraid to traverse the dark hallway that led to my bedroom. I practically could hear Bigfoot scratching at the window while I hid under the sheets…or maybe it was a gray come to abduct me? Regardless, growing up I spent a great amount of time in dire need of Gary Larson's monster-proof snorkel.

Well, this weekend we're heading for Danville, IN to attend the Indiana Paranormal Convention but not in pursuit of the X-Files' truth. We're going to dance. The convention has a masquerade party that ought to be a blast. Hey a cash bar, silent auction, the promise of 'celebrities', and the potential of seeing Bigfoot doing the Carolina Shag? Sign me up, man! This definitely will be a photo-worthy event to say the least. Maybe we'll get there early enough to browse the convention itself, who knows? Anyway I promise to report in full!

In search of Cuban hips

Ah, the hip/butt area, the body part most women grow up learning to hate; too big, too flat, too round, too badonka, too wobbly, puckered, out of portion with the rest of ones body, etcetera ad naseum. But then came JLo; she popularized a full, round back end much the same way Brooke Shields did for furry eyebrows. I think that’s because JLo is Latin, and the Latin community celebrates a real women’s shape, instead of Angelo icons like Twiggy and Kate Moss.

Cuban hips, then, are an extension of this female friendly attitude about shape; a lovely, hip gyration that shows off this area. If done correctly it looks rather like a sideways figure eight; or you can think of it as one hip disappearing, then the other. Here are a number of pros doing a variety of dances all using the Cuban hip motion in all its ballroom glory:



Fabulous. But also extreme. I can do it. But alas, that final twist at the end hurts my knees. My teacher, Melissa, says I may be able to do it someday, but I’m thinking if it hurts my knees now it will always do so. Joints do not “get strong” as do muscles. I was bemoaning my sad story to Gary, who had some good advice. He’s noticed that in the venues we dance no one does it this extreme. So I watched. And he was right. Also, he said, are we not club dancers? And wouldn’t a more clubbish rendition of the Cuban hips work better for us? Hummmmm. I visited my favorite place, you tube. Here is a more “club” version of Cuban hips:



They are indeed using the Cuban hip movement, but it is softer. I got happier seeing this style; I can do it! Without hurting my knees! As I watched the clip a second time I realized the woman was doing other kinds of hip movements along with the Cuban, so I did some research. Lo and behold, there are many many kinds of hip movements from different dance styles. Here is one called the hip roll from belly dancing. I’m thinking this woman has no internal organs; her middle is filled with rubber or something, wow.



Here’s a hip drop, also from belly dancing:



This example is from my favorite WCS female dancer Tessa Cunningham doing a hip “bump”:



Another hip motion, this one from hip hop:



Another hip hop style called “popping”, or snake hips; Gary has posted an old video of a guy doing snake hip awhile back, this one is more modern:



Here’s a cool style called boogie hips: instead of your hip going back like in the Cuban motion, it goes forward. Yeah, it’s 70’s loud and proud, but ignore the costumes and watch the hips:



From the jazz world:



And finally, a little Cuban, a little hip hop, a little jazz all stirred up into a wonderful hippy mixture:



Fun, huh? Interestingly enough, I would have never done any of this research had I not had trouble with the Cuban hip motion. Maybe someday I’ll be able to get that knee wrenching twist at the end. But in the meantime there’s a host of hip movements I can do from all over the world. I may even take some lessons in some other dance styles, like jazz. Maybe belly dancing. I like those jingle bells.

The human body is a marvelous thing, capable of all kinds of movement. If something doesn’t work, another will. And that pretty much rocks.

Swishy swish swish.

Kentucky Fried Swing

Generally I don't think of Kentucky when I think of swing. The two don't seem to go together in spite of the fact Kelly and I are spending a great deal of time trying to learn Rockabilly swing. I guess it's just a personal bias or something. Maybe I need to get over myself or something. However, one day while browsing for historic dance venues in the Midwest, I stumbled across the Lexington Hep Cats Swing Club based out of the University of Kentucky. I browsed their events and found mention of an outdoor dance at High Bridge Park and I got intrigued.

High Bridge Park is located in Jessamine County, southwest of Lexington, Kentucky. It's tiny. I mean really tiny. Like less than a city block. However it centers around some really great scenery. One amazingly beautiful aspect of the park is the way the Kentucky River winds through the property. The park is located high on a bluff over the river and from an observation platform cantilevered over the hollow you get a dramatic view of the river winding southward through the green, hilly countryside. The most amazing view, however, is the spur of the Norfolk-Southern railroad that spans the hollow to give the park its name.

What does this have to do with dancing? Well, another feature of the park is an outdoor dance pavilion built in the 1920's. In its long history, the dance pavilion has played host to famous personalities such as Williams Jennings Bryant however by 2000 it had fallen into decay. With luck some dedicated people stepped in and rescued the structure. Today it's been restored to a condition similar to what it would have been back when Bryant spoke at the site.

Saturday, May second we made a trip south to Lexington. The weekend turned out wet, breezy, and cold but, since the pavilion is covered, it didn't interfere with our plans. We spent the night in a run-of-the-mill hotel outside of Lexington and then made our way to the park Sunday afternoon. The view was everything that the park website advertized; an amazing panorama of the Kentucky countryside and the river. The pavilion is an amazing sight too. Imagine that on the sight of this structure so many amazing things have happened.

Whenever we go to a historic venue I like to think about all that's happened in that spot before I ever became aware it existed. In High Bridge I think about all the joyous moments that have filtered through the old dance floor and soaked into the ground. A dance floor is all about fantasy: envisioning the music, feeling the beat, and sensing your partner all boils down to constructing a reality out of the air. Dance venues are places of bliss and heartbreak – just think about how many couples first saw each other across a dance floor and how many budding love affairs withered and died to the strains of Satin Doll or Some Enchanted Evening and its hard not to believe every dancehall is haunted in one way or another.

The band for the day was the MetroGnomes out of Jessamine County, Kentucky. Let me tell you, if you get a chance to see the MetroGnomes, don't hesitate just grab your dance shoes and go. They're a big band in all senses of that term. They really rocked the old pavilion in the way it deserved. Their tempo is hot, in the one set we stayed for they played one slow dance. I can only hope they follow Terry Lee's example and migrate northward into Indiana so that we can catch them again. I think they'd do the Indiana Roof proud.

As I mentioned, we only could stay for one set. The problem with traveling (even to Lexington) for a Sunday afternoon dance is that you've got to allow for the trip home and enough time to get to bed, get up, and get to work on Monday morning. I bemoan the decline of social dancing if only for the fact it relegated many dance events to Sundays when venues aren't being rented out by bigger, money-making ventures. Maybe there'll be resurgence, though I would argue the down economic environment argues against that since dance isn't a cheap hobby. Anyway, we finally rolled in to our driveway around 10 o'clock on Sunday night with tired eyes and a swing tune in our hearts. Being tired on Monday morning seldom feels this good.

Kentucky Bluegrass

Every time I visit Kentucky I’m surprised at how lovely it is. I have a rather stereotypic view of the place: backwoods and unsophisticated. Funny, because that is the same image some people have of Indiana. Anyway. Every time I go I’m reminded of how wrong preconceptions can be. Kentucky is a drop dead beautiful state; rolling hills, meandering streams, and even though I wouldn’t classify myself as a horse person, they do add to the bucolic aspect.

Lexington, Kentucky is smack dab in the middle of horse country; the long legged beauties that live here reside in stables that are grander than my home. There's definitely money in them thar rollin hills; check out this hotel that looks like a castle.

These horses wear blankets when it’s cold, and as my dad said, probably have servants who bring their oats on silver platters. I guess when you are capable of bringing home a million bucks you deserve your fancy breakfast.

On to why I’m talking so much about KY; Gary and I and my parents attended a very special swing dance very close to Lexington, Kentucky in High Bridge. It’s an historic spot; a railroad trestle spans a deep gorge with a sparkling river running underneath. At the top of a nearby hill is a park named High Bridge. In that park is an old dance pavilion with a wood floor. I won’t spend a lot of time describing because I know Gary will. J We had a blast. The MetroGnomes played (cute name), and they were great. Fab singer too. We danced a few hours. The Ky Hepcats Swing Club put on the event.

There were a few excellent dancers there. Mostly the good ones were older. Of the young people, only one man was, in my opinion, good. He definitely had it going on; he knew all the moves and was very slinky and smooth. He adjusted his obvious talent to whoever he was dancing with. The other twenties somethings were good in that they knew many moves, but oftentimes were jerky. I think of this, because if my arm were yanked out of my socket the way some of the young men were doing to their partners I would feel pain for a week. (NOTE: I don’t just think younger dancers are all moves…sometimesprofessionals look (to me) to be to be all technique and no soul.)

So I was ruminating about that on the way home; we passed lots of fancy horse stables, and I saw babies cavorting next to their mothers. The moms moved with grace; rippling muscles and a smooth gate. The colts and fillies hopped and skipped, sometimes their legs going every which way. Lots of energy, but no grace.

Gary asked me later on that night if I wished we’d started dancing earlier. Sometimes I do. It would be nice to be able to dance and not think about injuries the way I have to now. But as an optimist, here is how I mostly see it. First, I believe you come to things when the time is right. I don’t know if I would have had the discipline when I was younger to learn, nor the time. The work position I had ten years ago was stressful, and we had a huge yard and house to maintain.

Additionally, as I have grown older I’ve acquired more patience. Some. Bottom line, at this point in my life I’m willing to spend time on technique to get it right. And, although my body is creakier than it used to be, I know how to use it in a way I didn’t when I was younger. Also, I like myself now. And I don’t care as much what people think. That makes a difference when you are doing something in a public venue; at least it does for me.

Finally, I like having a steady dance partner. I understand some people think dancing with many people improves skills. Perhaps. I get that it would improve your skill in adapting to others, but if you only plan on dancing with one person, why would that matter? Gary and I want to get good…with each other. And what we have together dancing is very special, and of course, unique.
Which brings me to something else I noticed watching the horses in the fields, and also during the Kentucky derby. Racehorses have a special pal; a buddy they practice with and accompany them to races. Interesting.

In conclusion, although I wish my knees wouldn’t hurt, I’m glad to be where I am in my dancing. I’m happy I have finally acquired the patience I need to spend time getting it right. I’m comfortable with my body. I don’t worry too much about the critiques of others. And most of all, I’m happy I have a steady guy to dance with.

The band starts up. They move to the floor. They catch the beat…and….they’re off!!!!!

The World of Swing

I’ve said in other posts how huge the world of swing really is. I’ve posted some varieties of ECS, and so today I thought I’d post a few varieties of WCS. Some of them don’t have names, but all of them are distinct WCS styles.

Here is one called “swango”; it’s supposed to be a mix of tango and swing, I call it vampire swing. :)



Here’s a mix of WCS and hip hop. Very athletic! Gary and I incorporate some hip hop moves in our fast WCS, not nearly as much as these two do, though.



WC with hustle moves thrown in. Makes me like the hustle now. :)



Here is, in my opinion, the best WCS couple dancing today, Munroe & Tessa Cunningham. They demonstrate what I call the slinky WCS style. And this isn’t a performance routine…this is improvised. Fabulous. They have lots of videos…these two can dance to anything.



This is the Arkansas street swing. It leans more towards WC than EC, so I put it here:



This is a neat style that mixes WCS with an old dance style called “hand dancing”; hand dancing is an earlier form of the lindy hop.



And now…WCS plus belly dancing. Hot. I may have to take some lessons…



Here’s a rather EC-ish WCS that is really good.



Finally, a smooth WCS swing with bits of hip hop and belly dancing. Wow.

How to Save $300

So, the other day I wrote that we'd decided on hiring a handyman to deal with installing our portable dance floor. The idea seemed good, we'd used the handyman service before and their prices had been reasonable. There also was the fact I wouldn't have to do the back-breaking labor myself to think about. Okay, at least that's what I was thinking about. Anyway, I put the call in and had a man come over on Thursday to give us a quote on the installation and (hopefully) perform the work. I spent most of the day imagining I'd be coming home to an installed dance floor and we'd get our first practice session in on the new surface. It's funny how things can change in the span of a day.

I got the call in the early afternoon. Kelly wanted to check on the pricing before giving the okay to install the floor. I about choked when the number came back at almost $300. As I said before we'd hired the handyman to do various jobs and none of them came in at much more than $100. Apparently, the guy doing the installation sensed it'd be just as much of a pain in the ass as I thought. I hung my head in defeat - another night of doing combat with unwieldy floor panels was in my future.

So, we knuckled down and after two hours of cursing and wrestling hardwood, viola we've got a brand new dance floor! Never mind the bruised heels and palms or the cut fingers, the floor is in! In the process we've picked up a few tips. If you ever plan on installing your own dance floor I highly recommend the following.

• Find a beefy buddy who works out to help you with the project. It'll be worth the case of beer you buy to have help muscling the floor around. With enough brute force you can push a ten square foot floor around for short distances.


• You need a flooring tool. No, you won't find one in your hardware store but you can find a couple of acceptable substitutes. I recommend a 'wonder bar' and a claw hammer. The hammer is good for catching the edges of the panels and getting them up off the floor while the wonder bar will lift the panels enough to do the hard work of edging them together.


• Measure very carefully. Sure, it's obvious you don't want to order twenty square feet of flooring for ten square feet of space but you may not realize you need a good amount of room around the dance floor in order to maneuver the panels into position. Make sure to consider the edging too - it will eat up about three inches on all sides not to mention the room to get it attached.


• The floor panels have sharp metal frames on the bottoms and they'll the scratch the hell out of anything they're placed on. In our case we installed the dance floor over a parquet wood floor and we got some serious, deep gouges in the floor. Luckily the dance floor covered them.


• Bend the clips out and use WD40 to lube them. You want to bend the clips out, they will be too tight to install and a dab of WD on them definitely helps them slide over the edges of the neighboring panel. Trust me; you'll need all the help you can get.

We danced on the new floor for the first time tonight and it was worthwhile. It almost feels soft underfoot, absorbing all the force that would normally reflect right back into your joints. I know I've griped about the installation of this floor a lot but in the end, saving our knees and ankles for another decade of dancing is well worth four hours of inconvenience, irritation, and a slightly sore back. Hey and $300 will buy a lot of aspirin!