dance of the (un)dead

dancing partners. who needs 'em? well we all do as it happens. both metaphorically and really. but just keeping to the dance arena for the moment, if you ain't got a partner why bother?

of course you can preen and strut all you like in your own girational statement. you can shake your booty and casino turn till your body pops in a wild orgasm of rhythm if you so desire. and the assembled wallhangers can marvel or snigger at your skill, or lack of it, as the spirit moves them. but really, if you ain't got someone to hang on to, yours is a truly solitary vice.

personally i reckon a partner is a must. and there's the rub so to speak. just who is this lucky person going to be? who are you going to invite?

for the purpose of this short reflection i'm going to stick to lasses. in salsa, at least where i dance, not many boys dance together. and to be honest, as far as i am concerned girls are more fun.

some say you don't need to make too much of it. the relationship is only going to last for a few minutes after all. a few brief twirls and out before you move to the next beautiful blossom with whom to redefine your conception of personal space and shake that funky thing. so it could be anybody really.

or could it?

that few minutes cuddling up to a fun honey is nearly always over way too soon. but pairing up with the wrong lady can broach an eternity of excruciating faux pas through which to fumble before silently disengaging and hurrying to opposite ends of the room.

there are of course ladies who are crap dancers. they don't have a clue because they've only been doing it for a week or two. they are tense and want to keep their arms by their sides i imagine to protect their bosoms from uninvited manhandling.

they should be so lucky. firstly that isn't going to happen. secondly their chests would be perfectly safe in my hands ... but it still isn't going to happen. and thirdly by the time they've been at it for a few more weeks they won't give a fig anyway.

dance virgins tho they may be these girls are not always the chore they think they are. if they don't actually fight and aren't contrary enough to resist your lead it can be rewarding helping them build their confidence. you can tell that soon some of them will be much better than you are anyway so why not help them now.

anyone who sticks with it obviously will improve. there are plenty of ladies who are very good. tho conversely this doesn't necessarily make them great partners.

apart from whether or not they are prepared to take a lead it also depends on why they want to dance. maybe its an exhibition? maybe they are signaling their physical perfection to a prospective mate? or maybe its a status thing and they want to demonstrate their position in the strutting hierarchy. if that's the case, unless you are more than mortal yourself forget it. you won't get a look in.

so it doesn't have much to do with your partner's dance skill, its really about their innate sense of rhythm and much much more about their attitude. how they feel about themselves and how they see you. and how much they trust you.

everybody's different of course and occasionally someone turns up who stakes out new territory in dance partner land. janey for example is both crap and haughty. and brings a whole bundle of baggage when she condescends to stalk across the floor. its not that she hasn't tried to absorb the groove, its just that she is naturally arrhythmic. not clumsy exactly just slightly, consistently and unpredictably off the beat.

maybe she compensates for this with attitude? its difficult to be sure but being unpleasant certainly seems to be a cornerstone of her technique. so not only is her movement erratic she also enjoys an abrasive personality.

and with janey the lack of fun doesn't stop there. even to touch her is somehow not a pleasant experience. its as if she carries a resentment which makes her uncomfortable in her own body and which she communicates through her skin.

its not a hygiene issue. trust me, you dance with someone you know whether they're clean or not. also its not a skin disease. there are no warts, or acne or scars or scabs. none of that. well not in the physical dimension that is. its just difficult to find her edge. you know, where she starts and stops. she feels formless. and cold as if, were you to sleep with her and be lucky enough subsequently wake up, you might find yourself suffering from a kind of spiritual hypothermia.

so maybe any consideration of dance partners also needs to recognize the cosmic, angry icebergs of the dance scene. those chill, life threatening presences in the pulsing sea of femininity that are best avoided. the janeys in other words.

but make up your own mind. for me, i've spotted her and am going to maintain my course round that particular eruption of emotional anti-matter. from now on i'll cuddle the ladies who are warm and willing.

i know it makes sense.

peace, love and no mittens,

whats not orange and fizzy?

tango of course.

especially the argentinian variety. which these days is the clinch of choice throughout the land. only last night i called the shots as i guided a bevy of compliant females relatively gracefully around a dance-floor somewhere in wales, our eager progress driven by the throbbing strain of a music forged in the meat-packing district of buenos aires during the early years of the twentieth century.

meat-packing? perhaps we'll skip that one till we all know each other better. but i gotta say i don't think this stuff is for feminists. or new men for that matter. in fact i couldn't help wondering whether maybe new men will become an endangered species as this insidious practice spreads.

i don't think of myself as a new man. i do however believe in respect for the ladies and am the first to agree that those with the double X chromosomes are well entitled to equal pay for equal work. and recognise the value of giving birth and home making etc. etc.

so sticking resolutely to the sunny side of gender politics boulevarde, like most of us chaps i reckon i'm a moderate. thus tango caught me unawares. whether tackled in thigh tight skirt, highwaisted trousers and white blouse or tee shirt and jeans theres no getting away from it, the underlying premise of the dance is the control of women by men.

there are gritty antecedents. originally the dance was a mainly masculine manoeuvre amongst the sexually dispossessed compadrones, the tough guys of buenos aires' immigrant districts. as the inevitable bordellos sprang up to temper their tension tango snuck sideways. quickly redefining itself as the ballet of whore and pimp the dance's present day street progeny hasn't left its piquant youth all that far behind.

it isn't quite like that in the uk. here the women who dance tango - the followers - are most emphatically motivated by their own enjoyment. seemingly drawn by a heady testosterone miasma they tumble through the in-door, eager to close their eyes and succumb.

perhaps that's the most surprising thing. the majority of students in the classes i go to are over 30. in many cases by a good long way. and yet its these ladies, who have had plenty of time to think through the issues, who decide to embrace the ritualized acquiescence so fulsomely.

however all may not be as it first appears. for example, of the three pairs of visiting tutors at whose cuban heeled feet i have metaphorically sat, two have been directed by the follower. her partner - the leader - altho accomplished, has more or less done what he was told.

which leads us on to another question. what is it about these narcissistic* sorts that they need to be seen to hold the reins when the missus is actually the one cracking the whip?

do i care? i'm an adult. i consented. and so did the ladies i asked to join me as we paced solemnly and semi seriously** across the parquet. from time to time girls can close their eyes i was told. tho 'not you as well,' counseled one more experienced female. 'you've got to steer.'

by this time too much thinking and not enough groove was sweeping me out of my depth. adrift amongst the pulsating politics and freewheeling pheromones i realised i was hopelessly floundering. and as for the footwork ... i decided to cut the analysis and get on with the dance.

once i had done that the whole thing opened up. i started to get a feel for the leading-with-the-chest trick and we flew round the room. so it seemed that my first tango lesson was much more to do with attitude readjustment than with my clumsy attempts to execute the steps. after all who is naive enough to think that the relationship between boys and girls is ever what it seems? and who says you're ever too old to benefit from the steep learning curve of a dance lesson? i certainly had no complaints from the damsel on the sharp end.

well the not-so-sharp end actually but that's another story.




* it does seem that the boys are fond of themselves. in the style of a true guapo, male tango teachers over a certain age have no fear. certainly when it comes to dyeing their hair. while the younger ones flaunt their ringlets with abandon. or, cutting a dash, shave them aesthetically off.

** at a previous session i was actually reprimanded for talking, and worse still laughing, while dancing. and another time was accused along with my partner of having 'way too much fun.' tango it seems is a serious business where souls entwine. and sniggering is well and truly out. but that's ok. i can go with it. watch me.

bacatta

i've discovered bacatta. have you tried it? its heavy on pelvic nudging and has a characteristic stressed 4th beat when, instead of catching your breath as in salsa, you thrust one hip to the side. can look cool ... but if you're not careful you can come across as a kind of lecherous terpsichorean long john silver. its all got to be there but ostentatiously SUBTLE ... if you get my drift. lots of practice required. preferably in the dark where no one can see.

dance from the heart