Describing my hair as looking as if it had just been plopped onto my head, David Bigword (as he insists I referr to him, following his recent exploration of the English Language) advocated a hair cut. I will comply – I can’t hack the mass no longer.
cultural relevence and dance
Here’s something I wrote about cultural relevence and swing dance a while back. I think it was posted on Swing Talk. I’m reposting it here because it’s got some interesting points that I want to hang onto and think about with the chapter I’m writing atm.
[quote begins]
In terms of music: one of the neat things about Afro-American vernacular jazz dance is that it was ‘made’ in tandem with the music – that’s why live music is important. Jazz totally leans on improvisation. So jazz dances do too. Being able to improvise is as important for us as dancers as it is for jazz musicians: it tests us. It pushes us to our creative limits. It makes the whole thing harder and so much funner.
So if I assume that the original line was: “the way vernacular dance maintains its relevancy to ordinary people’s lives. Dance styles and fashions stick around because they have use-value – they respond to the culture of the day”. You could also use ‘society’ instead I guess.
You know, I’ve thought about this a lot lately. It’s something that has relevancy to me as a dancer, and to me as a feminist researcher looking at issues of power and discourse and ideology in a dance culture.
nerdy academic rambling
As a cultural studies person, I believe that ‘culture’ …
– ie ‘stuff’ like texts (ie music and songs and pictures and paintings and sculpture and story and dances and magazines and television programs and film clips and so on)
and ‘practices’ (stuff we do – like talk about things or share clips or publish magazines or produce paintings or make clothes or whatever)
…is a nice way to look at what a society or culture is thinking and doing at a particular moment in time. As a cultural studies person I tend to be interested in ‘now’ – I’m not a historian, but sometimes I might do historical research. I don’t use historical research techniques. Nor do I use a sociological or anthropological techniques in the same way as people in those fields do.
I assume – as a feminist cultural studies researcher – that the relationships between people – ‘politics’ are indicated or represented in cultural ‘stuff’ and ‘practices’. So if I examine a song from 1935 I could make some guesses about the language and culture of the time. For these guesses to be more productive, I’d look at this text in context. So I’d look at other songs, I’d do interviews with people of the 30s, I’d read newspapers of the day, I’d read academic and popular work of and about that time. I guess that’s what I’m doing with my thesis: I’m looking at how the media we produce (be that dance or online) can be read to identify ideological discourse.
So I think it’s really neat that Afro-American vernacular dance builds this idea of cultural relevancy into its very structure… I mean, all dances do, but Afro-American vernacular dance totally DIGS it and positions it as very important. Hell, the swingout is revolutionary because it broke open the highly structured European partner dance form and gave partners all that time to do their own thing – to improvise.
So I like to see people do ‘their’ thing in those moments. And I think we can analyse those moments to see what sort of person they are, their dance experience and knowledge, their physical abilities, even their political or social beliefs and position (take a look at girl x’s swingout compared to guy x’s swingout – what does this tell you about gender relations? about sexuality? about musicality?). It’s there that we make the dance mean something.
more specific rambling
I wonder how we might combine ‘making the dance relevant to us today’ with any sense of historical ‘accuracy’ or congruency? ie getting new stuff in without losing the old stuff?
It wasn’t a problem in Afro-American dance communities in the ‘original swing era’ (or in vernacular dance traditions generally) – the shared knowledge and skill base was just added to. Useful stuff stuck. Other stuff was shelved.
But many of us feel – as swing dance revivalists – that there’s a responsibility to take a historical moment (be it 1935 in Harlem, 1930 in Kansas city, 1942 in Los Angeles or that heady summer on Balboa Island) and preserve it. Because it’s beautiful or fascinating or exciting or wonderful or awful or scary or whatever. We just want to get onto that moment and somehow make it stick.
It’s an interesting tension, I think.
Some ways I’ve noticed contemporary dancers make swing dances reflect their contemporary lives by exploiting the inherent flexibility of a dance that incorporates things like improvisation, impersonation and imitation:
– women leading and woman/woman dance partnerships not a new thing for partner dance by any means.
Same sex dance partnerships were there waaay back in Europe when partner dancing got going, it was there in various African nations pre American slavery (particularly when mixed-sex partner dancing was taboo), it was there in Afro-American vernacular dance from the beginning, right through the 30s to now.
For me, it’s about reconciling my passion for dance with my frustration with patriarchal and hetero-normative gender roles and dynamics. It’s also about getting to dance with my female friends.
– dancing lindyhop and other swing dances to contemporary music. I know, it makes me cringe sometimes, but hell, if it gets people dancing… I just ask that you dance to olden days music as well: don’t replace the old stuff with the new. Hang onto the bits that are useful. And I think swinging jazz is useful.
– incorporating ‘new skool’ moves into oldskool dances:
the body roll (sexy new skool… or is it really oldskool made newskool already?);
running man (humorous performance of 1980s/70s oldskool… which might also be really oldskool made new and then made new again);
various hip hop bits and pieces (as in hip hop lindy)… again, isn’t this oldskool made newskool in the 80s?
– women and men ‘dancing like themselves’. So seeing men and women actually taking the structure of swing dances to perform their own personality and identity, outside a static gender role or identity. So, seeing a young heterosexual woman dancing with ‘power’ or kickarse to show that she’s an independent woman, in a way she mightn’t have been able to in the 1930s or 40s. Especially if her family or ethnic group weren’t into female empowerment in that time. Or seeing an assertive, alpha-type chick take a moment to just ‘follow’ and stop making decisions for a while. Or seeing a young man not worrying that he may look ‘gay’ or whatever for relaxing and really feeling the music in ways that mightn’t go down so well at a conventional night club. Or seeing a young gay guy working with female partners in a close embrace and not having to second guess the sexual tensions that would accompany this contact in a non-dance setting. Or perhaps even more exciting, see things like that first young woman [I]perform[/I] a meek, stereotypical ‘good Asian girl’ and then rework it to totally subvert it.
– one of the things I’m most interested in at the moment: swing dancers getting into solo stuff. Especially if they’ve never done any type of dancing – not even disco dancing – before swing. I am really interested in the ring structure for things like big apples, charleston-offs, a bit of jazzedy jiggywiggy or whatever – people dancing in a circle so they can see each other, and all be a part of the deal, and yet experimenting with moves and the music independently. I think this is a nice way for people to use a really, really, really old dance form to experiment with their own bodies and personalities in a public place, trying on all sorts of moves. I especially like it when it’s all girl or all boy – I like to see some same sex peer work. But then I also dig a mixed gender thing too…
in this setting you see people for whom dance has never been part of their everyday lives before taking a bit of a chance that they might embarrass themselves and really exploring the things they’re physically capable of, the limits of their ‘jazz’ vocabulary, their ability to steal steps from people near by or make up new steps. It’s different to the big apple dances of the olden days, but it’s still using similar themes and structures.
Neat!
mince pies
tis the season to indulge…
I used to make this amazing fish salad in Brisbane, and hadn’t made it in FIVE years til last night. It uses a lot of South-East Asian fresh herbs (which can be harder to grow here in Melbourne), and involves a bit of preparation. It is WORTH the wait – and must be eaten on the day immediately as it doesn’t keep so well. Note the dressing ingredients: that is some seriously awesome shit.
Most people shudder at the thought of smoked cod, but this is not your ordinary mashed potatoes and white sauce cod dish. It’s faaaancy. We made it with many herbs from our garden, which only added to the lovely freshness of the dish.
Fish and Herb Salad
(serves 4-6)
500g (1 lb) smoked cod
3 tbsps lime juice
1/2 cup (30g/1oz) flaked cocount
1 cup (200g/6 1/2 oz) jasmine rice, cooked and cooled.
1/2 cup (25g/ 3/4 oz) hcopped fresh Vietnamese mint
3 tbsp chopped fresh mint
1/2 cup (25g/ 3/4 oz) chopped fresh coriander leaves
8 kaffir lime leaves, very finely shredded
Dressing:
1 tbsp chopped fresh coriander root
2cm (3/4inch) piece of fresh ginger, finely grated
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 tbsp chopped lemon grass (white part only)
3 tbsp chopped fresh Thai basil
1 avocado, chopped
1/3 cup (80ml/2 3/4 fl oz) lime juice
2 tbsp fish sauce
1 tsp soft brown sugar
1/2 cup (125ml/4 fl oz) peanut oil (i use macadamia oil because it’s AMAZING)
1. Place the cod in a large frying pan and cover with water. Add the lime juice and simmer for 15 minutes, or until the fish flakes when tested with a fork. Drain and set aside to cool slightly before removing all skin and bones and breaking into bite-sized pieces.
2. Dry fry the coconut in a frying pan until golden. Discard if burns. Remove from pan and cool.
3. Place the coconut, rice, fish, Vietnamese mint, mint, coriander and kaffir lime leaves in a large bowl and mix to combine.
4. To make Dressing: place the coriander root, ginger, chilli, lemon grass and basil in a food processor and process until combined. Add the avocado, lime juice, fish sauce, sugar and oil and process until creamy. (we don’t process this as we can’t face the washing up, but it would be good to get the herbs smooth in a dish that is eventually (as The Squeeze declared), ‘rice with leaves’).
5. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss to coat the rice and fish (I usually do this part by hand to avoid smashing the fish). Serve immediately.
mixed emotions
I have a love-hate relationship with Jimmy Witherspoon. There are some songs of his that I really love (such as ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight’ from Jazz Me Blues), but the man is sooo sexist. If I listen to the lyrics I just can’t bear him. At all. The only cure is a sudden, harsh dose of Dinah Washington.
I’m currently infatuated with Lionel Hampton. I especially like ‘Loose Wig’, ‘Lavender Coffin’, ‘Hamp’s Salty Blues’, ‘Drinkin’ Wine, Spo-dee-o-dee’ and ‘Hey Ba-ba-re-bop’. The first and last are fairly obvious choices, but still. How could you not?
I also adore Fats Waller, big time. He’s such a disgustingly crude man – I love it. And he’s infinitely preferable to Witherspoon because he obviously adores women – can’t get enough of us. Or drink for that matter, but that’s another issue. When he sings ‘Tain’t what you do (it’s the way that you do it)’, you know exactly what he’s singing about. And how could you not like a man who’s favourite dish … is fish! ?
I’m also nursing a serious Thing for the McKinney’s Cotton Pickers. I thought it’d wane, but it hasn’t. I really really love the song ‘Four or Five Times’ (and Hamp does a good version too – as does Jimmy Lunceford). I also love early Ellington with a fierce and burning passion. ‘Hittin’ the Bottle’ is my favourite atm. Though I do love ‘Flaming Youth’.
I will always love Billy Holiday the most. Any era. Any song. Two favourites: ‘Comes Love’ (from the 50s) and ‘Your Mother’s son-in-law’ (earlier stuff).
Louis Armstrong is lighting my fire atm, with his later All Star stuff. Though I’m partial to the Hot 5s and 7s as well. Especially ‘Hotter than that’.
You can always make me smile with Cab Calloway (‘Who’s Yehoodi’ by preference), or Slim and Slam (‘Laughing in Rhythm’, ‘Jump Session’ – all the usuals).
I used to adore Ella Fitzgerald, but she’s not really gripping me these days… though I do still adore her early stuff with Chick Webb.
Django is my man, as is Sidney Bechet. Hoorah for Rex Stewart, and I think I’m going to love Bix Beiderbeck in an unnatural way fairly soon.
… and I could go on and on and on and on…..
things i’m reading and writing
When I was at school I had an English teacher who kept me from year 10 to year 12. I say kept deliberately, because he wouldn’t let other teachers have me. I had mixed feelings about this at the time. Sure, it was nice to be wanted, but at the same time it would have been nice to have a teacher who actually taught me things, rather than just introducing me to book after book, poet after poet, author after author, play after play. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I dug the whole thing after thing thing, but still. It would have bee nice to learn about, say grammar.
At any rate, that teacher introduced me to Bolt’s Man for all Seasons, where I had to read Moore every class, just so’s he could read Henry VIII (he actually made a very good Henry). It was difficult, because the other kids had long since cottoned on to the fact that there was favouritism at work. It was also difficult because they’d stopped streaming our classes after year 9, which, while an admirable demonstration of integration or equity or something, was actually quite crap if you were book-girl at a really rough school where most people in my class were actually the first in their family to do more than year 10 at high school (this was 1991, btw).
So I liked the advantages of being favoured sometimes, but not really all the time or even mostly.
However, I did come out of that with a passion for some types of books and some types of plays and some types of authors. I loved Man for all Seasons, in part because it introduced me to the concept of hair shirts and martyrdom (and, conversely, gross indulgence. Do I need to mention which I favour(ed)?).
I also developed a fierce passion for Shakespeare. This time I was Lady M, of the hand washing. I loved the idea of the wood coming to Dunsinane. Of the unconscious mind’s struggle with guilt. Of a playwrite slightly misjudging his audience and distressing a king with so much blood and witchcraft.
I can only remember two parts of two poems from school –
I wondered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I spied a crowd
A host of golden daffodils.
Beside the lake,
Beneath the tree,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine…
(Wordsworth’s Daffodils or possibly I wondered Lonely as a cloud with hand gestures, from primary school).
and (much more excitingly),
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that does fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong,
Hark! Now I hear them – Ding-dong, bell.
(Shakespeare, a poem from The Tempest).
I fell in love with this bit of poetry instantly. I was flipping through a reader in class (which, I should note, we weren’t allowed to take home because they never came back, and our school was too poor to buy more. Even more crappy, 60s versions readers), and came across this bit.
It prompted an instant fascination for Shakespeare, and then (quite by accident), a fascination for Peter Greenaway, after seeing Prospero’s Books, just to see/hear this poem.
I can’t remember if the poem was actually in the film.
I was thinking of this poem this morning when I got up.
Shakespeare, I remember, is easy to memorise. Which helped, as I had to do a fair few performances of sections of his plays in English at school, and later Speech and Drama.
I’m not a literature studies person now, despite a major in ‘English’ in my BA which saw me suffer through a ‘modernism’ subject, to which I owe everlasting images of young men wrestling by the fireside and a disappointment in Virginia Woolf, who turned out to be more interesting than her books*. Or so you’d think from an experience in that subject.
In that major I also found myself enjoying ‘American Literature c’, the third in a series of subjects on the topic, and which i relished, particularly the bits on Toni Morrison, Don DeLillo and Truman Capote.
It was also where I discovered a great intolerance for Beat writers, particularly as I had just done a subject on women’s fiction of the era, a course which included Ann Petry’s The Street and contributed to my distrust of Jack Kerouac.
If it hadn’t been for an inspiring tutor and a sudden introduction to ‘screen studies’ (that’s what we called anything to do with telly and cinema, and – most recently – computers way back there in the early 90s), I might have muddled on through my Honours year with some book-related thesis, or perhaps something to do with Studies in Religion. Studies in Religion was my undergraduate passion – fuelled by an excellent Old Testament studies lecturer, a fascination with Old Testament stories, a series of enthralling subject on women in world religions and new religious movements, and a sudden realisation that the stuff I’d been learning about in English on active readership, canons and institutional uses of literature and story were the perfect complement to Studies in Religion.
As it was, I ended up writing about women, their violence and the State in action films, and American remakes of French films (La Femme Nikita and The Assassin, and The Long Kiss Goodnight). And did very well with it, thankyou.
So now, I read almost only science fiction and fantasy, children’s and adults. I was into crime novels for a while, but I found the violence distressing and disturbingly voyeuristic – I found no pleasure in reading, in careful detail, about other people’s suffering and humiliation.
But, I’ve been reading Jonathon Strange and Mr Norrell for the past week (it got me through that week of illness admirably… though it’s a bit big for a weak invalid to hold up). I saw it on a friend’s bookshelf, and – prompted by a series of articles on Crooked Timber – borrowed it.
I love it.
It reminds me of Jane Austen (of course) – another person I was introduced to, at an impressionable age, by that English teacher**. I know that’s kind of the point, but I like it. I also like all the footnotes, and I’m suspecting (half way through) that that’s where the real story is. I also like the long, rambling narrative, and the way it wanders off to Spain and rural England, rather than staying on the topic.
On the other side of the … page? I’m also reading de Certeau’s Practice of Everyday Life in its entirety. It’s dreadfully dull. Well, chapter one is. Chapter two is looking better. Why is it that these doods are so much more interesting when read in the interpretations of other, more accessible writers? But I’m battling on, because I think it’ll be useful to start off the thesis using de Certeau to talk about Afro-American vernacular dance and poaching and then to discuss contemporary swing dancers in terms of Henry Jenkins, poaching, and his reading of fans as textual poachers via de Certeau and his stuff on tactics of resistance.
All this and I’m still trying to get done with that redrafting of the thesis. I’ve been ill all last week, and this week I’m only just out of bed, but my ears are really bad, so I’m getting tired very easily.
Christmas looks good, right?
No, I’m sure it will be nice. I just need to go SLOW so I don’t wreck myself!
*drowning yourself by filling your pockets with pebbles. Is there a theme here…?
**along with the Brontes, who I then followed up at uni, reading everything I could find.
really fast
I’m full of surprises. Oh yes, I’m whiley. Full of whiles.
Yesterday we found The Complete Decca Studio Recordings or Louis Armstrong and the All Stars. And I love it. All 6 discs of it. I know I may seem like I’m 100% old skool swinging big band jazz, but I’m not. I also like groovy, slinky crap from the 1950s. And just you wait – once I’m through with Satch I’m getting into the Nat King Cole set the Squeeze got a while ago. And I will totally go all ballad on yo ass.
…
woah. That was some scary shit. Guess who’s been reading far too many witty american ‘professional’ blogs? Me, me, me, me mememememememe!
Yes, home alone, a chocolate brownie disseminating sugary goodness into my stimulant-susceptible me.
Today was my second day out of the house! No, wait, third:
Day 1: into the city, saw King Kong (it fucking rraaaaaawwwwwwwked! yeah! 10 out of 10 kongs! yeah!), bought some presents, got tired. Ate Nandos for lunch. Don’t ask me why. Oh, go on then. It’s because of the salad. They’re about the only place near the Hoyts at Melbourne Central that sells nice salad. And I’m all about salad at the moment. Salad and meat. I think I’m blaming yoga.
Day 2: rode bike to shop for lunch things. Bought two outside chairs ($10 each) that fit into a bag I could sling over my shoulder. So I did. I slung them both over my shoulder and rode home with all my shopping. And got rained on. And got seriously snotty and shitty, discovering I probably wasn’t up to that much slinging and riding. Later, after fit of pique (or perhaps just a case of the shitty pants) and a lie down, I went back to the shops with the Squeeze for more groceries. Bought attractive parrot-shaped arnotts biscuit tin. Would post photo but amn’t that nerdy a blogger yet (but just you wait – nothing has contributed so much the collation of useless detritus in public discourse as flickr. And I’m all about contributing).
Day 3: rode bike to bike shop to test drive and possibly purchase new bike. A little tired and tres snotty, I waited while imbecilic shop boy failed to find bike I’d asked be made up for me to test drive (and purchase) last week, and also rung to confirm again later that week. No luck. Another fit of pique, or perhaps just another case of the shitty pants, and I flounce out (as much as one can when blowing one’s nose in a full hanky and dodging children in the grip of a new-bike-for-Christmas frenzy).
More presents purchased.
And a lovely trip to bike shop #2 later, and I’m cheering. While Strange Man did try to sell me a $725 bike when I had already made it clear that $600 was my limit with what I felt was as suitably unambiguous a statement as was necessary (given the circumstances): “I’m poor, so I can only afford to spend $600,” I left him with the request that he make up a street bike for me to rest drive (and possibly purchase) on Wednesday.
Yes, yes, I do realise that hauling all my shopping around on a delicate (yet so pleasingly light and speedy) road bike will probably bust a spoke or ten, and produce multiple punctures, but fuck. I want it. And I want it light. And we’re not trading in old Greeny, so I can keep old Greeny for shopping.
What is wrong with these bike shop fuckers? I’m so totally buying a new bike. But I’m so not going to buy one without a test drive. I know it’s goddamn Christmas rush for bikes, but fuck. I’m a local, a serious biker, and I’m absolutely going to be back for services, add-ons and all that repeat-service shit. So SERVE me!
Anyhoo, I have hopes for the guy at bike shop #2, despite The Squeeze’s declaration that he’s weird (as well as The Squeeze’s subsequent refusal to shop there, despite its proximity and superior work, superior to bike shop #3 anyways). I mean, geez, Strange Man recognised the value of old Greeny (despite his refusal to take a malvern star in trade for some slick new young gun bike), declaring Greeny a ‘workhorse’, while also noting that my new young gun bike will be my bike for really riding fast.
I like it that the man appreciated the value of old Greeny (workhorse = the best way to win this horsey-girl’s heart), as well as also pandering to my (obviously) somewhat misplaced faith in my own declaration that I am a Serious Bike Person, as well as to the thought that I may at some point ride really fast.*
So I’m so going back to bike shop #2 on Wednesday to test drive (and possibly buy) the new young gun bike.
And FUCK I’m going to ride home fast. Really fast.
*I know that I will. Once I’m on my young gun bike. Old Greeny is, as has been mentioned, a workhorse. New young gun will be more of a thoroughbred, and consequently far more appropriate for riding fast. Or even really fast.
interesting site…
Combining cartography and creative writing, Concrete Dialogues is a
unique project that marks the beginning of a quite different map of
Perth. Online and on paper, some of Perth’s best young writers will
take you on a journey into parts of the city you’ve never known, and
show you some of the memories that shape a place in the eyes of the
people that call it home.
…etc etc etc.
It’s more fun just to read it, though – dialogues.concrete.org.au.
truly, the greatest post
Still sick, but definitely improved.
Woke up at 10:30 and went to find The Squeeze. Couldn’t. At first I worried that I’d driven him off with my insane shrieking last night: “Go to bed! Stop making noise! You keep waking me up!” It wasn’t my fault, I swear – it was the antihistamines in my cold and flu tablets making me NUTS. And kind of irrational. Didn’t help that I kept waking up out of a deep sleep, all disoriented and unable to breathe, just because the poor Squeeze had – Goddess help him – opened the bathroom door.
Can I help it if I’m in the grip of a temporary (please, please, let it be temporary), antihistamine-induced insanity?
I’ve kind of got issues with antihistamines – I love them because I have allergies of various sorts most of the year (cats, dust, melaluca*, general seasonal stuff) – but I’m also afraid of my psychotic reactions to them. They make me NUTS. Kind of furiously, irrationally angry. Like a hormone thing, except chemically induced. They also make me dehydrated. But last night they were putting me to sleep, and with the amount of liquid I had in my head and chest (despite the 3thousandpillow tower of prop) I needed that sleep.
But anyway, I get to sleep, I wake up, and I have no clue where The Squeeze has gone. And I’m not sure I blame him. I find out later that he’s off with a nerdmate, doing nerdy things.
Nerd things that The Squeeze does with his nerd mates:
– looking at cameras
– playing with cameras
– eating pide at A1 and drinking tiny cups of turkish coffee that leave them highly, highly strung – like a 4 year old on red cordial
– talking about computers
– looking in camping stores, talking about camera-trips (don’t ask), buying hiking shoes (The Squeeze), buying bags (Yames)
– making up stories about computers/cameras/coffee
I’m sure they’re having a lovely time.
And while I certainly don’t want to be with them (it’d be like a non-dancer hanging with a pack of dancers at an exchange – teeedium), I’m kind of jealous of their mobility. I’d planned to go look at a bike I’m going to buy today – they were going to make it up for me. But I don’t know if I could make it over there. In fact, I’m thinking the couch looks pretty dang good from here…
….and that’s about all. Great post, huh?
*most-used tree for streetplanting in every city I’ve lived in
telly update
It’s ten past eight, and still way light outside.
I’ve spent the day divided between the couch and bed, dealing with serious goobs.
What else to do but watch telly?
We’re watching Veronica Mars on telly and I’m kind of not really digging it. I know other people really dig it, but me… not so much.
It’s been a while since I watched some Dead Like Me, which I’m holding as the main contender for decent teen tv… though it probably doesn’t count as teen tv, seeing as how the protagonist is 18 or even a bit older. It’s certainly a bit less mainstream than VM, seeing as how the protagonist is not only 18 and finished with schoool, but also dead.
Do the characters have to be at school to make it a teen flick?