social dancing

Push it real good

Alright, people, we’ve got to address a serious problem facing our community. We’ve all faced it, felt its effects, and yet we continue to let it permeate our dancing.

That’s right. I’m talking about our failure to properly compress.

Let’s get something straight: compression is a kind of connection, and connection is the result of movement. In this case, the movement of one partner towards the other, or both partners towards each other. Compression happens as the partners get close together and reach the closest they can get. The prime example of compression is the push break, one of the most basic and fundamental patterns of the dance, where the follower moves into the leader, creating compression, and then is sent back to the end of the slot.

So compression happens as one partner moves closer to the other, but it’s not so simple – there’s more to it than that. In order to create compression, some fundamental technique must be in place.

For one, the partners must maintain their posture, such that they are moving from their centers and their centers are in front of their feet. At the same time, they should be holding their own weight, and not leaning forward such that their partner are supporting most of their weight. Of course, all too often, during a push break, you see followers who not only don’t bring their centers forward, but actually lean back, reaching with their feet and pushing their hips forward instead.

This leads me to the second important technique: following through. On a push break, the compression results from the follower moving into the leader, but frequently followers slow and stop themselves before they get to full compression. Not only is this anticipating (and thus poor following) but it is poor technique and sacrifices proper connection. The follower must continue and go forward as far as she can, making the leader do the work of slowing her down and stopping her by absorbing her weight as she comes in. (The leader should allow the follower to come in and compress, rather than abruptly stopping her by keeping his arms out in front of him. Which leads me to my next point…)

Third, we call this compression because there is actual compressing involved – compressing of the frame. If the arms, shoulders, and elbows are relaxed (as part of proper frame), then as the leader draws the follower in, his hands will get closer to his center, and as the follower moves into the leader, she will move her center in towards her hands. As a result, the distance between the partners narrows, and the pattern is literally compressed. This elasticity in the arms is also what creates the elasticity in the connection, providing a build up of energy during compression that facilitates the movement out of compression.

Finally, while some people may learn to create compression by doing all of the above, there is still the matter of properly and effectively exiting from compression. If compression results from the follower moving into the leader, then the next natural movement is to have the follower move away from the leader. As always, whenever there is a change of direction, the leader should initiate from his center (rather than his arms) and the follower should wait for his signal and then be proactive in her response. On top of this, the partners should not push the other away – pushing engages the arm muscles and creates a jarring experience for the partner. Rather, the leader should initiate the follower away with his body only, and the follower should send her center away from her own hands (the reverse of compressing). This is not only a more comfortable way to exit, but it ensures both partners maintain their posture and thus are more balanced and stable in their movement.

Compression is a difficult to master as extension, though we rarely spend as much time working on it. However, a focus on maintaining the fundamental technique of movement – from the center with proper frame – can dramatically improve one’s compression along with any other change in connection.

What are your observations of how people compress on the dance floor? What goes wrong and when does it feel right? At what point in your dance education did you first learn compression and what were you taught? At what point after you first learned about compression did you feel you learned how to do it properly? And teachers, how do you approach the subject with your students? What exercises or approaches have you found to work best in order to help your students understand and execute properly?

Hitting the breaks… or not

In exploring blues music, one inevitably comes across the infamous “break” – the last 8 beats of a major phrase during which the instruments build up tension that resolves with the new phrase. Sometimes this break is a hard stop of all vocals and instrumentation (what we often think of when we hear the word “break”). Other times it is a change in instrumentation (some instruments temporarily stop playing), and sometimes it’s simply a big percussive crescendo that ends on the first beat of the new phrase.

Lots of dancers can feel the build up to the break and in response they hit the break hard, stopping completely and holding until the new phrase begins. If it’s a hard break and the music stops, it makes sense that the dancers should likewise stop moving (of course, I know of others who may disagree). But while we occasionally encounter hard breaks (a stop of all vocals and instruments), most songs have breaks that include some vocals or instrumentation. In those cases, a hard stop might not be the most appropriate (read: musical). (NB: Even during a hard break, picking up momentum and building to the new major phrase is a great way to create tension and contrast.) But there are several different ways for interpreting the break section, depending on the nature of the break and what’s occurring musically. I would argue that the four primary ways of dealing with breaks are the following:

Ignore the break and build up to the first beat of the new phrase.
Build up to the break and then stop or hold until the new phrase begins (hard break).
Build up to the break and then dance through the break but with less momentum (soft break).
Build up to and hit the break and then build momentum again to the first beat of the new phrase.

It’s good to be able to do all four options, so you can adapt to whatever song is playing and so you have a wider range of options for responding to breaks, leading to more variety and different creative opportunities. And, as noted in my previous post, it’s always better if you can execute in a way that is comfortable and inviting for your partner.

Of course, the idea here is that at a minimum, whether you have a hard stop or simply change your movement in some way, you should acknowledge the break in your dancing. If the music is changing during the break, then your dancing should likewise change. If you maintain the business-as-usual momentum and dance through any accents or crescendos or stops, then you’re missing the break altogether; it’s not musical, and it probably won’t feel as good.

What is your approach to breaks? How do you describe or identify breaks? How were you taught (or how do you teach) about hitting the breaks?

I Got The Blues

Blues music derives its name from “blue devils” – melancholy and sadness. Blues music in all its forms are about hard times, sometimes to express sadness, sometimes to celebrate resilience in the face of such hard times. But from a technical standpoint, blues music can be defined two ways: as a musical genre with a given style, and as a musical form with a given structure.

Blues music as a genre is defined by a few characteristics. One is the instruments themselves, usually grounded in rhythm-based instruments, such as guitar, drums, and bass, though often incorporating other instruments as well. The second is the lyrics, which, again, are often about sadness and resilience, and which reflect the call-and-response scheme of African and African American music. And there’s the walking bass line, which sometimes swings and sometimes moves up and down a progression of notes (or both).

Blues music can also be defined as a cyclical musical form, meaning it has a repeated chord progression. Unlike ballad or song form, which has several different kinds of phrases (e.g. verse, chorus, pre-chorus, bridge, etc.), blues music is one chord progression repeated over and over. Twelve-bar blues is the most common progression, but there are many variations on twelve-bar blues, and there are other common progressions, such as eight-bar blues and sixteen-bar blues.

What I find interesting is that despite the repetition in structure, to me blues is rarely boring or monotonous. For one thing, each chord progression is a little rollercoaster, growing and building and then resolving by the end. And this rollercoaster plays out over the course of the song too: blues songs tend to grow in emotion and intensity as they progress, dropping during instrumentals and picking up for the big finish. And though the chord progression repeats, oftentimes phrases differ greatly in feel and style, mixing lyrics with instrumental solos, playing with rhythm and volume. And even within phrases there are riffs, accents, breaks, and lots of emotion behind the lyrics.

Though more modern songs have variety in the chord progressions, I find they can often feel repetitive, because they are frequently so rhythm heavy and the rhythm is constant, and because they often don’t vary much in volume or emotional intensity. Not true of all modern genres, of course – there are lots of pop ballads that have great variety in emotion and feel – but I find I feel this way about much of the “dance” music we dance to these days.

How do you define blues? What do you listen for in a song that tells you its blues? What do you like or dislike about blues? And how do you think blues music compares to more modern genres we dance to?

The $64,000 Question

Every few years a controversy erupts in the swing community, something at a competitive event that riles people up and gets everyone talking. That happened once again at this year’s Tampa Bay Classic.

I first heard about this through the grapevine, not long after it happened, and I subsequently read Liza May’s account of what happened. After a few rounds of phone tag, I was finally able to get in touch with someone who was in the room, so I could find out what actually occurred from someone who was there.

I’ll spare you the details, but essentially what happened was that the Showcase couples competed Friday night, and on Saturday, the head judge convened a second judging panel to review video of the routines for swing content. Saturday night the Showcase competitors were called into a special meeting, where they were informed that their routines would likely receive swing content violations at this week’s US Open. Competitors were shocked and concerned, others were appalled and confused, and everyone was upset and angry that the head judge killed the mood of the event.

As a result, a firestorm erupted on Facebook as Mario Robau commented, and then Earl Pingel and Parker Dearborn debated with him about what happened, what it means for the competitors involved, what it means for judging in general, and what it means for the dance and the dance community as a whole.

While pretty shocking, it wasn’t nearly as bad or as severe as reports might have you believe. The Showcase competitors weren’t disqualified at the event, and no one told them they had to change their choreography. From what I heard from Showcase competitors, they were mostly upset that no one provided a clear explanation of what “swing content” is – and therefore what they should do to make sure they have enough of it in their routines.

And that, in my mind, is what this is ultimately all about: swing content. What is it? What is enough of it to call a dance “swing” or not “swing”? And even if you could say how much of it you need for a dance to be “swing”, how would you measure it?

Whether we like it or not, our dance is competition-oriented, meaning that it is competition that both sets the standard and simultaneously pushes the limits of our dance. One could argue that our dance has evolved so rapidly because our community’s top competitors have been seeking new music and new moves that expand our dance. At the same time, others argue that what’s being done is no longer swing – and that brings us back to the definition of “swing.”

I don’t consider myself a swing purist, but I also think that there are some things out there today on our competitive dance floor that aren’t swing. I took one of Mario’s intensives once, and personally, I kinda like how he defines swing. I’m paraphrasing here, but in his intensive he lays out the elements of swing that together make the dance: partnership, a slot, starting with even rhythms and ending with odd rhythms, the connection of the anchor, and a foundation of 6- and 8-count patterns. He then uses the analogy of a table to describe how he sees the dance: swing is the tabletop, held up by several legs – these elements of swing – and while you can remove one or two of them, eventually, if you remove too many, the table collapses and you no longer have swing.

In my mind, there are certain things that are not swing: excessive walking, finger spins, rolling around on the floor. These are not unique to our dance, or even to any dance, and when I see too much of it in competition, I can’t help but roll my eyes and think, “For goodness’ sake: dance!” But there’s a grey space between swing basics and “flash and trash” – where two people are dancing together to the music with some but not all of those key elements of swing – that leaves some of us thrilled by the display of innovation and others disappointed at the degradation of our dance.

The bottom line is that there is no universal definition of swing, and the definition – like the dance itself – is very personal, with each person having their own view. We may get a consensus among an authoritative body of judges, but my guess is that the definition will either be so narrow as to limit creativity and innovation (and thus cause a riot among competitors) or else be so broad that it says nothing (but appeals to everyone). This dance evolves – it originally came about and became its own dance by evolving away from its parent dance, lindy hop – and it will continue to evolve. Maybe a new dance will be born, maybe this dance will cycle back to its origins the way the lindy community did a few years ago when it had its revival, and maybe we’ll just keep pushing the limits of this dance while keeping it rooted in the fundamentals.

I don’t know how this will all play out, but I’m looking forward to seeing it either way.

What about you? How do you define “swing”? How do you feel about the direction of the dance and its “swing content”? Would you like to see more swing in competitions? How much more? Post your comments below.

One more thing: Happy Thanksgiving! And best of luck to those competing at the US Open this weekend!

What is "better dancing"?

Lately I’ve been thinking more about what to teach in order to help my students become better dancers. This, of course, leads to the question: What does “better dancing” mean?

If we think about what “dancing” or “partner dancing” means, I think we can all agree that we want to be someone that everyone enjoys dancing with – someone with whom people feel good dancing, with whom people want to dance again and again. Sure, there’s a lot involved in that – partnership, musicality, technique – but it is a good North Star towards which we can orient our learning. (And also a goal that is both noble and, in some ways, measurable.)

In our effort to become “better dancers” we set lots of different goals for ourselves. It’s good to have goals, both immediate and long-term. In fact, it’s not only good, but I would argue it’s necessary if you want to improve. After all, if you’re not working at getting better, then you’re just doing more of the same, which is only maintaining the status quo. If you want to change something, you have to actively do something about it.

But equally important is knowing what to do to reach our goals, and what to do is wholly dependent on what your goal is. If you know what you’re aiming for, then you can set some concrete long-term goals and determine some specific and immediate steps to get you there.

Sometimes we set broader, long-term goals, like “be really musical” or “be a champion dancer” or, sometimes, “dance like [so-and-so].” Sometimes we work on more specific and immediate goals (which are often suggested by our instructors), like “stand up straighter” or “relax my arm” or “practice this footwork variation.”

Yet I sometimes find that there is a disconnect between our immediate focus and our ultimate goal. As a teacher, I ask students in private lessons what their ultimate goals are, because I believe that should inform the more specific “homework” I give them. For every goal there are certain steps I would recommend to getting there. So if you want to be a better dancer, you should first think about what that means to you.

So, what do you think it means to be a “better dancer”? What are your goals and how do you plan on getting there? What are you working on now and how will that get you towards your goals?