Dear friends, it was so nice to meet so many people in Herrang this past fortnight who said they read my blog, and that they liked it! It really made me feel good. It’s a little weird and kind of creepy to have so many people saying they’ve been reading things I generally think of as private thoughts, but it’s also reassuring to know you like it. And, after all, this isn’t private. It’s a blog.

It was especially nice to hear all this after thinking about that interview with Ryan for the Track podcast I did a few years ago. At one point Ryan was pressing me to explain why I wrote a public blog when I knew I’d be dealing with the hate mail I get. That little exchange really bothered me at the time (read: shat me to fucking tears), but I remember struggling to answer why.
Now, of course, I’d shout “WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I STOP WRITING JUST BECAUSE SOME ARSEHOLE MEN WILL SEND ME HATE MAIL? YOU THINK THAT IF I STOP BEING A WOMAN WRITER IN PUBLIC MEN WILL STOP HATING ME?!” With a follow up tirade about straight men tone policing women from the safety of their own international fucking platform.

After this week meeting a trans woman from China who read my blog, and then rereading her comments about how important it was to her to read something from a woman about gender in lindy hop, I am extra angry at Ryan for that rubbish. For her, it was enough to know at the time that she wasn’t the only one thinking about gender. For me, it’s hugely humbling to think that my rambling reached someone who could make use of it. After all, isn’t that why we all publish our writing – to make contact with other people?

One of my favourite ‘I read your blog!’ comments was from a bass player to muttered it in an aside, seconds before I introduced the band he was in in the late night jam. I do love using the mic, and it’s nice to have someone say “I like what you have to say!” seconds before I turn on the mic and say a whole bunch of silly things to a room full of people.

It’s also very lovely that you are all still reading it, even though I haven’t written anything new in… years. Yes, years. Friends, I can’t believe it’s been so long. But there was that pandemic. And I turned my attention to facebook, and to instagram. In fact, I moved into that area professionally. It turns out I love making ridiculous videos of myself speaking to camera as much as I like speaking into the mic.

Did you know I also send voice messages to my friends on messenger, and as texts? Of course I do. And my very favourite thing is to send recordings of me singing fruity versions of christmas carols and pop songs to my besties. If you ever need cheering up, remind me to send you a recording of me trying to remember the words to a Taylor Swift song in real time. It’s very quality. This point is pertinent because I am always tempted by the jams in Herrang. But not that tempted. I did a LOT of singing in school, from primary school to high school, from choral groups to musicals, and I can honestly say it traumatised me. All the joy I had in singing was squeezed out of me. I did go on to do other choral work, but eventually I gave up on that as well. My voice has also changed a lot since then (it’s definitely lower than that very high soprano of my adolescence), and much rougher. I also have a real problem finding a key and sticking to it :D That doesn’t stop me sending voice messages to my friends, but it does stop me getting on stage with a band and actually singing into a microphone. Ah well, perhaps I will give it a go for next year?

I can hear some of you saying that I should do it as a challenge, but friends, I’m not short of challenging and potentially humiliating things to do in public. It’s funny how I have no problem getting on a mic with zero prep to talk and make jokes, or getting up in in front of a crowd to dance. But ask me to sing? Yikes. That’s some scary shit. I still have nightmares about it.

Let me talk more about me for a second. I do love the mic. I don’t really know why. I do know that I try to speak slowly and clearly, and only get on the mic if I have a particular thing to say. I like to pause and wait, making eye contact with as many people as possible. Maybe mentioning them by name. I like to make jokes, but they’re more puns or plays on words. And I never try to prep and memorise a speech. That always goes badly (I have the worst memory ever), and always feels flat. When I get up there, I imagine that I’m standing with my friends (I am), about to tell them an excellent story (I hope). Something that I thought was funny, and which I hope makes them laugh. Or maybe something useful. Or perhaps a chance to say something reassuring that will make them feel a bit better in a trying moment. It could all go terribly wrong (it often does), but isn’t that also the point of it? The risk is what makes it so delicious.

I find that there are certain patterns and rhythms to public speaking that make it work. Repeating a theme, or returning to a topic about three times is one. You might not do that all in a single speech, but you’ll come back to that topic over the course of the night or the week. I don’t do it deliberately, but I’m the type of person who can’t leave a good topic alone. I can’t help going back to it, giving it another probe. Looking for another joke or something else interesting. I also really like the way we set up connections between topics when we read or talk or think or move. That intertexuality is how we make meaning in the world, after all.

There’s something about repeated rhythms and elements that humans like. We love patterns. I guess that’s why we love the AAAB structure so much. Or the ABAB structure. I know I really like to use AAAB, where the A is a familiar topic or line, and B is a twist on that same topic. Like the punch line, but not that obvious. But I definitely don’t plan this out in advance. I just start talking. But I do think that learning jazz routines has helped with this sympathy for rhythmic pattern. Learning the step-step-triple-step rhythm (aka long long long short-long rhythm), which we do first on one foot then the other has certainly set me up for enjoying a nice bit of repetition. But there’s also something lovely about returning to a theme. We start to expect it, anticipate it, enjoy it, and then feel a bit of explosive HA! when there’s a final twist on it.
And of course, this is why reading Shakespeare, or dancing Frankie Manning choreography is so satisfying. They’re both just so good at rhythms, and making combinations of sounds and movements that are very satisfying in the body and mouth. Think of that last rhyming couple at the end of a scene in Will’s plays. The stomp off as Frankie finalises a phrase. Predictable, invariable, but also wonderfully satisfying.

Herrang? Oh yes, I was there again this year. It’s been five years or so, since 2019 since I’d been. I went this year because the administrative board has changed, and it’s as though a sudden wild wind has blown in, knocking vases off tables, billowing curtains, and getting in people’s eyes. Some things are the same: the organised chaos, the propensity for long, slow jokes and gentle pranks, the way we all slowly melt into relaxed bodies and slow talking after a week on staff. But many things are different. No more sexist jokes in films, no more misogyny in the meetings, no more relegating Black culture to the past (and the power of white men).

This isn’t to suggest that all is well in the camp. Misogyny and white supremacy still exist. This is still a strange and manufactured moment in the Swedish countryside. But now there’s music other than jazz all over the place, and people feel free to talk about Issues. Sex. Sexuality. Gender. Race. Antiracism. Racism. Power. Exploitation. Fear. Excitement. Kindness. And there are so many young people. In the first week there one hundred and fifty children and teens. It is as though the changes have reminded everyone that jazz is fun, and improvisation means taking new risks as well as remembering the past. I enjoyed it a great deal. And we must remember that these changes were not easy, are ongoing, and are the result of some very hard work. There are people who’ve been struggling to make things better there for years, but have given up. And there are people who will come along and think this is how things have always been. So we will have to work very hard to keep that steady improvement happening.

Speaking of how things usually go, what music am I listening to? Well, my obsession with Talking Heads goes on and on and on. Especially that song Home. It makes me feel enormous feelings. I did DJ a lot this past week (week 2), on staff, and that was a lot of work. I hadn’t prepared properly, and I felt out of practice and clunky. But I also had one of the best compliments on my DJing ever. No not as good as that time the child of Russian friends shook my hand very seriously and thanked me for the music. But nearly. A woman I didn’t know took time to say thank you for DJing, and that she really liked my music because “It feels so playful.” This is quite the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me about my music (except for that solemn handshake, of course).

I don’t understand why DJs insist that they are ‘educating’ or ‘pushing’ dancers. That doesn’t sound any fun at all. As I said on facebook this week, this conversation reminds me of something Ramona said once: when she’s in the studio she works very hard, practicing and training. But when she’s on the social floor, she just lets it all go and enjoys herself. In the moment. For me, this is the point of it all: to let it all go. To be present. For just a moment, there’s nothing but the way I feel, and that feeling is all major keys and swung timing, easy going home. For someone with a very busy brain, this is a real gift. A treasure. And I definitely don’t want to start messing with that feeling for other people. To paraphrase an Anthony Bourdain quote, I’m not there to be people’s task master or teacher. I’m in the pleasure business. And if we are talking about the Black heritage of lindy hop, we are, as Albert Murray says, stomping the miserableness and difficulties of everyday life in an ecstatic, cathartic moment of the body.

I suppose this is partly why Herrang felt so much better this year. In the past there had been this blind insistence (from the straight white patriarchal Board) that the camp only celebrate the good parts of Black dance. Not the real lives of Black people. Black dance mattered, but not Black lives. And now that it’s ok to talk about those everyday difficulties (and horrors and despairs), the sweet moments seem so much sweeter. A man respectfully address an older woman as ma’am. A young woman dancing with her friends, thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention. People’s bodies relaxing and melting into that perfect, sweaty happiness.