Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band

Nashville, Indiana is the kind of place you go to get an herb wreath for your front door, a gingham dress for the goose statue that sits in your garden, and maybe a bottle or two of Brown County or Oliver Winery Riesling. It's a touristy, quaint little burg where city ordinance still forbids businesses from having illuminated signs and in general the streets roll-up sometime around nine o'clock every night. You wouldn't expect to see The Killer - or even someone inspired by Jerry Lee Lewis' piano antics.

Take a bit of a drive south, though and you'll run into a place called Mike's Dance Barn and on the night of June 20th, the band playing that venue was none other than Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band. I got the feeling I'd stepped back into the 50's, right into the middle of some smoke-filled honky-tonk. Mike's is a simple place - no fancy lighting or grand façade…just a dance floor, a stage, and a few tables. On stage, Terry Lee is every bit the keg of dynamite as the man he emulates. His piano antics are damn entertaining - and if you can stop watching the flying fingers you'll realize the music is as good as if not better than the original.

Two hours of pounding the hardwood is a tiring thing - but you know, sometimes tired feels so right. If you get a chance to see Terry Lee - do it. I promise you, if you have any rockabilly in your soul you'll be glad you did it.

This Might be your Last Dance...

The whole idea of this blog was to keep things kinda' light. Dancing is fun and we're not professionals so we don't even have income hanging in the balance when we get out on the floor. Of course, the stated purpose of Blue Suede Souls is to talk about our experiences with dancing and dance is a lot like life - there are good times and not-so-good times. June has brought a few of those not-so-good times and I thought that I should write a little bit about them.

I've never been much for musicals. Maybe the cynic inside me has a problem letting go of what he considers reality. To be a true fan of musicals you've got to be willing to totally suspend disbelief not because stunning special effects demand it but because some part of you believes a bad love affair, a rotten job, or even a pact with the devil can be resolved with the right libretto. Growing up the accepted response to hearing anything about a musical was an eye-roll and a derisive snort and I have to admit that even now I wouldn't call myself a fan of the genre. What I would say is that dancing taught me respect for the men and women who can perform a hot dance number under the hot lights with whatever props and cues Rogers and Hammerstein concocted to forward their plot. As I started to dance I started to rent a few musical classics and among those one of the best was Singing in the Rain.

On June 17th, Cyd Charisse passed away at the age of 86. She famously danced opposite Gene Kelly in the Broadway Melody number in Singing in the Rain and later co-starred with Kelly in Brigadoon. It is women like Charisse who gave me a real respect for the 'follower' role in any dance partnership. Ginger Rogers is famous for saying 'a woman has to do everything a man does, only backwards and in high heels' and for Charisse (at least in Singing in the Rain) you can add without being given star billing to that too!

Somehow Cyd Charisse reminds of Betty Hutton. I don't know that they were similar in any way but a Charisse quote makes me think they just might be. When asked to compare dancing with Astaire and Kelly, Cyd responded "…it's a lot like comparing apples and oranges. They're both delicious." It's good to be that naughty while seeming so nice.

Another loss that struck me in June was the death of Bo Diddley who succumbed to heart failure on the second. Recently we've been delving into West Coast Swing and rockabilly which meant reacquainting ourselves with some classics. Diddley's signature rhythm and musically encoded sense of humor are so integral to the kind of dancing we're focused on that I couldn't help but feel saddened when I heard about the great man's passing. I also couldn't help but notice the irony of the fact that he was stricken with a stroke while touring Iowa and recently Iowa has been bedeviled by flooding, an affliction of its own arteries.

A final wrap-up of this depressing little entry is the fact I mentioned above. Back in April we visited Iowa State University to attend Hawkeye Swing Fest 2008. The majority of that event was held at the Iowa State Student Union (ISU) second floor ballroom. Well, in June the campus of Iowa State was flooded - including (I assume) the ISU. Since the ballroom was located on the second floor it's hard to know how badly it was impacted but it's hard to imagine that a dance floor would whether the sort of humidity it'd be exposed to when the building that houses it is flooded. I guess nothing is permanent - even the floor beneath our feet - so every time the band strikes up a tune, maybe we all ought to get out there and dance once more…you never know when it might be your last dance.

I'm a Little Bit Country

I love all dance styles. I really do, even the kinds that go backwards like the Foxtrot. Those are not my favorite, but I still enjoy them. I also love all kinds of music, classical, Latin, swing, and dare I admit it, country.

I think part of my country twang as it were originates from when I was in my party bar hoppin' years. At that time there were two paths: disco and country-rock. The disco crowd was, interestingly enough, the dance crowd. But they were also a lot of other things which I will not go into, but it you lived through those years you know what I mean.

The country rock genre and culture were no saints either, but there was (to my way of thinking), a genuine, real, honestness about that crowd. And in my defense, the country we listened to was truly country ROCK...Pure Prairie League, Waylon and Willie, Marshal Tucker, Charlie Daniels. OK, so Waylon and Willie are true country, but hey, they were cool. And still are.

Anyway.

I also love rockabilly, which to my way of thinking is kick ass country, twang on speed. Love, love, LOVE the music, love the culture. If big band swing is cute 40's inspired dress, rockabilly is bad girl (and boy) 50s...guys in James Deanesque garb, women in Betty Page pin up...tight capris and skirts with midriff tops, woohoo. You simply cannot sit still when rockabilly fills the air, and that was the case last night at Mike's Dance Barn in Nashville, In. with the sounds of Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band setting the keyboard and the night ON FIRE.

What a band. I am not a critical person, but I do have an appreciation for talent and unfortunately (or fortunately depending) I have perfect pitch. Nothing I developed or am particularly proud of, but I have it. My dad used to trot me out in front of his musical friends, play a note, and say hey Kelly what's that? And I always knew. So. I know when a band is in the groove, and Terry Lee is in the groove. One of the best bands I have ever heard...in my life. Wow. The tunes were hot, he even wrote some of them.

Needless to say, my man and I danced, danced, danced. That was the most fun I've had EVER had out dancing. Too bad Nashville is so far from Indy, but nevertheless, every time Terry Lee is there we are going. What a fun evening. Everyone was enjoying themselves...lots of people dancing, some knew steps, some shakin' and grovin', some listening and clapping, didn't matter. The spell had been cast, no matter the expression.

And somewhere out there Jerry Lee Lewis gave a big nod of approval, I know it.

Rock on.

Dance of Life

You only go around once in life. Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today. Dance like no one is watching.

I realize these three quotes are a mixture of a beer commercial, a part of some famous utterance by I believe Benjamin Franklin, and the last part of some cheesy plaque I saw in a gift store, but these three bits are what came to me after a pretty hard last couple of weeks.

Here's why. A favorite relative of mine died, and then Tim Russert from Meet the Press passed away. These two events hit me hard. My aunt because I loved her, and Mr. Russert because he was 58. 58! A heart attack. Dead.

These two events caused me to contemplate that life really is short, and whatever one's belief in the afterlife, I think it is safe to say it won't be exactly like THIS life. Perhaps I will dance somewhere or somewhen, but again, it will be different.

So I want to dance now. Dance, dance, dance. Swing dance, rockabilly dance, ballroom dance, salsa dance. I want to kick up my heels before my heels kick me. I want to twirl, swirl, and wear my pretty clothes, rejoice in the arms of a man who loves me and that I love with all my heart. Giggle with my sister seated next to me who also loves to dance.

To those of you who don't feel "ready" to hit the floor: Don't wait. Don't listen to the voices in your head saying you are not good enough, not pretty enough to dance, not whatever enough. Don't worry about what others might think. Who cares? Life is precious, a gorgeous, easily torn butterfly wing. What you have today may not be there tomorrow.

Get out there now.

The music won't wait.

Get Some Manners!

I got to say it - people you got to learn some manners.

Since I'm an older guy you're probably thinking that I'm about to launch into some 'kids these days…' rant. Well, I've got a few of those but they'll have to wait for another Sunday. For Father's Day I'm delivering the gift of enlightenment to all you fellows in the late forty-something to late fifty-something bracket. Yeah, don't give me the 'who me?' look.

Truth be known, as a group you fellows are the least considerate dancers in the whole world. I can't tell you how many floors I've been traversing with my significant other only to have to dodge Freddy Fleet-Feet and his patented flying Geritol step. Yeah, it's impressive that a fellow with the proverbial snow on the roof still can stoke the old furnace when inspired by the right tune. It's great to be out there under the soft lights all dressed up and feeling it. I hear you brother, the same thing happens to me - but I don't underarm turn my date into the couple next door just to show I got the rhythm.

The other night I had this fellow cut right across in front of me and my girl on his way off the floor. I had to pull up or knock the Grecian Formula out of him - he's lucky I'm such a gentleman or I might of used some coarse language! Later that night the same guy (this time dancing with a girl that was about a third his age) nearly flung his partner right into us. I guess ignorance is the last thing you lose when senility sets in.

Here's the skinny in bullet point form so you don't lose track:

• Dancing at the local ballroom is a social affair - so at try to be sociable or stay home.
• Nobody cares if you can do an aerial, shelve it for your debut on Dancing with the Stars and just dance like you know how to play nice with others.
• If you left your glasses at home - those blurry things out on the dance floor are other couples so, no, you can't dance through them.
• If you're trying to get your speed walking in - move to the outside lane of the floor, I really don't need a tail gunner.
• Conversely, if you're doing your Tim Conway imitation move to the inside - I don't want to become a tail gunner just as much as I don't need one.
• Regardless of how good you feel you're not a mambo king, you're not a member of Whitey's Hoppers, and you'll never compete with Gene Kelly - so get over yourself and find your freakin' manners.

So just take it easy and try to enjoy your time on the floor - and please let everyone else do the same thing!

C'mon - Not So Serious!

Dance is not serious.

Blasphemy, you say? I guess I can understand that - every dance instructor from the best to the worse have those of us who take dance lessons convinced that the only measure of your ability to dance is the number of steps you know. By rights you should drill continuously and with the kind of seriousness and commitment that once was reserved for the Marines. There's a good bit of irony in the fact that Edwin Denby, a renowned dance critic, once said "There is a bit of insanity in dance that does everybody a great deal of good." The problem is that most dance instructors have become psychologists steadily trying to couch dance for one hour sessions where its idiosyncrasies can be documented, diagnosed, and suppressed with the right combination of drugs.

It's even funnier when you consider something like swing dancing. In the 30's big dance studios were busily dismissing the Lindy Hop and swing in general as an 'unfortunate collision of economic circumstance and declining morals…' Now, a little over seventy years later, all those studios (that still exist) are teaching several sorts of swing dance. The problem is they had to categorize them, name steps, map out everything, and apply their stuffy metering before they could offer lessons.

So, in honor of the sheer silliness of swing, here's a cartoon with the message - don't be so uptight about your swing!

Curmudgeon-ing with the Stars

How many of you are into that Dancing with the Stars thing? Its okay, admitting you have a problem is the first step toward being ostracized, ridiculed, and eventually learning to keep things like this to yourself. It'll toughen you up to put your foibles out on the table where we all can get a good laugh at them. Personally, I've never watched the show - you see, old DC isn't much for national trends...if the nation could elect George Bush twice, I think their record speaks for itself. In spite of that, I actually do have an issue with Dancing with the Stars - what, you're suprised?

You ever watch those nature programs about animal intelligence? You know, the ones where they teach a chimp to to push a certain button when it sees a certain picture? Or maybe you’ve been to Sea World and where they have the sea lions that play Yankee Doodle Dandy on horns? My point is this, yes it’s impressive that Bubbles can tell the difference between a house and a cat (trust me, in the time he spent with Michael Jackson he learned less savory tricks than button pressing) but is it really that much more amazing than your Irish Setter rolling over or playing dead for a Beggin’ Strip? I'd never claim that Rex is ready for a black tie and an hour of prime time 'cause he does a mean 'shake hands'.

Then tell me, why is it amazing when a handful of Hollywood’s second (or third) tier celebs get daily doses of intensive dance tutoring to do one dance - and then they’re actually able to do it? What, they haven’t been tap-dancing for the cameras their whole career? And they're learning a routine - folks, it's just like learning lines, only with their feet! If they had to go out on the dance floors you and I vist - the ones with the walleyed guy who dances at one-third the tempo of the music and couple who think they've just finished a command performance at the Bolshoi - well, maybe I'd be mildly impressed...or at least less disgusted. Or maybe I'd cut them some slack if they got their prescious private tutoring and then had to dance to a random tune played by some weekend-job band who can't quite decide if Fly Me to the Moon is a foxtrot or a cha-cha.

What would be more amazing would be to teach some of the fauna from the local tavern to dance – now I'd watch that show. Nothing like seeing some of the same schmos I have to deal with every weekend get a chance to make asses of themselves in front of the TV audience. Or, better yet, take a bunch of the Dancing with the Stars, B-list celebs to the local day-labor site and set them up as dry wall installers, painters, or lawnmower jockeys. Hell yes, I’d watch Kristi Yamaguchi do the weed-whacker tango any night of the week…except Mondays during football season; some things are sacred even to old DC.