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Synchronised Dancing and the Death of sense
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Article
written by Phil O
Aug 24, 2006.
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Let me begin with a true story: An Auntie of mine is very keen on all manner of country and western music, and was also a keen dancer in her youth. With these criteria in mind, it seemed a natural progression to combine two of her great passions and get involved with a local line-dancing club. Unbeknownst to her, my Nan was telling all her neighbours that my Auntie was attending “lap-dancing classes”. Now, call me controversial, but to my mind, there is arguably more dignity in lap-dancing than there is in line-dancing. Line-dancing is possibly the plaid-shirted nadir of all forms of the ‘art’ of synched dancing, which, in terms of eternal bugbears, is pretty high up there along with locust plagues and syphilis.
As if the continued existence of Billy-Ray Cyrus wasn’t spirit-crushing enough, some bright sparks revived a folk dance to accompany his catalogue of lame pistol-cocking anthems. As well as his serious crimes against music, Cyrus, perhaps unwittingly, re-kindled a passion for C&W music in the UK, which paved the way for the jingoistic violence-inciting cack churned out by tosser’s favourite, Toby Keith. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for embracing diverse cultural traditions, but the moment thousands of Joe Publics in Corby and Luton start wearing ten-gallon hats and bandanas and saying “what in tarnation?“ is the moment I weep into my hands at the futility of it all. By all means people, enjoy country music, but please leave American folk dancing and the wearing of cow skull belt buckles to the Americans.
I’ve perhaps unfairly targeted line-dancing as a scourge upon the sorry face of humanity , but at its core lies the real source of my ire - frenzied synchronised dancing. Let me make this clear – it’s not dancing per se that makes me want to break stuff – the world would be a forlorn place without it. It’s when synchronicity is involved, and the smug, contorted expressions and sheer earnestness on the faces of the participants just make you want to slap some sense into them with a chain-mail glove. Just take a look at those packs of dancing goons on CD:UK, Top of the Pops (RIP), PopWorld et al with faces that scream “look at me, look at the sheer energy I’m expending. I spent weeks learning this routine, so I’m going to completely exaggerate every thrust so you can appreciate how nimble I am”. It’s completely bemusing to me how people can see any achievement in this. The apparent skill in following frantic Muppet-with-one-hand-on-an-electric-fence routines choreographed by some deluded, pompous arsehole on crack is utterly lost on me.
As if we didn’t get enough televised exposure to this crap, Halifax’s piss-awful new advertising campaign comes along and performs a rudeboy skank over the last dregs of your patience. Given that the ad is screened umpteen times a day, unless you’ve been living in a cave in Stornoway, resistance is futile. The gist is this: In an attempt to prove that Halifax is ‘down with the kids’ they’ve hand-picked a crop of clueless, gurning employees with faces like gnarled potatoes who proceed to bump and grind in a synchronised fashion to an inexcusably shit R ‘n’ B track in an effort to prove that Halifax ‘gives you Xtra’. Unfortunately for all you right-thinking viewers out there, the only grinding that you’ll be doing is with your teeth, whilst firmly resisting the urge to take an angle-grinder to your television.
Even comedy synchronised dancing has extremely limited entertainment value. You’ll recall that the Spike Jonze video for Fatboy Slim’s ‘Praise You’ got tired very quickly. But people just don’t learn do they? We still have to put up with the recent efforts of American geek-rockers, OK Go and their ‘hilarious’ dancing video, apparently released “without the knowledge or consent of their label”. Now, I’ve not seen this video but I’ll bet my life savings and my last Rolo that it’s about as funny as a fire in an orphanage.
Dancing is one of the fundamental, simple joys of life – why the hell do we need to synchronise it? Isn’t life much more fun if people embrace the freedom of the solo boogie? The freeform jive?. Think about it – would you rather see John Travolta strutting his stuff in Saturday Night Fever, a man alone with his sharp moves and a slick pair of strides, or Travolta being mimicked on the dancefloor by a troop of anonymous bell-bottomed prancers who aren’t quite as cool as him? The fact that, whilst I write this, foolhardy retro-hungry zombies are clapping like performing seals at a West-End production of the film is surely an indication of what can happen if synchronised dancing is taken to extremes: musicals. And don’t even get me started on those...
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