I love dancing. If that’s a secret it’s the world’s worst kept one. It usually takes few drinks to come out, but once I hit a certain level of intoxication it seems futile to do anything else. It’s reckless, ridiculous stuff too. Big kicks, dropping low, twists, jumps, erratic, jerky movements. I know how silly it all is but that’s never stopped me. Why stop myself from having fun if it harms nobody? Well, nobody else, I should specify. As much fun as I have on the night, my body has a choice bundle of four letter words awaiting me in the morning. My back lets me know just how much twisting I did the night before. Blisters are an occupational hazard and before I got my knee brace, I’d be hobbling for the next few days. Being a dance floor whirling dervish is one hell of a workout.
Some nights are on a different level to others. Some nights the music resonates somewhere deep inside and it lifts you with it. You know where this is going, obviously. Last night was one of those nights. Dance Yourself Clean is a touring event playing a bunch of indie dance tracks. Not esoteric stuff, just the kind of songs you’d rarely find at a club. As my friend put it so adroitly, they’re the kind of tracks you dance to at home. LCD Soundsystem, CHVRCHES, Neon Indian, etc. Tracks with a great beat, that you’ll eagerly devour on transit en route to work, with moves that rarely show on the subway.
I’m gonna put it out there that I’ve never been to a dance event playing “All My Friends” by LCD Soundsystem. I’ve got a massive emotional attachment to that song (given a weird night driving an RV between Jersey and Baltimore for the first time on the opposite side of the road). Last night I had the inclination and the space to move. So, spurred onwards by fellow enthusiasts, I spent the four or five odd minutes tossing out eccentric movements, using my space like Stanislavski taught me. It was a moment I feel like I’d been waiting for years to experience. My friend had SoundHound virtually permanently open. If there was anything that sounded neat but we didn’t know, she pounced on that. Just because it wasn’t esoteric, didn’t mean that we weren’t in on it.
They had a live performing artist there, the first artist signed to their label. It was a really interesting instance of a label being totally tone deaf. The guy wasn’t bad by any means, but when you’ve got a crowd coming for this predetermined nouveau nostalgia, it’s strange to throw a new cog into that machine.His appearances were usually dance floor anathema, or a call to grab a drink.
Still, at any time when he wasn’t gracing the stage, my friends and I were either packing the dance floor or finding uninhabited areas in which to creatively use space. There’s something to a brand of music that you’ve always wanted to hear when you’re out for a good night, but rarely do. I’m unsure if the rash from my knee brace, plus belly full of 3am Korean food, would be considered dancing myself clean. In any case, I danced myself silly and that’s an always welcome outcome.