#dance culture

[disast3rtransp0rt]

Ballet enthusiasts, hear my call!

[theimmaculatearchive]

Internet Archive

[joemuggs]

Dance Your Way Home

This is my WIRE magazine review of Emma Warren's book from earlier this year....

👇🏻

Appropriately enough, this book is in constant movement. Its framework is simultaneously memoir, history and exploration of the human mind and body, and it oscillates between these modes, shifting perspective and location endlessly. In any page you’ll find multiple voices, the action flipping from Orpington to Rwanda and Stoke-on-Trent to Chicago in a moment, a zooming in and out from broad historical sweep to images of moving crowds to micro personal detail or insight. 

But for all that, it keeps returning to one place: the dancefloor. And even more specifically, to long-established journalist Emma Warren’s own feet, on specific dancefloors, and to what they were doing: how her feet moved, what shoes she was wearing, what those floors were made of, how it felt. It’s hard to think of a better, or more literal, way that a complex narrative could be grounded. This book dances around, but is also firmly rooted in, the very experience of dancing.

It draws us from Warren’s parents’ youth on the English south coast, through her own childhood in Kent, student days in Manchester, working for Jockey Slut and The Face, parenthood, community organising and on. Each time we get a sense of where dance was in her life, from infant school tap and ballet, through youth club discos, funk and soul clubs, acid house, 90s superclubs, drum’n’bass, dubstep, UK funky and into the myriad of jazz-adjacent fusions of the past decade.

But every step of the way it fires off backwards in time and across continents, digging into the roots of specific dance moves and styles, the functions of dancing for social groups and movements, it’s effects on the human brain. First and second hand sources are quoted constantly – from those Warren shares specific memories with through keystone musicians and promoters to academics and scientists with insight into the dance. 

In this way, it feels very similar to Jude Rogers’s The Sound of Being Human from last year, which also used memoir as a springboard to examine the science and social function of music. But where Rogers was looking the echoes and abstractions of memory, Warren keeps the focus tightly on physicality – of experiences and the building blocks of culture passed from hand to hand, body to body. And her language has a deeply satisfying physicality to match, as in “Our gestural polyphony changed the temperature, too, heating venues up with human-generated humidity.” 

Despite its omnidirectional approach, this core keeps its momentum like a groove running throughout, and it really works on all its intended levels – and simply as a polemic in favour of dancing, whether in clubs, at home or professionally. Looking at subcultural evolution through the dancer’s lens – reminding us, for example that some of the most crucial dance musicians like A Guy Called Gerald and Shut Up & Dance were trained, even professional dancers – provides endless vital insights. And Warren’s phrase making provides plenty of pithy reminders of her fierce sense of purpose. “Culture matters when everything else falls away,” she says. “You can’t eat culture and it doesn’t pay the rent, but it does provide pride and history, which are useful starting points for recovery.” 

[mymusicbias]

[saraichinwag]

What Do Disco Balls Symbolize?

[tani-b-art]

Isn’t it fascinating how Black American creation can never just stand alone? Everything we create always gets the “co-created” treatment. From rap, to hip hop, to Black vernacular, breakdancing, country, rock, tap dancing and more. Literally everything we originate always magically & conveniently gets the conjecture/melting pot—other groups were also involved revisionist connection and it’s a mystifying phenomenon.

I recently got a comment (which that person ended up deleting) on one of my tap dancing posts that basically said that the Irish invented tap dancing when they immigrated here as indentured servants by way of Irish clogging and only because of the melting pot of Black American culture and some of our dance styles mixing with Irish clogging did all this melting help to form the dance style that is tap.

So….

“Tap dance is one of few dance styles uniquely indigenous to America, dating back as early as the 1500s. While enslaved people were taken from Africa to the Americas through what was called the “middle passage,” they danced to the music of upturned buckets and other objects found on the ships. In the 1700s and 1800s, enslaved Africans performed African percussive dances that transformed into new African American styles, such as the Juba, where dancers moved in a circle, shuffled their feet and clapped rhythmically. This dancing is important because it allowed enslaved people to remain connected to their culture and cope with the conditions they faced in America. *During the same time period, many Irish Americans were living as indentured servants, and historians believe they exchanged dancing styles in the early 1600s on American plantations. The style of the hybridized African percussive dances and Irish clogging became known as “jigging” by the 1800s.

The history of tap dance took a turn in the 1800s, and minstrel shows became the main spectacle of tapping. Minstrel shows were a form of racist entertainment in which white performers would dress up in blackface and depict Black stereotypes in the form of songs, jokes and dances for an audience. Although the minstrel shows were performed mostly by white impersonators, ^a few Black dancers such as William Henry Lane maintained some integrity to the African American origins of tap dancing through the shows. After the Civil War, more African Americans had access to the minstrel show and a heavier focus was put on the technique of tap dancing, and new steps emerged.”

[*the red bolded is what I’m talking about]

[^is precisely what I said]

Also, I’m no one’s tap dance historian but I’ve been researching.

Differences between Clogging and Tap Dancing. (below is from a blog. not my words)

Clog Dancing vs. Tap Dancing: Contrasts in Style and Technique, both have beginnings in America, but they later advanced differently.

Clog dancing is noticeable among Irish step dancers. In clog dance, the dancer wears clogs or wooden-soled shoes that stress the rhythm of their feet while keeping a straight face.

Tap dancers are usually solo dancers; although this dance form is more fun with a partner, most dancers’ tap dance alone. On the other hand, clog dancers dance in groups. They have an arrangement with each dancer in a straight line, all doing the same movements and making the same sounds with their feet at the same time.

Clog dancers make the most sounds with their heels. They make different motions with their bodies going up and down, primarily heavy movements that constitute a significant difference between clog dancing and tap dancing. On the flip side, tap dancers rarely make heavy movements. Their feet movements are light and move their bodies to the tempo and melodies of music instead of the beats.

Clog dancers do not have taps in their shoes because they make most of their leather and velvet shoes with rigid soles made of wood. Whereas in clog dancing, your shoes are buck taps with a metal that enables the clogger to open their toe tips.

Another difference between clog dancing and tap dancing is that clogging is more flat-footed. Jumps are not so frequent in clog dancing. Whereas In tap dancing, dancers use the ball of their heels.

While tap dancing might have similarities to clogging, their styles are pretty different from one another. Tap dancers have just one tap on their heels and another on the toe, unlike clog dancers. Their shoes can change the sounds you hear when you tap them. There are little tricks that clutch the shoe fastener in place when you loosen or tighten them.

Conclusion

Irrespective of whatever style of dance you choose, whether clogging or tapping, they all have a unique history and significant features that differentiate them from each other.

=============================

I would 100% say the immigrating Irish came here and saw what Black Americans were already doing and then imitated and copied what they saw and then fashioned their clogging after it that subsequently created a subset — if we’re going to go with this “melting pot” and say the Irish and anyone else besides Black Americans fused their dance styles to create tap.

Black Americans enslaved in America had an ethnogenesis which can be described as “the historical and contemporary emergence of a group of people who define themselves in relation to a common socio-cultural and historical heritage…the process by which a group of people become ethnically distinct.” In this ethnogenesis, ours was the transformation form—a group may change so significantly over time that it eventually forms a new ethnic group. Where our ancestors created new culture(s) (and traditions) that was developed from nothing — barely any remembrance of any African traditions because all was literally forced out of our memory bank and stripped from us. Majority of our ancestors (there is evidence of many Black [swarthy], as described, people already here in what is now America before slavery) were transported here through the transatlantic slave trade to this country that became America and formed all things new. As Nikole Hannah-Jones said, “And although they tried to break our ancestors, to erase our identities, we forged a new culture of our own, giving birth to ourselves….We are a people who were born on the water. We were born in the middle passage and we created, out of the most hellish situation, our own original culture.”

Oh, and this melting pot metaphor. As the late, great Toni Morrison said:

All this to say, tap dance (and one of its many children, breakdancing) is uniquely Black American made.

[w1ckermandesigns]

(via "Generic Hyper-retro Hypercolor Retro 1990s nineties metamorphic hypercolour raves" Premium T-Shirt for Sale by w1ckerman)

[melomancy]

Kate Bush performing in Japan, 1978

[renegade-hierophant]

Slovak traditional highland axe dance

EDIT: If you'd like to play a character like these guys in a video game, check out Hellish Quart.

[snaileer]

I’m a Size Medium, Thanks.

Danny is irritated. No actually he is beyond irritated. He is annoyed, he is frustrated, he is…. He’s really fricking irritated and can’t be bothered to remember any more of Jazz’s SAT words.

He continues his glare out the window as he searches for his straw with his mouth.

He just- where is it- thinks it’s a stupid fricking-stupid ass milkshake-he shouldn’t have to basically-gah! Danny snaps his head down to find his suddenly missing straw, only to successfully poke it directly into his eye.

“Ow! Fricken-“ He groans, throwing his head back, and putting his hands to his face, “Mother-tucker, Holy Taming of A Shrew!” He pounds his free hand not cradling his eye on the table, trying not to make more of a scene. Of course, this utterly fails because it immediately tips over his milkshake glass with a clatter as it spills onto his pants, making him jump up with enough force to knock the table over and drop the milkshake glass the rest of the way to the floor.

Danny stares at it with blurry vision and a watery eye. He sighs, “At least-“

The glass shatters.

Danny sighs again, deeper. “Of course.”

He looks up at the restaurant around him. Noticing the many, many people staring at him.

Wonderful.

Danny grimaces, “Sorry, I so didn’t mean for that to happen, uh-“ Danny reaches to straighten the table, fumbling for a second before it stands upright, he steps away from it, “If there’s any way I can help or.. like fix it. I can pay for the cup..” a server comes over to him, “if you want..?”

The server’s dead eyes don’t waver as they silently place a wet floor sign over the spilled milkshake.

“Thanks.”

“Uh huh.”

The server walks away, leaving Danny to sigh all on his own. He leans over to grab his backpack from the booth, checking it over for milkshake before slinging it on his back, thankfully clean.

He makes it one step forward before he feels the floor go out from under him. Ah gravity. His greatest enemy. This is karma for all those times he’s ignored it, isn’t it?

The wind is knocked out of him when his back slams to the floor, cushioned by the dulcet sounds of his bag crunching against broken glass.

He looks up at the wet floor sign.

The man on the yellow plastic mocks him.

Danny sighs.

He curses his stupid luck.

He curses this stupid city.

Then he curses himself because he knows any of this stupid city’s curses end up affecting him anyways.

Danny gets to his feet, ignoring the feeling of milkshake on his hands and his… everywhere.

He trudges out of the diner without looking back. At least he’d already paid for it.

He grimaces at the milkshake handprint on the door, trying to wipe it away with his shirt and only succeeding in making it worse.

Danny catches the eyes of the server inside, staring at him, eyes progressively more annoyed.

Danny puts his hands up in surrender and backs away.

Directly into a person. Only his milkshake covered self prevents him from being hit with anything more than the man’s scathing glare.

He puts his hands back up and moves away to dodge everybody else on the sidewalk. Along with the occasional ghost. Visible only to him of course.

By the time he has managed to escape the sidewalks into an alley, he is certain there is a trail of slightly sticky businessmen behind him.

Danny crouches to swing his backpack down in front of him and take stock. Okay, he could put his sweatshirt on over it… but it would also get ruined… damn it.

Danny looks around, checking every inch of the alley for cameras and then backing himself into a corner just to be safe. The flicker of intangibility is barely noticeable except for the wet squelch of milkshake remnants dropping to the alley floor. Lovely.

And of course, the flash of every single Gotham ghost in the area becoming visible and almost tangible for a split second. Also… lovely. There’s a couple startled shouts on the street.

Maybe an alleyway was not the best place for that.

Danny slides his sweatshirt on over his shirt to at least pretend like he was covering a mess and then shimmies out of the alley while trying to make as little contact with ghosts as possible.

He’s almost completely certain he looks crazy as all get out if the stare he gets from a passerby means anything.

Of course… now he’s left glaring across the street again.

He can feel the Infini-Map burning a hole in his backpack. It said this was the next place a natural portal would open and get him back home.

It just didn’t say… when that portal would open.

But of course, it’ll be right in the middle of somebody’s store. Usually not an issue. Except again, this stupid city’s curses are attracted to his energy, so of course the store couldn’t be literally ANYTHING ELSE!

Danny glares at the stupid fricking sign and the stupid predictable pun and the stupid neon hand in the front window waving at him.

‘The Claire Witch Project: psychic, medium, and Claire-voyant’

Danny is on day three of simultaneously avoiding the entire building while remaining close enough he can be there when the portal forms.

He is dirty, tired, and running out of money. In short, Danny is starting to lose hope on this endeavor.

The worst part?

He has the perfect solution.

There’s a pathetic little piece of printer paper taped to the inside of the window.

‘Help wanted’

When he’d first gotten here, Danny had followed the infini-map all the way to this horrific city, seen the sign, and turned a quick 180. He’d rather die again thanks.

He’d smacked into two billboards just coming into the city, and there was literally no stars, why would he want to stay here till the portal opened when he could just find another?

Except.. Danny’s eye twitches dangerously as he thinks back on it- except there wasn’t another portal. This was it. For the foreseeable future, he either caught this portal or was stranded for whoever knows how much longer.

Danny sighs again and dreads his continued existence. He looks both ways on the street, takes a step forward, nearly gets run over, steps back, and turns for the nearest crosswalk.

Fine. He could follow rules if it meant increasing his chances of leaving.

He tries to hold in the sigh this time, he really does, he swears.

Not the one before he opens the shop door though, that sigh deserved freedom from his trials. It joins the myriad of whispy translucent shades lingering in the store. Because of course there was just enough spiritual energy in here for them to be visible to him.

“Hey there!” A girl in loose fitting colorful clothing appears from behind a corner, “I’m Claire! How can I help your life journey today?” He can see the way her bulky crystal hair accessories sway with her movements. What was he getting into here again?

Danny tries to ignore the incense shoving itself up his nose as he speaks, “Hey, I was…” He was really doing this huh? “Hoping that the help wanted position is still available?”

The girl looks him over as she moves to the back of the checkout counter. The clear observation makes him nervous, and he takes his hands out of his pockets to try and look marginally more… candidate-able.

“You have experience?”

“Sure d-“ He wants to throw up in his own mouth, ancients this is so cringe, just let him die, “Sure do!” He says through choked back vomit and false cheer, “I’m a…” -barf- “I’m a medium.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, you don’t need a uniform, I don’t need your size silly!”

Danny blinks. What? Also. What?

“Wait-I’m hired?”

Claire pauses from getting something from under the counter, “Didn’t I already say that?”

“Uh…” Danny’s eyes dart around the shop, “No?”

“Oh well, you are, you have the right vibes, don’t worry,” she slides a few papers onto the glass counter, and Danny is abruptly, horrifically reminded he has no legal documents to speak of here. He thinks. He hasn’t actually checked.

Crap.

“Of course, most of my clients pay in cash, so I’ll pay you in cash too just to make it easier, and any crystal sales I’ll just add to it. Sound good?”

“Sure?” Oh no, is this gonna be Danny’s first real job? “But I don’t know anything about crystals. I have a goth friend but she’s not into that stuff.”

Claire waves his comment away, “Oh no worries, I can leave a packet.”

Danny nods, “Thank- wait, sorry. Leave?”

Claire laughs, pulling out a bag from behind her counter, “Yes I leave for a trip in two days. Family things you know,”

Danny feels like his brain is being scrambled, “Oh, what, what happened? Is everything okay?”

Claire looks at him, blinking wide, “What? Why would anything have happened?”

“Because… you said, you were leaving for-“

“Just don’t want to get caught in a bad position, you know how it is.”

Some of the shades stir in the air, their misty movements twitching with agitation enough to draw his eye for a second.

“Right. Well I’m glad I came when I did then,” Danny says, because he still doesn’t want to be rude.

Claire smiles at him.

Danny pats his hands against his sides awkwardly, trying not to look up at the movement of the shades intertwined with incense smoke at the ceiling.

There’s a little jingle behind him, which he belatedly realizes is the door when Claire moves to greet them before he can even turn around.

“Ms. Jives! Wonderful to see you! How’s the goldfish?”

Ms. Jives turns out to be a slightly older woman, maybe early seventies with a cane but she looks good. The coffee brown hair is almost certainly a dye job but it frames her wrinkled face well.

“Oh Jim is lovely dear, much better this way, I bought him a new plant just the other day, he just loves it.”

“Good, here for your reading right?”

“I am! But you can finish up with your customer first if you need,” Ms. Jives says. Claire waves her concern away.

“No need, this is Danny, I just hired him, he has a similar mystical connection.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” Ms. Jives says as she passes by him, “Would you like to come with dear? Claire is going to do a reading for me.”

Danny grimaces, “Sure.”

In the end, by the time Ms. Jives makes it slowly to the back room, Danny is trying to think of where he’s gonna sleep tonight. He mostly zones out when Claire dims the lights and starts talking nonsense.

All he heard was “something something card, something something magician something reversed something something balance something something chihuahua.”

Ok, maybe he wasn’t listening. But he was trying to focus on not staring at the movement of the shades, and the incense was mega strong and Claire had some weird ass music playing. He’s almost certain she’s faking everything. Down to the atrociously bright bead earrings.

Danny sags when she finishes, all too happy to leave the weird little curtain covered room.

He stands in the front awkwardly while Ms. Jives pays, twiddling with the various crystals and trying to figure which ones are actually y’know.. mystical or whatever.

Answer? Surprisingly most of them. That he could tell, at least, but it’s not like he actually knows how to sense that out on purpose. He’s pretty sure a couple of the heart shaped rose quartzes are complete duds but what does he care.

He’s thoroughly bored by the time Claire calls him back over. Apparently to tell him that he’ll do a reading tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?!” Danny blurts, “Don’t you want to like- I don’t know, make sure I can- or like.. I don’t know, but tomorrow?”

Claire just smiles at him, “I believe you can handle it, trust me.”

‘Trust you? Lady, I just met you and you’ve been nothing but crazy the whole time!’ Danny wants to say, instead, he keeps his mouth shut and nods with what he’s sure is fear in his eyes.

Then she’s pressing something into his hands and when he looks down it’s a key. A key. There’s no way-

“So be here 9am sharp, Danny! You can open up and I’ll come in later!” Claire starts pushing him towards the door, “And Mr. Wayne should be waiting for you when you get here!”

Danny turns around to catch himself in the doorframe, “Mr who will be what now!? Wait, Ms. Claire, Ma’am- why-!” He stops to lower his volume and ask politely, “Why am I doing this? You don’t even know me,” Danny says, one leg still in the store.

Claire smiles, “Because the universe told me to silly! See you tomorrow! Here’s my number!” Then she slaps a sticky note to his chest with enough finality that Danny takes a step back. The door closes with a click and ring of the bell inside.

Danny stares at the door with his eye twitching for at least a minute.

What the hell did ‘the universe told me to’ even mean, you kook!?

Danny sighs and looks down at the sticky note, quickly inputting the number in his phone before something happens to it.

He’s barely hit save when he finally steps away from the shop front and…. is immediately drenched to the bone.

Because apparently it’d been pouring rain and he simply hadn’t noticed from under the awning.

He watches as blue ink slides off the sticky note in little sad face streaks.

Danny sighs.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

ngl, I'm beginning to take issue with how in conversations about anti-intellectualism almost automatically, the face of girls and women will be slapped on the problem.

[thevitalportal]

It’s intrinsic to the culture.

These kids are killing it. I truly believe that Afro dance is in the African water.

[the-blueprint]

Thriller