Sunday, January 10, 2010

Dancing in NYC

From Christmas until New Years, I went out nearly every night dancing. These are my notes.



Brazen Fox
A classy sports bar in White Plains. Good for fans of football, Jersey Shore or Armani Exchange. Also, having long talks about friendship and relationships with one's best friend (and an awesome friend of hers).


Calico Jack's Cantina
Club-bar. Patrons take myspace-pictures of themselves, sipping enormous neon-colored cocktails through giant staws. Pop music. Girls in tight jeans, boys coated in hair gel. I was glad I brought earplugs. Not too classy, but not too sketchy. Not really my place, but I liked the company.



The Players Club for New Years Eve's Eve
The Player’s Club was ridiculous: a historic building on Gramercy Park. Old world classy, portraits on the walls. One large dance hall with sticky floors, always filled with dancers. Intimidating. Matching their surroundings, the crowd was very glamorous. The men wore suspenders, and sharp hats.

But the ladies were a class above. Tiny flowers woven into their hair, their dresses showed just enough flesh to entice. Their make-up was flawless: eyelashes extravagant, brows shaped, lips lined and glossed. In their fancy shoes, they all hung within the acceptable rage of 5’4” to 5’9.” And worst of all, they exuded class, grace, and femininity.

While I have good points, refinement is not one of them.

I wore my black tennis dress from the previous night. My bangs were poking upwards. In my yellow converse sneakers, I stood over six feet. I only applied a bit of make-up. Even before dancing a step, I felt a bit warm, the sweat collecting.

I saw Shawn. As gorgeous as ever, if not more so. Suddenly, I realized how much I missed her. We hugged and spoke. She introduced me to her friends, whom I enjoyed and danced with. One of them was a total tease, the kinda guy I become bros with.

After dancing with me, he said, “God, I’m sweatier than a Ukrainian!”
“So true!” I said, “I’m Ukrainian!”
“Ah, I’m so sorry,” he panicked. “I’ve never actually met one before.”
“It’s cool— we really are that sweaty.”


The dance floor was packed, bodies flying everywhere to George Gee's tunes. Though there were more of the younger set, the older folks were the large majority. I danced with some good folks and saw some terrible burlesque.

Well, not terrible. But I’m spoiled. A tap dancing girl in a skimpy outfit is charming, but Catherine had more skill and fantastic showmanship. This girl just didn’t sell it. I miss you, Catherine. And not just when you’re Shirley Temple and I’m the zombie after your heart.

The other one sold it, but I didn’t want what she had to buy. She was on the older side, doing feather fans, with a rather unfortunate outfit.

I was very, very happy when George Gee started playing again.


Connolly's
Stupidly, I didn’t write down the cross-streets, just the address, leaving me wandering around midtown on one of the coldest days of the year. Fortunately, with the assistance of two boys working at a bodega and three of their customers, I found my way. When I finally saw the venue, it was obvious. Connolly's was huge, with a bar on the main floor and the dance floor on the third floor. It was strategically placed near a number of Broadway theaters, so if one needed some liquid encouragement before, after or during a show, it was close.

The dance floor at Connolly’s was big, but packed. While it wasn’t as stuffed with bodies as Banjo Jim’s, dancers absorbed every space. I’ve never really danced in crowded quarters before, so I started to be more aware of where my body was in space. The band was fantastic, dressed in colorful vintage wears. There were three leads around my age; everyone else was much older. One of them was pretty good: when I closed my eyes during a swing out, I could pretend it was John. Almost.


Amanda and I share a deep love for older gents, mostly due to contra. Though younger dudes treat me with polite disinterest, but older gents think I’m the queen of France. Complimentary as this is, I do miss the speed of younger dudes. Older folks jacked style from other types of dance: tango spins, salsa holds, ballroom attitude. Only the younger ones felt like swing dancers, really feeling the music for what it was.



Swing 46
Not really what I expected, both in showing and style. Boilermaker Jazz Band is one of the few swing bands I’ve hear of, so I was expected a big showing of younger folks. Not so much. Like Sophia’s, there were lots of tables, making it hard to see who was really there to dance, and who was to listen. Over the past few months, I’ve gotten over any fears of rejection. While I struck out a few times, I managed to keep dancing for most of it.

Only one sketchball. Vastly outweighed by dancing with the Boilermaker’s drummer during set breaks.

And again, I saw Shawn, which made everything lovely. Seeing her was the highlight of the night.



Club 412
Club 412 convinced me to go dancing from now until forever. There were three dance studios, two live bands, lots of great dancers. Many were older and liked dancing with younger ladies. Slidey floors.

An equal number of follows and leads, and as most ladies were not aggressive, and dudes were shy, I could dance with whomever I wanted. Everyone there was very friendly.

An ancient, tiny Venezuelan guy, Andres, looked at me, and said, “Do you salsa?” I gave my head a wiggle. Kinda. He replied, “Well, then I’ll teach you.” We went to one of the other studios, and he lead me around.

Later on, Carlos, a younger guy, taught me how to cha-cha. Though the basic was different than the cha-cha Nora taught me, it wasn’t too difficult, until he started adding turns. “Thanks for being so nice!” I said, catching my breath when the dance was over. “Well, I like dancing with you,” he said, “and I wanted to cha-cha. Figured this was the easiest way.”

I left coated with sweat, my hair spiked and slick, as if I’d just gotten out of the shower.


Cache at Sofia's
I heard that Vince Giordano, who made the soundtrack for Ghost World, was playing here. The venue was huge, but the term “club” seemed false. The space was covered in tables. The crowd was old, mostly seated. The music, while good, was very… period. Not very funky. I didn't want to pay the cover and left.



Banjo Jim's

Check it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD9nD8ltRNs&feature=related

This was the band I saw last night, Cangelosi Cards, at Banjo Jim's. The video does not do it justice -- their singer is sick, they all play three instruments. They did everything from old-school jazz, to gospel, and blues. Lucy's recommendation was very successful. Tara and Lucy met me there. There's something wonderful about friends who you can clown with.

It was crazy crowded in there. Though it was only 20º outside, it felt a 120º in there. I felt a wee tad claustrophobic and started talking to the dude next to me (Richard), who was really charming.

Aries: Is it generally this packed?
Richard: It varies. Last week? Empty. Week before that? Full.
Aries: Aw, man, there's no space to dance.
Richard: Wait, you dance?
Aries: Yeah! Do you?
Richard: Yeah! Lindy hop.
Aries: Sweet! That's so great!
Richard: How long have you been dancing for?
Aries: About three months. And you?
Richard: Um. Nine years. ...Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.
Aries: But how do we dance in here?
Richard: Here's the codeword: floorcraft. Unless you know bal.


And then, we danced.

1 comment:

GeorgeGee said...

I am so glad you had a chance to swing with us here in NYC! Hope to be able to do it again very soon, Happy New Year!