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:

1. Ignore the break and build up to the first beat of the new phrase.
2. Build up to the break and then stop or hold until the new phrase begins (hard break).
3. Build up to the break and then dance through the break but with less momentum (soft break).
4. 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?

Shades of Gray

A minor controversy erupted last week as a member of the dance community, one who had been publicly expressing her opinion for some time, distributed an email that included some harsh criticisms of performances at the US Open. Those who were criticized, as well as their friends and supporters, spoke out against this person, attacking both her opinions and her character.

I don't agree with what this person said, and I certainly don't condone the way she said it. But the voracity with which people responded to her criticisms gave me pause. Yes, we need to state our opinions - whether popular or not (and especially if not) - with respect, humility, and an open mind to other viewpoints, but at the same time, whether we like them or not, I believe we should also exhibit tolerance and acceptance and allow dissenting or unpopular opinions.

The fact is that we are a community of diverse people, and with that goes diverse experiences, diverse perspectives, and diverse opinions. At the same time, we are a community of people who are often passionate about what we do, which means we often have strong opinions. And there are many who in part or in full depend on what we do for a living, which means we are sometimes prone to taking things personally. In the end, though, it's this diversity of opinions, and the associated passionate discussions that we share about our craft, that keeps this community vibrant and alive and healthy.

I think it's important to recognize, too, that we are a community built around an art form, and that means that most everything is subjective and there rarely if ever is an absolute right or wrong. I do my best to keep that in mind whenever I teach, and whenever I write these blog posts, and I try to foster an open forum where all opinions are welcome, as long as they are expressed nicely, with respect and an open mind. It's particularly on my mind when I try to raise hot-button issues like swing content, as I did in my last post.

In our community we have some "experts" or "authorities": people whose opinions are highly valued. For my part, I greatly respect those who have dedicated their lives to dance and our community, and who have won competitions and earned well-deserved admiration. I think they have a wealth of knowledge and perspective that can grow and enhance our craft, and therefore they deserve to be considered authorities. After all, if a person has been in the community long enough and had enough experiences, it gives that person a stronger foundation on which to build conclusions, and thus tested and validated opinions. But I also think there's a danger to blindly accepting the opinion of any one expert as the only and absolute truth, especially at the exclusion of differing or even contradictory opinions. What seems right to you does not necessarily make other opinions wrong. (Of course, even the authorities disagree, so how does one choose "the right one" in the first place?) In fact, I find that oftentimes the differing opinions of the experts either complement one another or else are the same idea wrapped in different language.

At the same time, there's something to be said for people who have some experience, but not so much that they have lost a more objective perspective. We've most likely heard the expression "We need a fresh set of eyes" at one point or another. This is a great attitude - a recognition that those who are immersed in something can lose perspective or objectivity - but it is also an attitude which is sometimes adopted up until that "fresh set of eyes" proposes an unpopular idea, at which point it's easy to say that the person doesn't have enough experience.

Thinking of our own community, we don't all have to agree, but I believe we should hear out and respect others' opinions, no matter what they are or where they come from. We should also present our ideas with respect for others, recognition that there are others who have been around longer and know more, and an open mind that acknowledges that the content of our discussions is frequently if not always subjective.

What do you think? Do you think all opinions are equally valid or are some more valid than others? Do you agree that winning awards makes someone an expert? Are there other ways of becoming an authority? Are there ways to ensure that we do a better job of being open and respectful? What can we do to resolve differences in a more civil manner?

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!

The Only One

Part of the joy of dancing is discovering how it relates to the random things that you come across in your everyday life. As someone in nonprofit communications, I read a lot of literature on how to communicate effectively and I never cease to be amazed at how appropriate the principles apply to dancing.

The latest gem actually comes from a book about successful people in the workplace. The author states that the difference between a "good" leader and a "great" leader is not just the ability to listen, but listening to people as if they are the only person in the room at the time. (Bill Clinton is apparently an excellent example of this - part of his charm as well as his ability to manage a presidential administration.)

I always teach that any good leader is also a good follower: one who responds to his partner, allows her to express herself and finish her intentions. But I'm curious by this idea of a great leader being one who dances with his partner as if she's the only one in the room.

When I used to dance lindy hop, there was a certain leader who made every follower swoon. After noticing his magical charm on all the women, I asked some of the followers, "What is it about this guy?" And they all said the same thing: "He dances with you as if you're the only one in the room." They all knew that he did this with all the women, working his way around the room with equal flirtation for them all. Still, they loved dancing with him because for those few minutes, they experienced that feeling for themselves.

Then I think about competitive swing dancing, which is so much about showing off yourself, flirting with the audience, acknowledging that your partner is just one of many in the room. Most competitors win with this outward audience-focused energy, while few can draw people in with a partnership-focused energy. Angel and Debbie Figueroa's "Sometimes" routine is an excellent example of how two partners can be so into each other, as if they were the only two in the room, that to watch is so captivating. In fact, it's almost uncomfortable, as if you shouldn't be watching such an intimate dance between two people. Personally, I think that kind of dancing is a real art, but few can master it, and few try.

But what about the social dance floor? How often do we really invest all of our attention and focus into our partner? How often do we treat our partner like he or she is the only person in the room? How easily are we distracted by our own issues, our dance "homework" and the many people around us? And if connecting with a partner is the ultimate goal, shouldn't every dance have some of that partnership-focused intimacy?

Have you ever experienced the feeling of a partner treating you like you were the only person in the room? What was it like? And how do you think we we create that more often? Would you rather see an intimate routine or an audience-mugging one? Which would you say is "better" dancing?

Level of difficulty

I never thought I'd say this, but figure skating as peaked my interest. The recent win of Evan Lysacek, the 24-year-old figure skater from Illinois, over reigning champion Yevgeny Plushenko, 27-year-old Russian who came out of retirement for these Olympic Games, has stirred a lot of buzz - not only because it's the first time an American has taken the gold since Brian Boitano in 1988, but because it raised questions about how skating is judged.

For those of you who missed it, Lysacek performed brilliantly - no earth-shattering figures but it was nearly flawless. Plushenko nailed the quadruple toe loop - the new challenging figure all the best skaters are daring to try - but he had some errors on the jumps that followed. Both men received the exact same scores for artistry; Lysacek pulled in two more points for technical performance.

Some of you know that much of this has to do with math and the new scoring system (jumps performed in the latter half of the long program received 10% more points) but the bigger argument has centered around remarks made by Plushenko after the competition. Plushenko and his coach have both commented that male skaters who did not attempt the quad are basically wimps. "If the Olympic champion doesn't know how to jump a quad, I don't know," Plushenko said. "Now it's not men's figure skating. It's dancing. Maybe figure skating needs a new name."

The insinuation is that figure skating is about technical difficulty - pushing the envelope with respect to skill, not choreography and artistry. So who gave the better performance: Plushenko with his less perfect but more challenging routine or Lysacek with his cleaner, less difficult routine?

We see this drama play out frequently in the dance world. Sometimes the couple pulling out the big moves and getting cheers wins, and other times the simpler, smoother couple gets top placement. Depends on the judges, depends on the dancers, and depends on how much "bad" technique will be tolerated in exchange for difficulty and showmanship.

Dancing - especially competitive dancing - can be as much about showmanship and level of difficulty as it is about mastery of fundamental technique and partnership. To what extent should the former be valued over the latter? How much are we willing to sacrifice fundamentals for the "wow" factor? What separates great showmanship from "flash and trash"? And how might the factors we reward in competitive dancing be shifting what we see on the social dance floor?

Looks aren't everything... right?

Ever notice how good looking people tend to become better dancers faster? Or maybe it's that better dancers are just better looking?

Could be just me, but it seems like young, attractive people move up the ranks pretty quickly - more quickly than others, sometimes more quickly than perhaps they should. Sure, there happen to be a lot of young, attractive dancers with a lot of talent, but it still raises some questions about how someone gets better and at what rate.

One could argue that attractive people get better faster because more people ask them to dance. Or maybe they have more confidence and thus are willing to take risks and try new things and become more expressive. Maybe they gain more confidence as they improve, and their confidence is what makes them seem more attractive. Or maybe as they get better they adopt the fashion trends and dress themselves better. Or maybe they just look better or our eyes are drawn to watching them simply because they are more attractive.

The flip side is that people who are better dancers may just be more attractive. A study was done demonstrating just that, and how dancing can be used as a demonstration of genetic fitness, helping us to choose a mate. So maybe the better you are, the more attractive you seem. The pros all seem to be pretty good looking, but maybe we just think that because of their dancing. Would the pros be as attractive if it weren't for the way they can move?

In competition, looks can certainly play a factor: how you dress, how you present yourself, your attitude, your level of confidence - all of which can also make you more or less attractive. Studies have shown that the part of the brain that ultimately makes decisions is the primitive brain, the part that makes decisions based on primal needs related to survival. We know that while judging is based on certain criteria, there is also a high degree of intuition and emotion that goes into deciding what's good dancing and what's not. So despite our rational thoughts about technique and artistry, are judges letting their primal interests sway their judgment? Are judges ultimately making decisions based on their primal desire to procreate? The pretty ones get chosen because we would like to mate with them? What about judges who are the same sex as those they are judging? Are they also judging based on primal instincts, but making decisions not out of a desire to procreate but based on a fear of competition? The pretty ones are competition for mates, so they should be punished/eliminated? And if both forces are at work, shouldn't they balance out so that attractive people do no better or worse than less attractive people?

Thinking about the last competition I went to, it's probably just an illusion. If physical attractiveness were objectively measured, there's probably just as many unattractive people in any division as attractive ones. Still, in a world as social as that of the social dances, attractiveness is likely to play as strong a role as it does in the rest of society. The "halo effect" is a cognitive bias whereby the perception of some positive quality (like attractiveness) gives rise to the perception of similar positive qualities. In this case, people who are attractive may be perceived to be "better" or more qualified than they actually are. Is this same principle being applied to dance? To what extent? What can or should be done about it, or is this just part of the world we live and dance in?

A whole other animal entirely...

I've been (and remain) a firm believer that good dancing is grounded in good technique and good partnership. When I've taught students, training them to be better dancers, I've always emphasized these two points. And when it came time to helping these students compete, I still emphasized good technique and good partnership skills, striving to create a clean, comfortable dance with any and every partner.

That works fine for the lower levels of competition - newcomer and novice - but it isn't always cutting it at - or even required for - higher levels. These days, showmanship and musical interpretation (extreme forms of which are known as "flash and trash") is getting rewarded more and more in competition. While I agree that these two elements are some of the marks of better competitors and, yes, better dancers overall, we are treading in dangerous waters when we start rewarding these elements in lieu of good technique and partnership, rather than in addition to good technique and partnership.

I now find myself asking students in private lessons if they wish to be better social dancers or better competitive dancers, as their answers will dictate not my suggestions, but the priority for those suggestions. For instance, students can get away with minor problems in posture or not fully anchoring in competition if they can demonstrate advanced musicality. Would I still recommend fixing one's posture and anchor? You bet, but it's not as much of a priority if the changes are minor and winning is the goal. (Of course, I make all of this transparent to the student so they understand what should be priority and why.) For me as a teacher, I will always put the emphasis on being a better social dancer, but to be a better teacher, I also need to consider the wishes of my student, right? (Another topic for another blog post!)

Admittedly, even as a judge, I will place a couple with great musicality but less than perfect technique over a couple with great technique but little or no musicality. This is, after all, dancing, which by definition is the physical representation of music. Dancing is not the same as moving, and not even the same as lead-follow. Musical interpretation counts for something. Yet I will happily place a really clean couple that is really connected with great partnership over the sloppy, musical couple. Maybe I'm the odd man out, but that's what I value most.

Every now and then, I get to see truly great dancing rewarded: a clean, smooth dance that is musical and that is focused on the partnership - not the audience. At the Mahoneys' New Year's Dancin' Eve this year, some of the first place couples were the crowd-pleasers, but often the second and third place couples were the cleanest dancers with the best partnerships. Nice to see that getting rewarded from time to time (especially as I am admittedly not a flashy dancer, even though I'd like to know how to be...)

Competition is a beast unto itself. As more people compete, and the skill level of each division gets higher, the importance of showmanship and musicality over technique and partnership not only increases but is seeping into the lower divisions. How do you all feel about this? Do you see good social dancing and good competitive dancing as one and the same? What makes them different and why? What are you doing to be good at one or the other (or both)? What do you want to be rewarded in competition and what do you think should be rewarded? And teachers, how do you navigate this world of social and competitive dancing?

New Year's Resolutions

It's that time of year: time to think about what we hope to achieve by this time next year.

I've had dance resolutions before, some I've met and others I haven't. They are all personal goals and they are all personal goals related to competition: making finals in my division, placing in the top three, moving out of a division, etc.

When making New Year's resolutions, it helps to have "SMART" goals: specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-bound. I mean, I can say I want to be a world champion in three months, but odds are that's a foolish resolution that will not be achieved. So we strive to set some goals for ourselves that can be met, that can be measured, and that can be achieved within a year's time.

Which is why, I suppose, I set my goals based on competition. It's hard for me to say, "I'll be better at whips" or "Add more level changes to my dancing." I suppose I could find an objective way to measure that (tape my dancing and record the number of "good" whips or level changes) but in many ways these goals remain subjective and/or difficult to measure. Competition, however, provides concrete measurements of my progress. Or does it?

Competition itself is subjective, and there's a danger in judging our own dancing based on such an arena. Competition is another animal altogether, separate from social dancing, with a particular required skill set and its own set of values, all based solely on how you look. Does it provide some benchmarks? Sure. Do we aspire to be better competitors? Perhaps. Should competition be our only goals? I hope not.

Some people set specific goals like, "Be able to do 3 finger spins in a row," which is specific, measurable, and perhaps realistic. But do these skills alone capture what we hope to be as dancers? I mean, what about feeling good? What about making our partners feel good? What about being better leaders or followers or being better at covering mistakes and making the dance work? What about being nicer, on the floor and off? What about fostering a greater sense of community, helping newcomers and reaching out to people we don't know?

I offer this challenge: make resolutions for 2010, but keep in mind what kind of dancer you want to be and what kind of dance you want to create.

For me, sure, I want to be more expressive, I want to dance more through my patterns, I want to play with level changes, I'd like to discover some new "wow" moves, and, for goodness' sake, I want to make finals in California some day. But I also want to dance with someone new (or someone I haven't danced with in the last month) every time I go out, I want to dance with more newcomers, I want to dance with more people from different cities when I'm at events, and I want to make my partner smile at least once during each and every dance.

What are your dance resolutions for 2010?