Dancing to the average person, especially the average straight male, is an intimidating act, and watching how a dancefloor populates over the course of a night is an amusing pastime. LoveLife (biweekly Fridays at Local 121) is a wonderful example of the sociology of dancing, and I’ve seen this process at work over and over again.
The first dancers, besides myself, are invariably a group of two or three women, sometimes accompanied by an almost unmistakably gay male friend, who dance in a small circle in the dead center of the floor. The rest of the attendees will be scattered about, mostly sitting with friends, sipping their drinks. Then, a group of two or three guys will enter the room at speed, and one will immediately start dancing a spastic tribal dance, as if to appease the God of Insecurity. He will dance this way for perhaps 20 seconds, and then retire to the bar as if nothing happened. Eventually a girl will drag her tall, thin, reluctant boyfriend to the floor where he will bounce uncomfortably off the beat, and from there the party can begin at last.
By midnight, the club is reaching critical mass and critical drunkenness. Most people need two things to dance: alcohol and anonymity. I can personally relate to the desire for anonymity in a packed club, which also provides a kind of human energy that is definitely infections above and beyond the music. But disinhibition is the most critical component, which is why two drinks is a minimum to the average club goer. With sufficient alcohol in sufficient bloodstreams, the place will finally reach capacity crazy by 12:45, almost two hours from the start of the show.
I see it as such a sad commentary that in a room full of 20 and 30-somethings, many of whom are intelligent, healthy, good-looking students and professionals, only a very very small percentage feels comfortable dancing sober, and before the room is packed. It tells me that people are not comfortable with their bodies, or with who they are, and this is true of both men and women. Dancing is exposed, it is passionate, and it is one of the few acts that amplifies one’s insecurity, eliciting vulnerability and acute self-awareness.
Just like Marty, I found myself drawn to electronic music for the first time during the Big Beat craze of the late ‘90’s. It wasn’t long after that I discovered the much deeper and more soulful genres of house and breakbeat. And most importantly, I discovered that I love to dance.
As a straight male in a part of the world that’s still too obsessed with machismo to appreciate electronic music, this makes me a little bit of a weirdo – a role, I admit, to which I am happily accustomed. My tastes in the music I dance to are very specific, borderline snobby, and I cannot dance well to anything below 120 beats per minute, which rules out most club hip-hop. Going dancing is also a ritualistic act for me. I have a specificly-designated outfit which provides maximum breathability and flexibility, and shoes which give ample support and power (skater shoes have always been by favorite, in spite of their weight). If I could get away with it, I would also wear my white visor and wrist bands (I play tennis, so these are already part of my wardrobe). I begin hydrating an hour before I leave, and I always wear ear plugs, which receive a fair mix of sarcasm and envy. I always bring along a backup pair, but as yet no one has ever taken my offer. I almost always leave the club when the party is at its peak…mainly because by that time there is little floor space to really move, and what space there is is covered in spilled beer and cocktail mix. It’s my ankles’ worst nightmare. Fortunately, I’m usually exhausted by that point anyway, as is my date, if I have one at all.
I hope that as the electronic music and dance scene grow and broaden in Providence, a few of you will be brave, accept that EVERYONE in the room is insecure and uncomfortable at first (even me), and let loose from the outset, because there is no “scene” without the fans, and there are no club nights without club goers. Dancing isn’t just a fun night out, it’s our civic duty. And you are NOT the goofiest guy in the room.
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