LJ Idol Week #16 - Topic "Why Is That Turkey Dancing?"
This is my entry for Week #16 of therealljidol.
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It has taken me decades, but I've finally reached the point where I can just let myself go and dance like a fool. My style may look like an artless melange of tai chi and myoclonic seizures, but I don't care. When the music starts, get out of the way because I'm going to need a whole lot of space.
What I'm saying is that while not all turkeys can fly, this one has got to spread his wings and try.
My enthusiasm for dancing might be a relatively recent thing, but my need to dance stretches all the way back to my earliest awareness of music. When did you first become aware that art was a thing? Like what's your first memory of listening to a piece of music or seeing a painting or realizing that somebody actually wrote those books your parents were reading to you?
My first memory of music was, coincidentally, immortalized on film. I have a picture of myself discovering that music was more than just background noise. It was a special almost magical thing that made me want to move it move it. Do you like to move it move it?
My mom is in the background. Please notice how stylish she was for the early 70's. Also note that she looks especially pleased about my interest in music, little suspecting that this was the start of a major household financial commitment towards purchasing records, cassettes and CDs for the rest of my at-home years.
That photo may look like a still frame from Mad Men, but there I am, maybe age 3 or 4, jamming with some phat tunes from my dad's old stereo system. Astute observation will lead you to note that the reel to reel player isn't threaded up to play in that photo. Thus, I must be listening to a record. The record player lived in the drawer that is pulled out slightly - you can sort of see the top of the needle arm.
The stereo cabinet was what passed for MP3 players back in the day. It contained my dad's whole music library, it allowed for convenient headphone listening, and it was portable. Well, portable in the sense that you could hire a couple of burly people to come to your house and move it to another place in the house - perhaps as far as several feet away.
I can't say for sure what specifically I'm listening to in that picture, but I clearly look like I'm enjoying it. All these years later, I only recall two songs that I listened to on this stereo that day. The first was "Doin' What Comes Natur'lly" from Annie Get Your Gun, though I swear the version I heard was sung by Mickey Mouse and includes a verse about brushing your teeth and combing your hair. I can't find this version, so its possible my brain invented it.
The second song I know for sure I listened to was "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John:
I know this because my father made a reel to reel recording of me singing that song in 1973 when I was 5. I'm told it was my favorite song and I have no reason to doubt that. While I do recall listening to a number of other songs as a lad, "Crocodile Rock" is the only one that I loved enough as a preschooler to record. Even as a pre-schooler I knew that some performances deserve to be preserved for eternity. Future scholars will one day discover my father's trove of reel to reel recordings, listen to my interpretation of "Crocodile Rock" and say "Yes, this is the definitive version of Elton John's song, even if the title is the only pair of words the lad sang correctly."
There are only a handful of other songs I can absolutely remember listening to during my salad days. I know I regularly heard "Rock The Boat" by The Hues Corporation (1973), "Help Me" by Joni Mitchell (1974) and "Say, Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose" by Tony Orlando and Dawn (1973). This was more a function of having only AM radio in the family car than a function of what my dad had in his record drawer. Can you imagine, we used to have to listen to what was on the car radio or to nothing at all!
The important thing about "Crocodile Rock" being part of my musical DNA is that it sort of established a couple of major themes regarding lyrics in my brain. There's the nostalgia for a past earlier era of rock. There's the suggestion of a specific dance that focuses on "Hoppin' and boppin'." There's using music to salve a broken heart. There's the use of the word (?) "nyaaah" as a critical aural device. Man, that song had everything.
Thus, I believed as a five year old (and also believe now) that dancing and music belong together, whether one is strutting down the street or getting ready for sexy times. I spent a lot of time getting down to music as a pre-teen. I had no discernible ability to match the rhythm of my body to the rhythm of the music, but it was no matter. When the god of boogie knocks on your door, you must answer "yes, today."
The first chance I had to share my dancing skills in public was at a sixth grade dance in our school cafeteria. I was nervous about going because I didn't have many friends. Everyone else was dancing with other people and I was sitting off to the side. Suddenly, the DJ played "Funky Town". As soon as the bass hit my ears, my feet took over and I couldn't remain seated anymore. I rose to my feet and launched into my best free form dancing - I spun around the support pillars in the cafeteria, got low, waved my hands in the air and generally shook my money maker for the rest of the night. I had a blast.
Unfortunately, the other kids were not impressed with my performance and I was teased about it relentlessly for the rest of sixth grade ("nyaah nyaah nyaaah" indeed, Elton John). So much for dancing like nobody is watching! This led to me being entirely unwilling to even approach a dance floor for the rest of my school career. When I was forced to go up (typically for slow dances with girlfriends), I barely moved.
When you're a teenage boy, barely moving during slow dances has the added benefit of reducing the odds that you're going to end up in a mortifying state of arousal. One of my high school girlfriends liked to dance with the whole length of her body pressed against mine. I much preferred the "dancing with my ass sticking out at least 14 inches away from my date" posture. She'd keep moving her pelvis closer and I'd keep moving mine away. We must have looked like a circus contortionist act. I sometimes wonder if my scoliosis is actually a problem I created for myself by avoiding public crotch contact.
But I did continue dancing - I just made sure nobody else was around when I was doing it. I would lock the doors, close the shades, and make like Tom Cruise in Risky Business all over the house. I'd keep the music pretty low so I could listen for people coming up to the house.
For over twenty year I kept my inner Astaire, uh, inside. However, when my wife and I got married, we agreed we'd do a special couple's dance. We chose the song "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" by the Scissors Sisters. In our dance, we took turns refusing to dance while the other one did crazy (sexy? cool?) dance moves. I believe I slid across the dance floor on my knees at one point (and then couldn't quite stand up). At the end we finally danced together.
That dance was a huge hit at our reception and now everyone expect me to dance when we're out. I bound up to the dance floor in the same way you might say a rhinoceros - nay! mayhaps a crocodile! - bounds. I may look like a plucked fowl down on the dance floor, but I assure you when I move my caboose, I'm shaking a tail-feather.
---
It has taken me decades, but I've finally reached the point where I can just let myself go and dance like a fool. My style may look like an artless melange of tai chi and myoclonic seizures, but I don't care. When the music starts, get out of the way because I'm going to need a whole lot of space.
What I'm saying is that while not all turkeys can fly, this one has got to spread his wings and try.
My enthusiasm for dancing might be a relatively recent thing, but my need to dance stretches all the way back to my earliest awareness of music. When did you first become aware that art was a thing? Like what's your first memory of listening to a piece of music or seeing a painting or realizing that somebody actually wrote those books your parents were reading to you?
My first memory of music was, coincidentally, immortalized on film. I have a picture of myself discovering that music was more than just background noise. It was a special almost magical thing that made me want to move it move it. Do you like to move it move it?
My mom is in the background. Please notice how stylish she was for the early 70's. Also note that she looks especially pleased about my interest in music, little suspecting that this was the start of a major household financial commitment towards purchasing records, cassettes and CDs for the rest of my at-home years.
That photo may look like a still frame from Mad Men, but there I am, maybe age 3 or 4, jamming with some phat tunes from my dad's old stereo system. Astute observation will lead you to note that the reel to reel player isn't threaded up to play in that photo. Thus, I must be listening to a record. The record player lived in the drawer that is pulled out slightly - you can sort of see the top of the needle arm.
The stereo cabinet was what passed for MP3 players back in the day. It contained my dad's whole music library, it allowed for convenient headphone listening, and it was portable. Well, portable in the sense that you could hire a couple of burly people to come to your house and move it to another place in the house - perhaps as far as several feet away.
I can't say for sure what specifically I'm listening to in that picture, but I clearly look like I'm enjoying it. All these years later, I only recall two songs that I listened to on this stereo that day. The first was "Doin' What Comes Natur'lly" from Annie Get Your Gun, though I swear the version I heard was sung by Mickey Mouse and includes a verse about brushing your teeth and combing your hair. I can't find this version, so its possible my brain invented it.
The second song I know for sure I listened to was "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John:
Click to viewI know this because my father made a reel to reel recording of me singing that song in 1973 when I was 5. I'm told it was my favorite song and I have no reason to doubt that. While I do recall listening to a number of other songs as a lad, "Crocodile Rock" is the only one that I loved enough as a preschooler to record. Even as a pre-schooler I knew that some performances deserve to be preserved for eternity. Future scholars will one day discover my father's trove of reel to reel recordings, listen to my interpretation of "Crocodile Rock" and say "Yes, this is the definitive version of Elton John's song, even if the title is the only pair of words the lad sang correctly."
There are only a handful of other songs I can absolutely remember listening to during my salad days. I know I regularly heard "Rock The Boat" by The Hues Corporation (1973), "Help Me" by Joni Mitchell (1974) and "Say, Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose" by Tony Orlando and Dawn (1973). This was more a function of having only AM radio in the family car than a function of what my dad had in his record drawer. Can you imagine, we used to have to listen to what was on the car radio or to nothing at all!
The important thing about "Crocodile Rock" being part of my musical DNA is that it sort of established a couple of major themes regarding lyrics in my brain. There's the nostalgia for a past earlier era of rock. There's the suggestion of a specific dance that focuses on "Hoppin' and boppin'." There's using music to salve a broken heart. There's the use of the word (?) "nyaaah" as a critical aural device. Man, that song had everything.
Thus, I believed as a five year old (and also believe now) that dancing and music belong together, whether one is strutting down the street or getting ready for sexy times. I spent a lot of time getting down to music as a pre-teen. I had no discernible ability to match the rhythm of my body to the rhythm of the music, but it was no matter. When the god of boogie knocks on your door, you must answer "yes, today."
The first chance I had to share my dancing skills in public was at a sixth grade dance in our school cafeteria. I was nervous about going because I didn't have many friends. Everyone else was dancing with other people and I was sitting off to the side. Suddenly, the DJ played "Funky Town". As soon as the bass hit my ears, my feet took over and I couldn't remain seated anymore. I rose to my feet and launched into my best free form dancing - I spun around the support pillars in the cafeteria, got low, waved my hands in the air and generally shook my money maker for the rest of the night. I had a blast.
Unfortunately, the other kids were not impressed with my performance and I was teased about it relentlessly for the rest of sixth grade ("nyaah nyaah nyaaah" indeed, Elton John). So much for dancing like nobody is watching! This led to me being entirely unwilling to even approach a dance floor for the rest of my school career. When I was forced to go up (typically for slow dances with girlfriends), I barely moved.
When you're a teenage boy, barely moving during slow dances has the added benefit of reducing the odds that you're going to end up in a mortifying state of arousal. One of my high school girlfriends liked to dance with the whole length of her body pressed against mine. I much preferred the "dancing with my ass sticking out at least 14 inches away from my date" posture. She'd keep moving her pelvis closer and I'd keep moving mine away. We must have looked like a circus contortionist act. I sometimes wonder if my scoliosis is actually a problem I created for myself by avoiding public crotch contact.
But I did continue dancing - I just made sure nobody else was around when I was doing it. I would lock the doors, close the shades, and make like Tom Cruise in Risky Business all over the house. I'd keep the music pretty low so I could listen for people coming up to the house.
For over twenty year I kept my inner Astaire, uh, inside. However, when my wife and I got married, we agreed we'd do a special couple's dance. We chose the song "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" by the Scissors Sisters. In our dance, we took turns refusing to dance while the other one did crazy (sexy? cool?) dance moves. I believe I slid across the dance floor on my knees at one point (and then couldn't quite stand up). At the end we finally danced together.
That dance was a huge hit at our reception and now everyone expect me to dance when we're out. I bound up to the dance floor in the same way you might say a rhinoceros - nay! mayhaps a crocodile! - bounds. I may look like a plucked fowl down on the dance floor, but I assure you when I move my caboose, I'm shaking a tail-feather.