Bent Notes

Mrs. BN and I checked out of Bronze level I in fox trot, rhumba, swing and waltz last night at our studio’s medal ball.  Nice event, sit-down dinner, a dress-up affair.

It occurs to me that there’s something real non-feminist about dancing.  that is to say, all the above dances, and all the others we’ve been working on, hinge on the man being the definite leader, giving his partner strong cues on what’s going to happen next.  For instance, lately we’ve been working on the difference in the signal the man gives the woman that they’re going into a promenade in fox trot and the signal for going int o an underarm turn.  You (the man) tilt your partner - like tipping a tea kettle to pour tea - to indicate a promenade, and you exert a slight pressure with your fingers on her shoulder blade to indicate an underarm turn.

It’s one of those cultural conventions, like “Mr. and Mrs. Joe Smith,” that hasn’t gone away in spite of forty years of Freidan, Greer, Morgan, Steinem and the H-word Creature.  When human beings of opposite genders get into pairs for activities laden with centuries of attendant decorum, our expectations kick in.  See point four of The Bent Notes Manifesto.

The showcase took place last evening.  All in all, a gala event. Some great dancing, a decent-sized crowd, good chow.

I felt fairly good about our performance.  There were a couple of moments of uncertainty from which we had to recover.  That kind of broke the smoothness with which we’d started into our routine, I felt.  At the end, Mrs. BN was supposed to take her feather boa off her neck and throw it around mine.  We got about a second past that point in the music and I could tell it wasn’t happening, so I grabbed the sucker and did it myself. The crowd thought it was planned that way.

I definitely see parallels between dance and jazz.  This matter of recovering crops up in my jazz work.  You get that creepy feeling that you’re about to get good and lost in a chart, so you scramble to hear a familiar chord change so you can take it from there.  And, when it’s all clicking, as it was at the last rehearsal on Saturday, it’s a feeling unlike any other.

I’ll have pix soon.  We definitely looked snappy.

The showcase featuring several of the students from the studio where Mrs. BN and I take lessons is happening this Sunday.  We have four rehearsals this week.

Our routine involves a mix of foxtrot and swing steps.  I can visualize the whole sequence in my mind and execute it fairly properly.  Now, we’re fine-tuning each step and kind of putting together segments of it.

I’m trying to eat a healthful diet this week so I’ll be trim and vitality-filled.

I should have pictures early next week.

Mrs. BN and I are seeing our routine for the upcoming showcase take shape.  It’s helping me to visualize the sequence of steps and moves away from the dance floor, like when I’m sitting here at my desk.  I can get through the whole thing, albeit with a few spots that still look kind of rough.  (That toe-heel-cross-pop thing is a lot for my brain to process in the space of a few seconds.)  Now I have to focus on cleaning up each move.

We go for private practice with our instructor for a half-hour on Monday evenings, and then we have couples class immediately following.  This month in that class, we’ve worked on hustle and rhumba.

I work on those hustle moves and I’m a little bit worn down and in overload, and I think, how did the disco people back in the 70s do that fancy, fast-paced stuff all night at Studio 54?  I guess that’s what the amyl nitrate poppers, cocaine and speckled birds were for.  But didn’t that stuff exacerbate the dizziness induced by all that twirling and twisting?

Mrs. BN and I are going to be in a dance showcase in mid-December. Our routine involves a combination of fox trot moves - basics, promenades, a grapevine, a dip and a couple of underarm turns - interspersed with some swing basics. I never knew a minute and a half could take so long to transpire. And I thought jazz guitar required sharpness and energy.

I’ll probably have some photos when the big event happens.

The wild and stompin’ Treniers, from 1953!

Our dance instructor has us putting the little hip twists on the march-in-place and fifth-position hand-to-hands in our rhumba.  It’s really done with the feet.  You push into the floor with the ball of the foot on the leg doing the twisting, while pushing into the floor with the heel of the straight leg.

 I’d never seriously worked on dance before we started at this studio.  The mindset involved is actually similar to that employed in woodshedding on the guitar.

 One fun thing about rhumba is that it’s done to Brazilian music which I dig big-time.

It’s about time to find a dance venue and try some of this stuff out in public.

The dance studio where we take instruction has changed its name to Dance Street, moved to a new location and revamped its website.

We’re still going on a weekly basis.  Also attending their weekly parties when possible.  I’m getting more fluid with my tango promenades, my rhumba New Yorks, my waltz change-steps.  Swing and hustle seem to come the easiest.