Blue Suede Souls

The Bubble Girl

2009-07-09T08:53:00.001-04:00

This post is not about some kind of bubble dance, although I did see a man dressed all in bubbles last Halloween. (Check out the Casa Loma website for the 2008 Halloween party). No, this frothy interlude is about how I survive as a private person in the very public world of dance.

Dancing is mostly public. Duh. I guess I never thought too much about that when Gary and I first started; our lessons were private, our practice was also. But as we progressed we wanted to dance out for a number of reasons; we out grew our small dance floor, we do enjoy the energy of a crowd, and we like to watch other dances.

And then it hit me; if I watched other dancers perhaps they were, gasp, watching me. About that same time I noted people around me assessing and critiquing others, what they had on, what dances they did and don’t do, and how well they executed moves.

You may ask yourself at this point, don’t I do this myself? Well, yes and no. I enjoy watching the crowd through slitted eyes and imagining I’m in some kind of fairy grove. (I’m a writer, OK?) When I’m not doing this my eyes travel to couples who have a particular style I like, or are doing moves I want to learn. I don’t assess or critique, unless someone crashes into me.

But I know others do, and for awhile that totally freaked me out. But then I came up with a couple of strategies. The first was, hey, who or what are they comparing me too? Themselves? I don’t care. The Official Ballroom Technique? I don’t care. The normal dance dress code? I really don’t care.

That helped. But I still felt weird when I perceived someone’s eyes on me, or Gary whispering people are watching. So I then imagined that I was in a bubble, rather like Sarah’s in the movie Labyrinth. And that was the final strategy that enabled me to dance freely, not caring if I mess up, or if someone thinks what I’m wearing or doing is strange, wrong, or silly.

My sister just finished reading Carrol Spinney's Big Bird & Oscar the Grouch book. Carrol Spinney was Big Bird. He enjoyed playing the character, except when he was expected to dance. Apparently, even without the costume he believed he couldn’t dance. He carried on for a number of years, hating it. One day the Rockettes asked for him. He panicked. Then one of his fellow Muppet wielders asked, how old is Big Bird supposed to be? Carrol replied, about five. Well, said his friend, wouldn’t any five year old think he was a fabulous dancer? And so Carrol approached the Rockette number with that sort of attitude… and had a wonderful time.

I don’t think it matters what your strategy is; a bubble, a five year old giant bird, a fairy princess, or perhaps an appearance on Dancing With The Stars. People can be thoughtless. But don’t let their comments, real or imagined, keep you from dancing.

And hey, if you allow yourself to interpret the music freely maybe you’ll be the couple people want to emulate.

Published!

2009-07-04T08:07:00.001-04:00

Just a short note this morning to let all of you know that one of my pictures has been published! I'm no photographer - a fact that I'm sure you're aware of if you've seen some of the snaps of venues I've posted. Well, yesterday I got notice that a picture of the Casa Loma Ballroom that I took last October had been selected for use in the Schmap, St. Louis City Guide! Not a paying gig but the honor is enough. I've attached the widget to our blog and when you hover over the Casa Loma just think, Kelly and I are standing in the parking lot opposite the façade with me hanging out the door of my beat-up old car to take a quick picture before we headed back to the hotel to change for that night's dance!

It's Hot!

2009-07-03T16:56:00.001-04:00

Welcome to July. One of the hottest months in the calendar year here in Indy, second only to August's stagnant swelter. Not the time when you think about dancing. It's too dang hot! If you're like me you sweat to the point that it's disconcerting and if you don't sweat when you dance you'll spontaneously combust in the middle of the dance floor. Let me tell you, there isn't much more embarrassing than bursting into flames in the middle of a cha cha!

The way things worked out we're not dancing over the July 4th holiday. Last year we went to Riolo to see the fireworks but this year we're going to blow up a chunk of Shelby County instead. It's tradition. We pack up the car, head out to some good friends' house, eat too much, and at dusk the men-folk try to set fire to one another. Quaint. It gives some grounding to my listening to rockabilly.

Speaking of rockabilly I have some pointers to offer (if I haven't already). For the fellow who's interested in learning rockabilly understand that after the basic everything is hard. I've never danced anything where every freaking move was as hard or harder than the one that preceded it. In EC swing you'll run into one or two moves that are tough but they're interspaced with moves that aren't so bad. Rockabilly's like being in a fist fight - ever punch hurts. There are some things that can make it less painful, though.

Small steps. And I mean SMALL STEPS. Move your feet just enough to clear whatever obstacles you need to clear. It'll help a hell of a lot when you start dancing up to speed.
Bounce. Yeah, it's more effort but rockabilly requires a lot of effort so get used to it. If you bounce you'll be able to move faster and you're going to need to move faster.

Unfortunately that's all the help I have to offer. I wish I could make the dance simple but if I couldn't I wouldn't whine so much about it being hard. Where would the fun be in that?

The Rhythm of Life

2009-06-29T18:12:00.005-04:00

Gary and I had a very busy weekend; lots of dancing, of course, and we also spent some time with friends and family. Hey, we do have other interests. :)

One of the outings we took was to the annual Indian Market sponsored by the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art here in Indianapolis. It’s a neat museum; I believe the only one of its kind in the US. Every year they sponsor a celebration of Native American lore, music, and art.

So we went. It was hot. After a quick tour through the market, we settled into seats under a cooler tent. The first band took the stage, Blue Stone Project. I was intrigued; one band member warmed up a traditional flute, but I noted an electric guitar and drums. (Found out later all the musicians had played for years, the guitarist played with Iggy Pop and Patti Smith!) I started to get excited, because I love traditional music blended with modern instruments. I guess that’s not surprising; Gary and I are experimenters when it comes to mixing different dances together.

I sat on the edge of my seat as they launched into their first number. And I was not disappointed; the flute player wove a haunting melody over rock and roll style drumming; the guitar sneaking in behind with nice back beat that….wait…one two three ah four five ah six…you could do a slinky WCS to it!! Gary thought the same thing! We didn’t get up and dance, but we purchased the CD and will be at home.

On the way home I started thinking about music and dancing. Music goes deep into the soul; I truly think it’s part of our core being, and in fact, research has shown that you can “map” DNA into music notes. Check this out:

I never put dance into that universal category until I began dancing myself. Now I believe dancing is a physical way of expressing a connection to music. For me, it’s even MORE powerful than listening, because every part of your body is involved.

So there we were listening to what was probably a very old Native melody blended with a swingin’ WCS rhythm. And it mixed perfectly. Maybe that’s because dancing, like music, is such an ancient part of us. In the past, we may have danced for more practical things like a good crop or success in battle, but we also danced for enjoyment and connection to others. I think that feeling of connection is the most primal link we have with music and with dance, whether it is a connection to another person, to a group of people, or that sense of “otherness” you sometimes get when experiencing music and/or dance.

Check out this photo of my sister and her husband dancing. They are good dancers. But I have to admit that is not the main reason I love to see them dance. Anyone looking at this photo can see the love and connection they have with each other. I feel happy when I watch; for them, for my wonderful marriage, and for all the other couples on the dance floor.

Music and dance are universal. This is why Gary and I can mix latin and swing and it works. This is why a Native group can add modern rhythms to traditional melodies and it works. And that is why in an air conditioned, pole barn of a building, my sister and her husband can interpret the sounds they hear as an expression of love just like long ago couples did in a moonlit glade or an open plain. The rhythm of life is as old as time. The trappings may be modern. But dancing taps into something ancient…something we all share.
As our favorite DJ, Ron Fentz, says, “let’s dance.”

Road Rocket Rumble Part II - Keep 'er Tight and In Control

2009-06-24T17:44:00.003-04:00

It'd do my soul good to claim that over the weekend I've been a lazy slob of the sort prone to neglecting their blogging duties. I could go on about how I lazed by the pool and drank Mai Tais .while eating bonbons. Alas it wouldn't be true. I won't go into the gory details but the synopsis involves two computer desks, a truckload of books, and a lot of climbing stairs. Yeah, the pool would have been a lot more relaxing. So, excuse making out of the way - this weekend was Road Rocket Rumble 10 and it lived up to its name in many ways.

Friday we arrived around 7 o'clock expecting to park in the hotel parking lot and search for the event. Somehow it slipped my mind that this event did involve hotrods and they couldn't be parked inside the hotel. So, I pull up to the hotel where two women greet me. I roll my window down and lean out to tell them we've come for the dance. Their response? "Dance? You mean the bands?" Okay, yeah I mean the bands - that should have told me something there - more on that later - but yes, we came for "the bands". The ladies at the gate promptly directed me back to a field we'd passed on the way in - the one with all the cars parked in it - and we hiked to the hotel in 90-degree heat.

The place was jumping. The last time I saw cars so freaky hopped up the driver was one of the Munsters. Every vehicle had been chopped, lowered, and tricked out with chrome and side pipes. We signed in with the first Bettie Page look alike of the day and headed inside to find the ballroom.

I say ballroom strictly in the conceptual sense. When I was a kid, I went to a crappy public school. Good old IPS 107 was a boomer service centers - one of those mid-sixties soulless government buildings with acoustic tile ceilings and asbestos-wrapped hot water pipes. The kind of place the fifties generation sent their kids to have the spirit and originality taught out of them. Well, the classrooms in that place were about the same size as the 'ballroom' where the Road Rocket Rumble bands played. Cozy would be a euphemism; uncomfortably close would be more like it! In spite of the tightness of the confines, the bands were fab.

Rumble Club hewed to the psychobilly side of things: speed, booze, and speed. I give them a seven for skill but I just couldn't dance to them. My inability to get on the floor wasn't the band's fault, it had a lot to do with the fact nobody else was out there dancing. The place was kinda dead in spite of the band's efforts. When we did manage to get ourselves on the floor the tempo was blistering - so much that we had to dance at half speed just to manage a triple swing.

The second band up was a little slower. The Star Devils gave us a chance to dance and we were on the floor until we were dripping with sweat (not too hard considering the AC had to be set to simmer) and sometime around 11 o'clock we dragged ourselves off the floor and packed up our shoes.

As I collected my belongings, an old fellow came across the room and put his hand on my shoulder. He leaned in and said, "Nice dancin' - you keep her tight and in control." I thanked him and as he walked away I wondered if that actually was a compliment or an admonition. Kelly had to remind me that one of the few other couples dancing that night were a pair of Lindy Hoppers and by comparison our EC Triple must have looked like precision flying. Sometimes a venue is too small for a dance and sometimes, when it is, I guess it leaves you looking like a wild dance-thug. I don't know.

Day two came a little early for my sore muscles. We showed up in time to take a few pictures but the hotrods doing burn-outs in the driveway kinda' sent me to the dance floor without doing too much strolling. Too much gasoline and burning rubber gives you the feeling you've either walked out onto the bricks at the Indy 500 or maybe into the middle of a Mad Max flick. Besides, the sun threatened to reduce us to Shrinky Dink status so we made for the Michigan Room.

On our second night I got to see the Rockabilly Swing in the wild. A few kids (god I hate using that term because it implies I'm not a member of that clique any longer) took the floor while the DJ spun disks and they definitely tore it up. Lesson one about Rockabilly Swing: The steps are tiny. I'm not talking small, I'm talking itty-bitty as in you go through about twenty steps before you make a full revolution. This was news to me. In my version of the dance I'd make a full revolution in five steps, maybe. Since that day I've reduced my step size and added a bounce.

That bounce is important. I know from Lindy Hop that the bounce keeps you light on your feet and makes speed easier to obtain. Rockabilly isn't any different; you need to keep off the floor as much as possible to be able to do some of the complex spins. Definitely another learning point.

Day two of the Rocket Rumble kind of reminded me of day two of a family reunion. Everyone seemed to be getting a little cranky. People came in from the parking lot once the sun went down and soon the tiny dance floor was crowded with chairs. Kelly and I stuck around to see Pearls Mahone and the One-Eyed Jacks, a Chicago-area band was more our speed. They played a little Wanda Jackson and a little Patsy Cline, everything in between had a beat. Second on stage was the Hi-Q's, a Detroit band that chewed up the chords a little fast for our feet. We called it an evening but not before being asked where we learned to dance again.

I like to point out those times that people admire our dancing. It's not because I crave confirmation (although that's nice) but it's because I'm the sort of person who can focus on the negative all too often if I let myself. I worry over my ability to do a turn or get a step and sometimes I forget that we often get compliments. I think the biggest one came on Sunday when we took my dad out for Father's Day breakfast. He chose Cracker Barrel and while we were waiting for a seat Kelly spotted a couple people wearing Road Rumble tee-shirts. They recognized us as 'those dancing people'. Hey, there's a lot worse to go through life being known as!

Fujiyama Mama

2009-06-23T16:47:00.004-04:00

Ah, the slide guitar; the mellow sound is enough to melt me in my seat. Don’t know exactly why, maybe because the sound is prominent in surf music and that reminds me of a beach. Anyway. It’s a hard instrument to play; the slippery sound I love so much can easily descend into twang and “slide” off key unless in the hands of a skillful player, and skillful is exactly what I got yesterday at the Road Rocket Rumble, the band was Pearls Mahone and the One Eyed Jacks. http://www.myspace.com/pearlsmahone

All the bands were good, don’t get me wrong; to perform rockabilly nowadays you have to love it, because you are not going to make your living playing it. But Pearls and her band stood out, both for their musicality and their stage presence. Picture a busty redhead in a skin tight dress with huge white pearls wrapped around her neck; her posse of “boys” rather like the silent Darlings on Andy Griffith. Pearl belts out rockabilly like she was born in the backwoods; my favorite was Wanda Jackson’s Fujiyama Mama, woooHOO. Combine Pearl’s lusty delivery with the cutest giggle I’ve heard in a long time, and you get a lead singer that’s hard to ignore. And her band. Wow. All very good, especially the base player and the slide guitarist. Pearl’s funny too: loved the story about escaping Friday’s downpour with a Pabst carton over her head, and pleading to the crowd to buy her Margaritas because she drank ‘em like water. The boys, she added, preferred Blue Ribbon. Funny.

Overall, we had a blast at the Rocket Rumble; we danced and danced, and when we weren’t hopping and bopping until our feet hurt we listened to the music and watched the crowd. Rockabilly culture is an amazing mixture of young and old, male and female. (It is not diverse in other ways, unfortunately.) You’ve got your car geeks, your music aficionados, folks who like to dress up like Bettie Page and the male 50’s greaser equivalent, and people like Gary and me who are not part of the underground so to speak, but we love love LOVE the music and of course, love to dance to it.

Dancing isn’t first and foremost within the rockabilly culture, although people DO dance and dance well, aka, rockabilly swing, which Gary and I have been learning. We saw some stunning examples and I could have watched them all night. Mostly young people doing it because much of the music was lightening fast.

And herein lies something that perhaps the community should think about. As I was reading up on the Rocket Rumble, I saw some posts out of Chicago bemoaning the fact that rockabilly is appreciated like it used to be. I understand; the bands we saw were fantastic, but there wasn’t a huge crowd. And I wish there were more places to hear the music around Indianapolis.

But what comes to mind considering this problem is Terry Lee and the Rockaboogie band. I think they fit into the Rockabilly genre, but the culture that follows Terry is a bit different. You do see Bettie Pages and 50’s guys, but you also see a lot more older people, AND many more folks dancing. The reason for that is Terry plays a more varied selection speed-wise; he might do a blistering Jerry Lee Louis tune, but then puts the brakes on with some slower country numbers. All rockabilly/country/hillbilly, but it gives everyone the opportunity to dance, not just young kids.

If you’re a psychobilly band fine, you do fast. If you advertise yourself as that, people know it. But if you do like Pearl and advertise hillbilly or rockabilly, then my one bit of advice would be to add more slower numbers. People want to dance. I can tell by the way they bounce in their seats, and because older people make a beeline for the floor when you DO play a reduced beat number. Your band is fantastic. I don’t think you can improve musically. Your stage presence is blistering hot. But maybe you could widen your audience participation just a little. And that goes for the other bands too.

Bang bangedy bang bang.

Road Rocket Rumble - I

2009-06-19T12:57:00.000-04:00

June's been a busy month. Traveled to Virginia but didn't have time to check out any dance venues (plus my one and only partner didn't come along) and then work became little bit of a mess. Finally things are shaking out and just in time for the 10th Annual Road Rocket Rumble!

For a long time Kelly and I have been wanting to actually see Rockabilly in the wild. Not the domesticated stuff you get on a dance DVD or YouTube (okay, YouTube's pretty much in the wild too). Well, this is our weekend. We've got two days planned at the rumble – tonight we'll catch a band and cruise the vendor stalls, tomorrow we'll catch a couple bands and get real tired.

I promise lots of pictures and much opinionating. We'll be at the Clarion West, Indianapolis which advertizes a big dance floor. My fingers are crossed. I've lived on the west side of Indy for a long time and I know the Clarion but I don't know it for its dance floor. I know it for the fact it's an 80's era hotel in an odd location that seemed tired and run down as soon as it was built. I had some friends who worked in an office building near the Clarion and we used to go to the hotel bar once in awhile. As I recall, it wasn't overly impressive – let's hope I've mellowed over time!

The fest itself is a gangly affair. There are hotrods, pinup girls, retro wear booths, car parts, dance instruction, a daredevil show, and bands. It sounds like having the circus come to stay in your guest room for about a week. What a mess, you'd be finding peanut shells and Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles under the bed for months. The smell probably never would come out of the upholstery. I'm keen on seeing the cars and it'd be interesting to catch the pinup show as well as some of the daredevil stuff which brings up the one piece of advice I'd give the organizers before ever entering the event. Publish a COMPLETE schedule. I know when the bands play but that's it. No idea when the shows are or when the venue opens – I just know we'll head down there before 7:30 tonight and see what we see.

Smarter

2009-06-19T10:02:00.001-04:00

Let me start this post with saying I refuse to “grow old gracefully.” Yes, I watch “What not to Wear”, yes, I understand the Lindy Hop and Rockabilly Swing are young in culture and athleticism, blah blah blah.

Saying that, I don’t want to be younger. I do enjoy being my age; things are less of a big deal, I actually like myself, and I’m happier than I ever have been. But I also like wearing skulls and short salsa dresses, even if Clinton says I shouldn’t. I love the Lindy, even though Gary and I are often one of the oldest couples doing it.

OK, so combine this stubborn individualism with being brought up in an era that says work through your pain. Get as strong as possible. Practice practice practice. Heck, when I was running track back in high school I thought I was so lucky to have the boy’s track coach actually give me advice, I did everything he said. (Girls got kicked off the field when a boy made himself known.) Anyway. Lately I’ve also been influenced by a specialist doc who said I was at risk for osteoporosis. He said “you need lots of weight bearing activity.”

So I took that and ran. Literally. It’s not his fault. This particular doc doesn’t see me that often. So how could he know I added to what I was already doing (dance practice, dancing out, dance lessons, and weight lifting) with running, walking, treadmill, biking, hiking…you get the picture. My knees started to hurt. So I did more. They hurt worse. I did some more. Work through the pain. It’ll get better. But it didn’t, and horrors, my dancing suffered. So I researched what I thought I had and diagnosed myself. I had runner’s knee. Yup, that’s what I had. I liked that diagnosis in that it seemed like an athlete’s disease. I read up on it. It said rest. So I did. Some. But my knees still hurt.

After about a year of this I finally decided to go to an oseto specialist. In my line of work I know lots of docs and asked around. I also asked my primary internist. They all said Methodist Sports Center in Indianapolis. I looked at their site; Payton Manning and the Colts go there. And they had a dancer on the front page! I also liked the idea of a SPORTS clinic, not a place where sick/injured people go. Even though that’s why you go.

So I made an appointment with Mark Ritter. They took lots of x-rays, I was impressed that some were standing and not just laying down. The good news was my knees are in pretty good shape cartilage-wise, the bad news was I have bones spurs, especially on the left one. The good doc explained what a bone spur was. It’s not a pointy thing like you might think, it’s a knobby protuberance, essentially, your body is trying to add bone to an area that has worn away. The spurs don’t hurt; the pain comes from when the bone nodules irritate the tissue around it. I got all of that. When I started to ask specific questions he said “the Physical Therapist can answer those.” What I liked about this approach was that the doc clearly knew his expertise…and what wasn’t. Many docs are not like this, and another strong point for the center.

I wasn’t scheduled for PT, so I waited. And I got to see Brad Gerig, a certified athletic trainer. I liked that. He’s a trainer, see, not a therapist. Even though he is. Well. He was different than any physician I knew, and I know docs. I used to work with them, in particular with executive physicians. They aren’t a bad sort; I like them, in fact. But…for the most part they are esoteric, big picture, and in a hurry. When you are a patient you do want the diagnosis, but you also want “small picture”, aka, how does this affect ME, and what can I do to FIX it?

Brad nailed me instantly, too much, too long, not the right stuff. Without going into everything, the overall concept was as you get older you have to work smarter. In other words, instead of bashing my body into submission, I should treat it with respect. That means listening to my joints, pacing myself, and constructing a schedule so I’m not over stressing anything. And guess what, when I don’t weight lift before dancing I do…better! And not just less pain, but better, as in how I execute the moves. A-Maze-ing.

I won’t list all the exercises he gave me either, because what may be right for me may not be correct for you. I will add one magical thing he suggested that I never thought would work: ice! I use frozen peas, because I hate peas and because they mold to the body. You can buy expensive thingies too, but for me peas work just fine. I use them after I exercise even a little, and I have eliminated all painkillers. ALL. I had been up to at least 3-5 a week, hard on the liver.

In Indiana you have to visit the doc before you see a PT. I don’t know about anywhere else, but even if it’s not required, do go to the doc. Even if you think you know what it is you could be wrong. I was.

Very few people change the way I think. I’m highly educated, I have lots of experience with all different kinds of people, I research well, and did I say I was stubborn? But Brad changed the way I will treat myself. Dancing may not be the most important thing in my life, but it’s pretty close. Dancing is an expression of Gary and my life together. So what Brad did is monumental. I am going to do everything he says, and hopefully I will keep improving, but the mindset is the most important thing, and I already have that now.

I’ll try to remember that this weekend…one of our favorite events is happening and it has lots of dancing Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I’ll probably binge, but at least afterwards I’ll be icing. And resting Sunday. And that is a definition of “aging gracefully” I’m willing to own. :)

Starlight

2009-06-19T10:01:00.001-04:00

If you’re into dancing you know just how many dancing venues and ballrooms are named “Starlight”, or more likely the 50’s kitsch version, “Starlite.” In almost any town with a dance community you’ll find one. We have one right around the corner, and it is one of our favorite places to go. It’s not fancy or historic, but the place boasts a fabulous floor, wonderful people, and good music.

Interestingly enough, there were lots more “Starlite” places to go in the 50s; hotels, lounges, restaurants. Items too claimed the name, china, dress makers, and…wrist watches.

At this point you may be thinking and what do vintage wrist watches have to do with dancing? Do I have to say again dancing encompasses everything? J What happened was this: since I now work from home I no longer wear a watch everyday; I have a clock by my desk, I have one on my computer. And often times when I go out dancing I’d rather wear a bling-y bracelet. Saying that, I wanted a pretty watch to wear dancing now and then. I have lots of watches. I love them. But mine are mostly sporty and/or clunky, and I wanted something elegant.

What I didn’t want is another battery watch. The batteries just don’t seem to last, and it gets expensive to keep changing them. So I started looking in antique stores and on ebay for wind up watches. Unless they have diamonds or are solid gold, you can get them pretty cheap, under twenty bucks. No one, it seems, wants to wind a watch every day anymore. I found lots of neat ones, but the brand that caught my eye was called Starlite, by Elgin.

Elgin is a long respect name in watch making, but in the mid fifties the company began to suffer. They resisted mass produced items, until a desperate president hired a business consultant. He told them that Elgin could produce a cheaper version and STILL be the best watch maker. And so they did. One of those brands launched in the 50s was named Starlite, a cocktail watch designed for ladies to go out in: pretty, dainty, and delicate. Sold. I bought a perfect one for 15 dollars. It says Starlite in beautiful script across the face. Sigh.

For me, a watch like that brings back another era; a time when men and women got dressed up to go out, men in suits and women in gloves and dresses. A time when couples went out for dinner and dancing as a normal part of life. A time when a woman sat down at her dressing table and applied rouge, not blush, perfume, not body splash, and slowly wound her wrist watch, dreaming of the night in front of her.

So OK, I’m probably making all of that up. But I wonder, do we truly not have time to wind a watch? I find it rather magical…each small click storing up time to be slowly released, tick by precious tick, as I enter a night filled with starlight, real, or shining down from an enchanted ballroom.

Starlight, star bright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may
I wish I mightHave the wish I wish tonight.

Memorial Day Jam

2009-05-31T10:01:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-31T09:55:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-31T09:52:00.001-04:00

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

2009-05-23T09:32:00.002-04:00

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!

2009-05-22T10:54:00.001-04:00

Into the Lion's Den

2009-05-22T10:42:00.001-04:00

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

2009-05-15T15:54:00.000-04:00

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

2009-05-14T18:20:00.001-04:00

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!

2009-05-14T07:52:00.002-04:00

Something Spooky Going On

2009-05-13T17:16:00.006-04:00

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

2009-05-13T10:57:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-07T14:00:00.003-04:00

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.

2009-05-07T11:30:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-06T21:09:00.003-04:00

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

2009-05-04T19:30:00.005-04:00

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

2009-05-04T19:20:00.002-04:00

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!!!!!