the dark side of the swinguverse

No, it’s not all Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers and solo jazz routines.

[Benji Schwimmer West Coast Swing Jack and Jill]
When I talk about ‘groover’ lindy in Melbourne, that’s the sort of thing I’m talking about. That’s not lindy hop in that clip, it’s west coast swing (a peculiarly American phenomenon – though we have our ceroc), and I have to admit that that’s some pretty shmick dancing. Particularly when you keep in mind that that’s a jack and jill comp (ie, they weren’t actual dance partners – that’s all made up shit). It’s just that it’s so… well, look at it.
That guy – he’s some pretty hot stuff. I couldn’t lead like that. But… you know what I mean.
Why isn’t it lindy hop?
Ok, so once you get past the music (which is the sort of pap I hear far too regularly out lindy hopping here in Melbourne – especially the first song), there’s the really upright bodies (even leaning backwards), the pointy toes, the lack of bounce, the heels on the ground (putting their weight backwards, rather than onto the front half of the foot)… it’s a completely different bodily aesthetic. And very white. This is honky dancing (note the way they sort of nod down to the ground, then up. And flick their hair about).
It’s almost latin, but look at their hips. There’s no saucy Cuban isolation there.
But I do have to say – that’s some pretty dang shmick dancing. Not my cup of tea, not one little bit (though it does look like fun), but that don’t stop that being some pretty good leading and following.
…. do I have to mention the whole black pants, black dress shoes, red collared shirt thing? No. Nor do we need to talk about black pants and black crop tops.

[Don’t Cha (Pussycat Dolls) – West Coast Swing demo]
Yep, that’s that sweet west coast action as well.
And the scariest part of all this is that this sort of dancing is getting about in Melbourne, masquerading as lindy hop. And I. Don’t. Like. It.
[edit: I can’t stop watching that Benji clip. It’s mesmerising. The Squeeze watched 10 seconds and left the room in disgust]

Jimmie Lunceford Rhythm is our Business

I’m currently enjoying (another) Jimmie Lunceford album called Rhythm is our Business. I can’t find a link to it, I’m afraid. It seems that quite a few of these CDs I’m picking up second hand are actually ones that you could mail order or get as one of those monthly music club deals. So they’re not on amazon or the other major music sites. Which sucks, because they’re actually really great compilations – some unusual stuff that isn’t on the more usual CDs.
Anyway, this Lunceford one is really neat. It has a few of my favourites (Hitting the Bottle (which I LOVE), Organ Grinder’s Swing (great fun for dancing but goes over like a lead balloon with Melbournians because it has those tinkly ‘organ’ bits), Wham (Re-Bop-Boom-Bam) (fun lindy fun)), but also a couple of new things that I didn’t have before. Perhaps the most interesting version of Black and Tan Fantasy I’ve heard so far. Most of the versions I have are by Ellington (as you’d expect), with a few other ordinary versions. But I really like this Lunceford one – it has a different intro and the initial trumpet solo feels quite different.
I’m a big fan of second hand CD shops, and regularly turn up nice surprises. Nice cheap surprises.
I was going to post a clip which I remember as Black and Tan Fantasy, but is actually something else (East St Louis Toodle-oo or something) with the Five Hot Shots or the Berry Brothers or somebody dancing…
…look, I’m having trouble remembering, ok?
Anyway, because I couldn’t find any of those things on youtube (one search is enough), here’s the Nicholas Brothers, who frickin’ rock.

And because the 70s were a very strange place, here’s the Nicholas Brothers with the Jacksons.

And because I can’t keep away from youtube, here’s something else:

Yes, there were skips dancing lindy in the 30s. Though I’m not sure Dean Collins counts as a skip – he was Jewish. That’s some serious jazz action he and Jewell McGowan are pulling out, west coast lindy style.
The best bit of that clip is right near the end where the white dood sings Darktown Strutters’ Ball – that’s some seriously dodgy racial politics right there.

meaningless side note

When I follow, I find I’m spinning every third move. This is partly a Melbourne thing – the leads stand around a lot waiting for the follow to finish making them look good. They don’t make much constructive use of horizontal (lateral?) space – perhaps a result of our relatively crowded dance floors, but most probably because there’s a very particular dominant ‘lead culture’ in this town.
When I lead, I very very rarely do spins myself. It’s directly related to my other life as a follow – I just get sick to death of the stupid things.


The first recorded black woman blues singer (ie first black woman to record a non-religious commercially released song), Mamie Smith’s 1920 song Crazy Blues had the lyrics:

I’m gonna do likea Chinaman… go and get some hop
Get myselfa gun… and shoot myself a cop.

That’s about sixty years before NWA and Ice-T came along.
Adam Gussow (in “‘Shoot myself a cop’: Mamie Smith’s Crazy Blues as Social Text” (Callaloo 25.1 (2002): 8-44) claims:

Ths song is… an insurrectionary social text, a document that transcends its moment by contributing to an evolving discourse of black revolutionary violence in the broadest sense – which is to say, black violence as a way of resisting white violence and unsettling a repressive social order (10).

I’m doing some reading on blues and women blues singers of the 20s and 30s and it’s hardcore stuff. No pussyfooting around this topic. I’m still working on ideas I wrote about briefly here, here and by extension here.
And to think a bunch of white middle class kids are using this shit to dance dirty at late night parties. Though I guess they were doing exactly the same thing in the 20s too.
I can’t seem to get past the idea of the 20s as a far more radical moment than the late 30s. And the 20s were charleston time, flapper time – women dancing on their own, not wearing stockings, cutting their hair, staying up all night and getting divorced. While the 30s were lindy hop time, partner dancing, seriously tailored clothes with lots of darts and War Work.
It’s really nice to have a chance to finally read and read on things that are entirely ‘off-topic’. I can read whatever I like and write about whatever I like. I still can’t get over that!
Meanwhile, I’ve done that paper I had to do and a draft of that guest blog post thing (which is scaring me – the pressure!). I’ve also got a stack of stuff about online community to read, including some neat stuff by Barry Wellman about the relationship between offline and online community. That dood is beginning to rock.
…I’m sure my interest in writing about seriously dance-related stuff (as opposed to more media-centered stuff) has lots to do with the fact that I’m actually going dancing more often than I have in a year – I dance pretty much every day and do at least 2 serious out-the-house dance things a week. My brain is ticking over all the time. And I feel like I have the time (and freedom from stress) to really think about ideas and make them coherent (sort of, anyway).
No doubt this is post-thesis euphoria and will soon be all over, replaced by some sort of post-thesis anxiety/depression/self-doubt.
For now I’m enjoying myself.

tranky doo update

Ok, so I’ve been working on the tranky doo for about a month (or three weeks – I can’t remember which). Even for as slow a learner as I, that’s sufficient time to ….
look, why can’t I write in English today?
….anyway, I’ve pretty much learnt the Tranky Doo now. There are a couple of bits where I’m not exactly sure of the timing (is it 2 or 4 repeats of the ‘ooh-aah’ towards the end there?), but I have ironed out some confusions (Dan suggests doing left-right-left-right rather than triple step at the end of the second fall off the log in the first phrase to stop me being early). I can do it at full speed (192bpm) quite happily.
I’ve also discovered it’s being taught here in March. Dang. But I’m hoping it’s the Hot Shots part of the teaching team – Hannah and Matthias – teaching it so I can get their super styling happening.
Or, as I’ve pointed out to Dan, we need to strut this baby old school before that weekend so we can get maximum show-off value for our effort.
At any rate, the Tranky Doo no longer holds sufficient appeal for the hour of practice I’m doing every day (yes, it’s true – but I’d like to be able to walk without falling over, and dancing helps with that). I have decided the next stop on my Tour of Venerable Jazz Routines will be the Big Apple:

Mostly because I’ve been writing about the way the Big Apple incorporated bits of the Tranky Doo (we love you Frankie). But also because it’s a fricking KICK ARSE routine!
I’ve also just realised that I’ve failed to mention (in that paper) that there’ve been at least two bands who’ve recreated the arrangements of the nameless (and fairly ordinary) song in that clip. That fascinates me – not only are dancers recreating routines from archival footage, but musicians are recreating music from the footage. And it’s important to remember that the arrangement of a particular song (ie writing out all the parts of all the instruments) is often ‘ear marked’ by particular bands. So each great band leader would have a particular take on a big song, marked by their arrangement.
Some of these arrangements suck arse. Some rock. And this is where you realise that a truly great big band was more than its leader or soloists or rhythm section or vocalists – it was also about the arranger(s) and composer(s).
I will report back on the Big Apple and let you know how I’m going. If I can ever get up the guts I’ll film myself so you can all have a good laugh.
But here’s pic of some Australian (and New Zealand) dancers doing the routine to tide you over:

bert’s recent intensive spate in musical theatre has served him up an order of pointed-toes and glamour-arms

It was totally fricking hot and humid last night, and while I went out intending to repeat my crazy-dancing-like-a-fool Thursday night action, the heat (and rather ordinary floor) disuaded me. I ended up hanging out with Bert*, who’s not been out dancing in FAR TOO LONG.
We are stunt buddies from way back (remind me to tell you about the time we convinced a group of Taswegians we were professional stuntmen/women. Truly. And the best bit was that we look like people who like to prop up bars. Because we do), and while we’re both a little out of condition, we decided the front stairs of Forever Dance have gone too long without our attention. My describing pakour in great detail only encouraged our belief in our own abilities.
Unfortunately, we discovered it’s been a bit of a while since we were in proper stunt condition. Coming down the first half of the stairs on my chest/shoulders/back I realised I had no actual control and was actually falling down the stairs. I decided I’d quit while was ahead – a bit of carpet burn and a slight scare was enough. I was also a little put off by the way the carpet grit was clinging attractively to my supersweaty skin.
But, as Bert has pointed out on prior stunt occasions, stunts aren’t for babies.
So we tried a little pakour, using available resources (mostly just two hand rails down the stairs, a couple of door knobs and a side table). Despite our clear ‘thinking like a child’ skills, we failed to anything other than very B-grade traceurs. Unfortunately Bert’s recent intensive spate in musical theatre** has served him up an order of pointed-toes and glamour-arms. And my recent spate of uninterrupted gluttony and sloth has gone some way in reducing my aerodynamicness. I also found that pakour + serious heat and humidity + laughing uproariously at oneself = difficulty breathing.
The most important thing we learnt last night was that pakour goes far better if you shout “Pakour!” as you throw yourself into the air.
*Bert watches old 20s/30s/40s comedy films to rip off stunts – he’s into things like Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, the three stooges, etc.
**He really has been doing musical theatre. I was very disappointed when his brush with drag queening was necessarily brief – only one scene in Shout. I had high costuming hopes.

she’s a freakin’ gun

Apparently Sylvia Sykes is coming to Sydney (and Perth – but that’s far away) in February (23rd, 24th and 25th to be exact). That’s a bit exciting. I’m seriously considering going, and trying desperately to find a way to afford it.
See this clip below? That’s Manu (my lead-hero and one of my favourite teachers) dancing with her in a Jack and Jill in 2002. In a J&J you’re paired up with a partner on the spot – so it’s all improvised, all made up, and you often don’t know your partner or have never danced with them before (though in a pro J&J, that’s not always the case. Pro J&J’s are really good fun to watch. See Manu’s response to discovering he’s dancing with Sylvia? That’s how everyone would feel – this chick’s a freakin’ gun.

Sylvia is one of the original revivalist dancers, a serious balboa specialist (check her out here, dancing balboa with the partner who’s coming to Australia with her) and all round blow-your-pants-off amazing dancer. She is a Hollywood style lindy hopper (or was – now she’s just dah bomb), and I amn’t, but I’m really keen on learning from her. When she writes on her site that she is a ‘teacher’s teacher’, it’s true – she’s the person teachers learn from. There’s been a ripple of interest all over Melbourne, and even hardcore un-balboa people are interested. Even Frankie* wants to dance with her.
Thing is, watching her, you mightn’t think she was all that, especially compared to the flashier, younger doods. But she’s a crafts(wo)man. That’s some freakin’ amazing technical action.
*Frankie Manning is in his 90s now (!!!). He’s one of the most famous choreographers/dancers/performers from the 30/40s and you can see him in Hellzapoppin’ (in the routine he choreographed – I think he did… I forget…) in a pair of overalls. He likes the ladies.
Sometimes when I’m thinking ‘dang, I’m too old for this lindy shit’, I think of Frankie and realise I have about 60 years to go before I can claim I’m too old for lindy. And even then…
…I have to add, all the clips in this post feature unchoreographed dancing… Sylvia is just following, and following three blokes with completely different styles.

the thought of dancing in the third person

If you drop in over here, you’ll see that things are sounding a lot like a whole lot of swing dancers with too little to occupy their immediate attention.
I have only two things to add:
1. I wrote my thesis in the first person and began each chapter with an anecdote, not to mention peppering the whole thing with talk about me. This is partly because I was actually spending a bit of time talking about how to do research as scholar-fan (to use Matt Hills’ term)/member of the community you’re researching. But mostly it was because I am a hopeless narcissist. It simply became ridiculous to write about this stuff without the first person – imagine all this in not-first-person (apologies – this is from a not-final-draft):

My earliest experience with swing dance was framed by university culture. As the social convenor for my postgraduate association in 1999, I was asked to organise a group expedition to a local venue that featured a live jazz band and swing dance classes. I fell instantly in love. Moving to Melbourne in 2001 for postgraduate study, I found the local swing dance community offered a natural complement to the work and culture of academic life, and quickly became a ‘serious dancer’. Five years later, I am well familiar with ‘the zone’ and all its attractions, have devoted countless hours and dollars to its pursuit, and become firmly entangled in both the local and international swing dance community. This doctoral thesis signals not only the completion of years of academic study in cultural studies and media studies, but also my critical engagement with a community and hobby which has played such a large part in my life.
During my time in the swing dancing community, my interest has frequently been arrested by:
1) the encouragement and embodiment of traditional gender roles and social relations in the dance;
2) the ways in which these embodied dance practices and representations of identity are managed by communications media and technology; and
3) by the discursive activities of institutions and organisations within the community.
I am continually surprised by the way traditional gender roles are enforced in contemporary swing dance culture, despite the more liberal examples offered by the African American history of swing dances. I am also struck by the capitalist nature of contemporary swing dance culture articulated by dance schools and institutions, again, despite the social history of African American vernacular dance. These issues have led me to a more comprehensive research project where I asked how embodied dance practice in this community have been mediated by technology and institutions, and what are the effects of this mediation?
Much of what I have observed in terms of media practice in contemporary swing dance culture echoes the literature dealing with media fandom in cultural studies. In this small community of interest, members adopt active and creative approaches to texts and discourse, routinely poaching ideas and structures from official discourses and media texts to create new creative works. Fan studies offers me a means by which to approach my research, not only in terms of theoretical frameworks, but also in terms of considering my role as a researcher who is also a member of the community I am studying. Despite my interest in media use within this community, swing dancers are, above all else, dancers, engaged in embodied discourse and cultural practice, always with an eye to social engagement with other dancers.

A large part of the introduction, from which this bit was taken, is devoted to my figuring out how to talk about and write about a community of which I am a part. I did try writing in the not-first-person. It was mostly ok until I started trying to talk about what it felt like to actually dance. Then it just got dumb.
In fact, one of the major arguments in my work is that the divide between performer and audience in concert dance is a marker of middle class Anglo ideological stuff.
Here’s some stuff from the paper I’m trying to write writing.

African American vernacular dance of the swing era, with its emphasis on improvisation and the creative contribution of individual dancers, rather than the prioritisation of choreographed performances and of choreographers as orchestrating artists, presents a public discourse that demands individual contributions. Social standing is assured by the ability to produce improvised or innovative new steps or variations on familiar steps, making public contributions to public discourse, representing the self in community discourse. A popular phrase in contemporary swing dance culture, shouted to encourage dancers in competitions or in jams or battles on the social dance floor, epitomises this notion: “Bring it!” And what is being brought to this discourse is an authentic or convincing self. Make it real or dance real feelings (whether these are anger or joy or derision or ironic humour), or stay off the floor.

…and then…

Ward makes this distinction: “there is a categorical divide between dancers and the audience in performance dance …that does not exist between dancers and spectators in social dance, where those roles are interchangeable” (18). I read this dynamic relationship between the roles of ‘spectator’ and ‘dancer’ in social or vernacular dance as a clear example of the ways in which readers participate in the making of meaning in textual interpretation. Thomas DeFrantz describes the call-and-response between performers and audiences in African American music and dance in “Believe the Hype”, arguing that this structure is carried on into other media forms, and he takes music video and film as his key examples.
In the case of dance, the text is a dance, or a dancer’s body, or just ‘dancing’, and the reader makes meaning through reading this text not only as a spectator, but also through their knowledge as dancers. This ability to make meaning even from unfamiliar choreography is facilitated by the cultural knowledge of movement that we all learn as social beings within a community. We know that this is dance, we recognise it as such in this moment, because we have danced, we have seen dance before. We have occupied and are occupying the roles of spectator and performer and are culturally familiar with this as dance.

I can promise you only that more quotes from my thesis will be forthcoming. No one will ever read the bloody thing if I don’t, and fuck, we endorse strutting in our house.
I will also, no doubt, continue to quote from papers until I get them under control. I am working at home, alone, and don’t see another acka type person more than once or twice a semester. This is the online equivalent of talking to yourself.
But, wait, my second thing:
2) If the first person is using ‘I’ and the third person is saying things like “dogpossum disapproves of most things” and “today dogpossum will take her tea at her desk, though she will consider wearing pants so as to avoid unfortunate scorchings”, what’s the second person? Is it (to make oh, perhaps another quote from a little thing I’ve just finished)…

In the zone, you respond without thinking, your senses taken up by the music, by your partner and by your own emotional responses in a state or way of being that can only be described as – thinking with the body.

I think this is the sort of question that &Duck could answer.
…. look, I’m still giggling at the thought of dancing in the third person. One of the indelible rules of partner dancing is that you have to stop thinking to make it work. And one of the most excellent bits of my research has been the way thinking academically about dancing on the dance floor is the one sure way of having a really crap dance.
oo, oo, I’d really like to write a bit about choreography and the ‘third person’ in that process. There’s some really fabulous stuff written on the choreographic process and its ideological function/context. I’m a big fan of the idea of improvisation as choreography, which suggests that you make shit up as you go along, so the new steps you create are necessarily function-first. This is of course in direct contradiction with the sort of tortured-artist-in-an-ivory-studio idea that gets trundled along in ballet and concert dance (and much of dance studies – you should see how excited they get about the idea of geneologies of dance – where they trace the influence a particular teacher had on a line of dancers/students).
[edit: oops. forgot some references:
DeFrantz, Thomas. “Believe the Hype!: Hype Williams and Afro-Futurist Filmmaking.” Unpublished paper. Spectacle, Rhythm and Eschatology: A Symposium. University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 24th July 2003.
Ward, Andrew. “Dancing around Meaning (and the Meaning around Dance).” Dance in the City. Ed. Helen Thomas. London: Macmillan, 1997. 3-20. ]
[another edit: I also like the way it’s assumed that blogging is about telling the truth. Whether you’re writing with emotional honesty or with careful logic and supporting linkage. Surely I’m not the only one who’s digging the implied gendered assumptions about writing here?]

happy coincidence

normal_7iplodpassemuraille.jpgI’m doing a bit of research on youtube for this paper I’m doing (and discovering in the process that deciding to ‘stop reading’, while a fabulous tool for getting the thesis done, has left me… oh, at least a few years behind the published world of academia), and have come across this neat article on M/C by Paula Geyh. Do go read it – it’s only a little thing, and does the nicest job of combining talk about bodies, urban space and D&G I’ve seen yet.
I am a massive big nerd for anything to do with bodies and dance/gymnastics/beautiful, rhythmic movement, and this stuff on parkour (which I’ve also heard referred to as urban junglism) is absolutely right up my alley.
To quote directly from wikipedia:

Parkour (IPA: [paʁ.’kuʁ], often abbreviated PK) is a physical discipline of French origin in which the participant — called a traceur (/tʁa.’sœʁ/) — attempts to pass in obstacles in the fastest and most direct manner possible. The obstacles can be anything in the environment, so parkour is often practiced in urban areas because of many suitable public structures, such as buildings, rails, and walls.

And to continue with a quote from Geyh’s article,

Defined by originator David Belle as “an art to help you pass any obstacle”, the practice of “parkour” or “free running” constitutes both a mode of movement and a new way of interacting with the urban environment. Parkour was created by Belle (partly in collaboration with his childhood friend Sébastien Foucan) in France in the late 1980s. As seen in the following short video “Rush Hour”, a trailer for BBC One featuring Belle, parkour practitioners (known as “traceurs”), leap, spring, and vault from objects in the urban milieu that are intended to limit movement (walls, curbs, railings, fences) or that unintentionally hamper passage (lampposts, street signs, benches) through the space.

So when we watch footage of that parkour stuff, we’re watching a combination of practical (yet wonderfully imaginative and creative) urban locomotion. But the bit that catches my interest is the repeatedly quoted line from Sebastien Foucan,

“And really the whole town was there for us; there for free running. You just have to look, you just have to think, like children.” This, as he describes, is “the vision of Parkour.” (Wikipedia article)

I like that idea – thinking like a child. This is play. But it also involes a creative and unconscious approach to physical activity. One of the things I’ve noticed about swing dancers – they’re particularly keen to try new things, particularly sports, physical activities, games, tricks and ‘stunts’. I think it’s because they’ve discovered that you have to just try things (as Sugar Sullivan would shout at us in class – “If you don’t try to dance it, you will never dance it!”), throw yourself into activities, even if you’re likely to look foolish or fall over. When you know the limits of your body, you can trust yourself to do things which appear physically difficult. And when you’re used to experimenting physically, you stop worrying about looking foolish or being embarassed.
As an example, I am frequently (if not always) the only woman leading in aerials classes. I hear comments about how leads (or bases) should be physically strong, and there’s certainly a degree of posturing by some male dancers in regards to being a base. But the truth of the matter is, if you have good technique and do moves correctly, you don’t need to be ridiculously strong at all. I’m no stronger than the average woman, and certainly not as strong as most men my size, but I know that I can lift my partner up onto my shoulder and flip her over. Because I know how to use my body effectively, and work with her body. You are in greater danger of hurting yourself or your partner if you enter these activities with some grandiose idea of your own strength, or, conversely, with the idea that you’re going to get hurt. In learning aerials, the conventional ‘female = weak/vulnerable’, ‘male = strong and protective’ is rubbish. Self reliance, good communication, solid technique and using spotters are key parts of safe aerials
But back to the parkour people…
There’s lots of talk about military obstacle courses and so on in discussions of parkour, and escaping and leaping and reaching (the latter two I quite like, as ideas), but I’m really struck by the emphasis on creative responses to obstacles, yet with a practical eye. Ostentatious flips are debated – are they un-pakour because they’re aesthetic (an unnecessary) embelishments?
But the part of this that I’m really interested in, is Geyhr’s references to flow:

One might even say that the urban space is re-embodied — its rigid strata effectively “liquified.” In Jump London, the traceur Jerome Ben Aoues speaks of a Zen-like “harmony between you and the obstacle,” an idealization of what is sometimes described as a state of “flow,” a seemingly effortless immersion in an activity with a concomitant loss of self-consciousness. It suggests a different way of knowing the city, a knowledge of experience as opposed to abstract knowledge: parkour is, Jaclyn Law argues, “about curiosity and seeing possibilities — looking at a lamppost or bus shelter as an extension of the sidewalk”

Flow is something that’s come up in swing dance discussions. I’ve mentioned it very briefly in my own work, but without using that term.
Dancers often talk about being ‘in the zone’. As with that notion of flow, the zone is the place where you stop consciously directing your body, but respond to the music, to the weight changes and posture and movements of your partner on an almost instinctive level. I think it’s important to point out that this point of flow or zone is only achievable if your body and reactions are at a particular level of ability. To make this work, you must have a degree of body awareness, a stability of core, clear lines of alignment in joints and muscles and bones, some level of fitness and a willingness to ‘give in’ or ‘surrender’ what I call ‘high brain stuff’. You have to stop planning and to just give in and move.
Needless to say, this is one of the most wonderful parts of dancing, and the point to which most dancers reach toward. It’s often the motivation for travelling internationally or interstate to attend exchanges, where the sleep deprivation and intense socialising helps bring that point of flow closer. It’s something that newer dancers don’t feel, but suddenly, at about a couple of years, suddenly do feel, and get seriously addicted.
The thing that catches my attention in the discussion of parkour is that this flow is about the relationship between body and environment. With dancers, it is about body and body and floor.
So go read that nice article, if only to check out the neat clip.
Geyh, Paula. “Urban Free Flow: A Poetics of Parkour.” M/C Journal. 9.3 (2006). 18 Jan. 2007 .
Photo from this site, a photo by a parkour dood, uploaded to