Tuesday, 27 September 2016

Frankie Manning





It was just on Saturday night I felt again how we are often our best selves in dance and how wonderful it would be if learning to dance could, in other parts of life, be seen as the valuable thing that it is. Great then to stumble a day or two later over this quotation by Frankie Manning. I found it here after someone kindly sent me both the Dawn Hampton video I posted yesterday as well as this short podcast about how Frankie Manning got into dance. 

It's hard not to like Frankie even in video - his relaxed, easy-going manner, how he looks, how he sounds. He said he had no plans to be a professional, or a teacher or a choreographer, he just wanted to dance. He reminds of Ricardo Vidort or Tete that way.  They were social dancers who just happened to become teachers and they seemed to have transmitted the key things about social dancing rather than the things most teachers tell you about today.

In Buenos Aires I asked a lot of people - not everybody, but people I liked or thought had some insight - what a milonguero was, because it seemed it was a hard thing to pin down. Frankie seems to capture it when he says "Dancing was just a way of life."  This is not what someone says for whom dance is primarily work, business or a livelihood.  Frankie became a postal worker later on when the music changed.  The milongueros in Buenos Aires are like that. A lot of them I was told have very ordinary jobs.  They are plumbers and taxi drivers or they live off rent. Some of them - apparently - live off women. They live for the milonga - but inside the milonga, one  porteña told me, they are kings.

Listen to what Frankie says here and it sounds so familiar - hearing great music as you walk up the stairs, walking into a place where everyone is having a great time.  What dancer doesn't identify with, understand what that feels like?

He talks about the dancing feeling, how the music seeps into you, makes you want to move. That's dancing. That's what it is for me. People get up all the time to what I think of as "indifferent music".  It does nothing for me and that's why poor music drives me nuts.  In swing at least you aren't committed to a partner for three or four tracks.  DJing for tango is not hard but you have to get those three or four tracks all right or you screw up the whole tanda.   

Even in that inconvenient and ambiguous catch-all that people often misname "traditional tango" when sometimes what they just mean is "old tango" having different tastes is one thing.  I'm not a great fan of Poliya.  The drum annoys me.  But I understand why people play it in a particular tanda and it has some saving graces.  Canaro in tango goes right off for me after about 1941 but not everyone feels that.  Fresedo's Alas, makes me feel irrepressibly happy in a dance way; but it's a definite "no" for my friend.  He seems to tolerate Carillon de la Merced whereas I don't. But some music you hear in some milongas goes beyond different tastes, it's just indifferently bad or not for dancing.   It would be fine if dancing were thinking your way through moves to indifferent music.  But you can't call that dancing, that's like being a zombie. The kind of music made for dancing, the best music just makes you move.  Or it doesn't.  Music I have always felt is like a switch for dance:  off or on.  Good music is the energy, the motor, the fire.  Without it, there's nothing. 

No surprise then when Frankie says "The music is what made me fashion my style of dancing." The dance comes from the music. He's not saying learn, get the steps and insert them into the music which is what happens in pretty much every class I've ever seen or attended.   It's the other way around - the steps emerged because of the music. 

Notice he said "my style" of dancing because dance is not a one size fits all.  Dance is not ready-made clothes you put on for a while.  Social dance is individual; it is movements that fit your body, your energy, your personality - and in the case of partner dancing, that of your partner too.  Frankie developed his own style, which was low down with long reaching arms and legs and the famous "air" steps.  

Frankie didn't go to dance class and do what he was told by a teacher like a biddable sheep.   He watched, he listened, he copied, he explored, he asked, he tried things out.  It didn't always go smoothly, but he learnt from his mistakes. That's learning. It's a more independent, self-guided way of learning.

The clips tell you how he did this. Frankie lived with his mother in New York.  Here's a summary, because if someone was to say, "How do I learn to dance tango socially", aside from replying;  "Go to the milonga, watch, listen, feel your way..." I might say:  See how Frankie Manning learned to dance swing.  That's how people learn.  The way Frankie Manning learned to dance socially feels so plausible as an individual exploring what works, what doesn't, improvising and using the resources around him.  

As a child his mother used to take him along with her to rent parties where she went dancing.  After a while he got to stay up and watch.  Later, he practised dance at home with a chair or broom. Criticism from his mother that he would never be a dancer, that he was too stiff to dance "lit him up" and got him really interested.  I guess it could have gone the other way!  He started going along to ballrooms which were more social affairs with more formal dancing but also to private parties where the same people danced a wilder, freer style.  He practised in the basement with his friend Herman where they danced both roles since they didn't have a girl to dance with. Then they went to a dance for teenagers at the Alhambra - but (probably wisely) only watching, not dancing, not for four weeks.  Eventually, he asked a girl before he had heard what the track was going to be. What a lesson that was!  It turned out to be a waltz he couldn't do so he copied the guy next to him - just as I've seen my son do at ceilidhs - not an easy way to learn.  Then he and Herman took along a girl who was a neighbour to the dances and from there they started asking others.  Thereafter they began going to the adult dances at the Alhambra and to the  Renaissance for older teens.  At both of these they found better dancers.  The programme says:

"Frankie Manning learned the Lindy Hop exactly the same way he learned other dances: by watching other dancers and dancing with them. 

He started going to the Savoy in Harlem, one of the first racially integrated social spaces in the US.  He was watching these experienced dancers and it seems like this was a great learning period for him.  Pretty soon he was invited to join their dance troupe and from there it seems his rise to top amateur dancer and then to top professional dancer was swift. 

Today we seem to think that way of learning a bit hokey, that people learnt that way in another era. They say:  oh, guys learning from each other, dancing both roles, it's not practical, we're past all that.  But I think that's an excuse plied by people who are fearful or who just like things handed to them on a plate.  If they have to pay for it it just means nearly all become too invested in class to try another way.  Quite a lot of people understand it, seem to feel its rightness but can't seem to find whatever it is to pull themselves out of the well-worn easy rut of class and workshop. 

Nowadays teaching dance is industrialised, commercialised and falsely in my view confused with learning, in that if they teach you must ipso facto learn.  It really doesn't follow.  We can just pay for class and be told what to do.  I've done some swing classes and workshops.  It's not much different from tango dance class except that at least you don't have to embrace and walk as one creature with guys you don't want to get that close to.  But you still have to rotate partner and learning steps, thinking dance is still fairly stressful and contrived.  Luckily, as with dancing tango, it seems to be pretty easy to get going socially with swing. We really miss something I think when we do things the sausage-factory way.  We miss the watching, the listening, the growing time, the emergent period.  And the way people try things out in dance class or try out moves in the milonga they learned in class doesn't sound at all to me like the way Frankie tried things out.  If that doesn't make sense I guess you either just get that or you don't.

The programme diverts interestingly into a couple of insights into learning and social rules in dance: At the Savoy, Frankie found he could ask people to teach him not just watch and copy and he realised he could have done this the whole time.

"He did not need to have like an official endorsement to ask somebody: Hey how did you do that step? Will you show me? I think lots of us do things exactly like that - like we assume that there's some social rule that there isn't and we could've been helping ourselves a lot the whole time. It's easy to identify with that."

Frankie became a star probably because he had a passion and a talent for the dance but also because he got in very young and during the infancy of swing in the place where it was all happening.  From childhood he was surrounded by the music, the dance and the opportunity to try it.  

But people are sceptical.  I've heard them say:  Oh but well, only the most naturally talented can just pick up dances as though they're languages.  I think music and dance are languages.  That people learn best by the immersive method of language learning is uncontroversial.  Why do we deny it then for dance?  The natural environment of the social dance is not the dance class - it is the place where people dance socially.   I have no special dance talent.  I just didn't choose the hard way.  I went (often unconvinced) to class as the woman for a year maybe and then more off than on for maybe another year after that.  I picked up dancing the guy's role socially after dancing first as the woman.  Everybody used to pick up dances like this til some got wise to selling it.  I don't mind the selling it's what they're selling I mind.

I don't think Frankie thought only really talented people could pick up dancing the way he did. He wanted the whole world to dance.

Sunday, 25 September 2016

Our best selves



'The great man is he who does not lose his child's-heart.'  - Mencius


Dancing tango is wonderful in so many ways - the music, the milongas, each connection with another person. One of the loveliest things I feel very often when I dance and felt again last night yet rarely hear mentioned. It is how kind, gentle, caring and attentive we are with each other when we dance. Young children I find often have natural inclinations this way, or quickly develop them given the right conditions.  So many of the people with whom I dance - men and women - seem to be, to become or rediscover their best selves in dance. Whether by the same magic or the power of their example, sometimes so do I. 

In that respect dancing tango socially ought to be on every council's funding list for "building better communities", every NHS committee about preventing and recovering from illness, every prison rehabilitation scheme, every educational initiative about increasing empathy. 

How very far these inclinations are from learning to dance tango in class, when rather than the focus being on the other person it is on the teacher and the things the teacher wants us to do.  In the unnaturalness and stress of those contrived conditions I often hear complaints from women that he blamed her for not "following his lead".

It is true that sometimes even in the milongas we generally enjoy there can be bad feeling, but I think this is rare.  Usually, we compliment one another about true things in appearance or dance. We apologise to each other for small mishaps even though these can turn out to be some of the most fun or interesting parts of the dance. We insist it was our fault. We laugh it off together, one wanting the other not to feel bad, the other wanting them to know they appreciate such understanding even going so far as to claim responsibility instead, so neutralising any notion of fault. We look out for one another and express an ambiguous "I'm sorry/It's fine" gesture to the people around when there is a bump, regardless or not of whether it was our fault. We ask our partner, and sometimes, there and then or between tracks even the other couple if they are alright. We take care of partners and people around or try our best. We want to make the dance as pleasant as possible for the other person, by listening and responding to the nuances of movement as best we can. We are well-intentioned in every way.  We are are entirely focused on the other. We show when we have enjoyed a dance, we want the person to know we are grateful, that we appreciate them and that they have made us happy. 

Happiness is natural when we discover someone we would like to dance with has chosen to invite us for dance or agreed to dance with us.  In such happiness we are kind and so we are our best selves.

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

Gardens


"Abu Wad's whole existence seems dedicated to the beauty of life"

About the time my first son was born I used to look for quiet streets in Southwark to take him out for walks. Invariably, on the way to or from walks along the South Bank we would go along the unpromising Redcross Way in the middle of which was a small haven of peace and green and growth. This garden was founded in 1887 and almost lost during the twentieth century until it was rescued and revived the year before my son was born. A garden relies on insight and creativity, love, nurturing and persistence and often help from like-minded friends. Well over one hundred years later, though small, it is still giving sanctuary and pleasure to people every day. It was at this time I first thought what a special legacy a garden is. 

Nearby, there used to be a mysterious locked gate with things tied to it. Behind I remember nothing but wasteland, like a building site but there must have been a sign somewhere because I knew centuries ago it had been a burial site. I wonder if the guerilla gardener who planted here was inspired by the Red Cross Gardens because now I see Crosssbones has become a garden itself.




This is another community garden made by volunteers in Dunkeld, near me. I recommend the village also for the views of the river, the cathedral, and especially the surrounding walks. 















All gardens are restful and re-energising, even - sometimes especially - those in the centre of a city.  And yet gardens, living testaments to creativity and care exist in such variety. These are just a few of those I have seen this year, often with my children.

The magical orchard and meadow at Falkland,  full of cherry trees


Centre of the maze, Falkland Palace, Perthshire
Beech maze, Scone Palace
Drum castle, Aberdenshire, which has quadrants of historic roses
Gardens recommended to me between Jujuy and Independencia, Buenos Aires


Wildflowers planted on a verge opposite some houses, Auchteragven

Willow room and tunnel, New Lanark

Teehaus in Weissenburgpark

This short film about the last gardener in Aleppo, contains so much.  Many will, like me, find it distressing but it is also about an inspirational man who, like many gardeners seems to have improvised with what was to hand and turned all circumstances to his advantage. He had faith in life and beauty and saw new life growing even as his garden was damaged by war.  He saw a way forward, a meaning and purpose in the most chaotic, dangerous and difficult conditions.  I listen to his words: "music", ordinary people, help, beauty, nourishment, life. You can tell so much about someone just from the words they use. Despite his death and the obvious personal tragedy for his son, he lives on and in the best way. 

For me so much of value in life and the things that help us decide how to live is found during time spent in gardens but also in stories shared and in conversation. Although his circumstances were so different to mine and although he speaks for only a few moments in that short time I learn so much about beauty, hope, love, wisdom, courage and great strength of character. 

And also, that if you make the right conditions and if you believe that it is possible, not only can beautiful things can grow in the most unpromising places where others would never believe it is possible but when people see what is possible some of them go on to plant too. Because while a plant growing is miracle enough, what is planted is never only a plant. 

Tonight my son asked for a second story. It was late and I said one was enough but he begged.  And time with our children is so short, especially time of this sort and you never know for how long you can enjoy such grace and good fortune, so how can you refuse?  He brought this:


It is the tale of a thief who does not initially realise what she has stolen. But, on opening the bag of acorns realises there is a forest in her arms.  She becomes someone who transforms grim roundabouts and dark cities. 





And I think this story is about the change within ourselves, which can be an awakening or a struggle, when we realise things about which we may have been unaware or mistaken.  It is about when we understand where value lies and we continue to pass on what we have learned - quietly, by planting and letting things grow.


Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Dancing in Benelux


In August I went to dance in the Netherlands.  That weekend I danced in De Plantage, Amsterdam, the part-alternative Waterlelie outdoor milonga in Leiden, the part-neo/alternative Underground milonga in Amersfoort and the part-alternative outdoor milonga on the Wilhelminapier in Rotteredam. From this trip I realised that while I still love traditional music and many aspects of traditionally run milongas I really value a relaxed atmosphere. The Dutch are relaxed. It is tempting to say I would rather go to a milonga I find relaxing with a mixture of music than a milonga with a stiff, awkward atmosphere and great music.  But I can't because I have been to relaxed milongas with terrible music or mostly neo or non-tango music in the UK and found them very depressing. But in the Netherlands I had a nice time at milongas with mixed music even if I did not dance to it, or tried to but did not generally succeed. Novelty might have had something to to do with it. I think expectation counts for a lot - whether for example you go to a milonga thinking of it as a social event or as a dance event.

On my second trip this past weekend I went to the Tuinhuis milonga in Utrecht, the practica El Sur (briefly) and El centro milonga both in Antwerp in Belgium, then back to the Netherlands to dance in Amsterdam's outdoor milonga in Oosterpark then La Bruja.

I had confirmation that:
- Outdoor dancing is lovely though the floors can be appalling.
- Biking in the Netherlands is fantastic.
- Accommodation in Amsterdam is really scarce and expensive and not just in August
- The worst dancers nearly always are the ones who walk up/hand-offer to invite women. The more traditional the milonga, the more this is true.  Also, the worse the dancer the more disbelieving they can be when you say no thank-you.
- I am probably not compatible with guys who refuse point-blank to swap roles. 
- It is so nice to have a friend to go to an unknown milonga with.  Just knowing someone friendly in the room to sit with or chat to now and then makes such a difference. It can be even better when it's a local woman who gives you the low-down on the guys.
- The experience of travel can be as good or better than the experience of the milongas.

Also:
- Utrecht is pretty and has a nice vibe.
- If you travel far for milongas you don't know much about they can be as bad or worse than  milongas you don't know much about nearby, so better go to those at least first.
- Why do some milongas/scenes devlop a "closed" atmosphere?
- Where was everyone in the city of Antwerp?
- It is likely faster, nicer (and much safer on a bike) to just ask the way than to use your phone.