Swing Out New Hampshire 2005

Get it While you Can

Spontaneity being the theme of my summer, I decided to attend Swing Out New Hampshire, a camp for the lindy-hop hard-core, two days before it began. It's all about taking advantage of the moment, and when you happen to be staying just across the border from Camp Wicosuta, the home of SONH, it's better to attend last minute even when it throws your travel schedule off by a week, than to wait till next year when you have to spend $400+ on a plane ticket and then ride a bus two hours to get to the back woods of New Hampshire.

Rule of thumb #1: Take Janis Joplin's advice and get it while you can.

The week-end is a process, not unlike other processes, with a beginning, high points, low points, moments of plateau and an intense climactic end.

I abandoned the relative comforts of the Ruby-mobile (who had just had one of her cylinders replaced, part of the cause of my extended stay in Vermont) for the quaint hospitality of Cabin 20, a long spare cavern made of wood and furnished with two rows of flimsy metal framed beds, simple pine shelves and a back bathroom with three toilets, three showers and three sinks. Upon first arrival the room reminded me of an army barracks, but it was soon converted to a lindy-hop refuge as bed-frames were up-ended and mattresses laid on floors to create a more firm sleeping atmosphere. The bed-frames doubled as towel-racks and laundry chutes, and each inhabitant formed a tiny dwelling replete with several pairs of shoes, sleeping bags, myriad socks, fashionable hats from the 30s, and laptops. There was no point over the week-end at which the doors to our dwelling were locked and at times, both the front and back doors hung open, so that you could see the trees in the back yard through the front door as you approached. This one factor is a demonstration of the purely benign nature of the lindy-hop community, that so many people could store expensive shoes, laptops, cameras and wallets in such close proximity and not one report of theft was made throughout the week-end.

We entered and exited our home at all hours of the day and people could be asleep at any time (3:00 in the afternoon) or the entire cabin could be deserted (1:00 am). This is testament to the schedule that lindy-hoppers keep- the true commitment to the magic that is woven into the dance as the sun sets and the evening progresses. While many of our compatriots sensibly came home to sleep at two or three a.m., there were undoubtedly stragglers who wandered in after five, and sometimes around sunrise.

Any lindy-hop event that draws national (and in this case international) attendance is bound to have a bit of a high-school/college/family reunion feeling. Kermit Goodman once explained to me the nature of exchanges, "The first time you meet at an exchange, you are strangers, the second time, old acquaintances, the third time, best friends." Something about the environment of an exchange or in this case, a dance camp, creates a sense of familial intimacy. For me, after spending several weeks in the relative solitude of the Vermont hills, the press of smiling faces imbued me with a sense of brimming excitement and anxiety. But as I picked out my own cadre of familiar faces, I too began to feel a little more at home, a little more like belonging.

The coolness of lindy-hop is the unabashed lack of coolness on the part of its participants. A majority of the population participates in some form of geek-dom, computer programmers, pedagogues (I did meet one piano player who actually claimed to be a pedagogue), analysts, and general dance junkies. Most of lindy-hop is caucasian, thus imposing our relative lack of rhythm and style on a dance form that is most positively rooted in rhythm and a particular panache borne out of the 30s and 40s. While social value is still placed on those who dance well and stigma on those who dance poorly (thus creating a divide of cool and un-coolness within our social strata of geeks), the encouragement bestowed on those who are just starting out beats any I've seen in any other sub-culture. The dance-jam held for blue-birds (the most beginner dancers) on Saturday featured some of the best dancers stealing the blue-birds from each other in what must have been the most dizzying 10 minutes of dancing in their lives.

On the first day, I asked return attendee Adam if he had any advice for a dance-camp virgin like myself. "Take advantage of rest breaks." he said. "You might want to go to all the classes and drop in on other classes, but make sure you get some rest."

Rule of thumb #2: Naps are a lindy-hopper's best friend.

In fact, prior to the thursday evening dance, I wandered back to my cabin, exhausted after a day of classes, my brain overflowing with information, and in search of a nap, anticipating that I would be alone and lonely while everyone else socialized. But I kept Adam's advice in my mind and decided that I could handle being apart from the group long enough to nap. When I arrived, someone else was already in the cabin and soon, three quarters of our cabin-mates streamed in and began to lay about in various forms of semi-consciousness.

The process of transforming oneself from an awkward arrhythmic klutz into a continuous flow of energy and intentional motion involves a repeated pattern of counting eights, connecting with a partner, stepping and mis-stepping, breaking, sweating, asking questions, drinking and snacking, chatting and complaining, stretching and napping and then starting all over again. Failing to fully engage in each step of the process (including the breaks, the naps and the snacks) can cause one to simply shut down. The brain requires glucose, the body requires rest and after a full day of classes and an evening of dancing, neglecting to consume water and the aptly name bug-juice that issued forth from the bright yellow coolers will result in a lindy-hop hang-over only to be rivaled by cavorting around the French Quarter till dawn.

Rule of thumb #3: Even if you don't drink kool-aid in your regular life, drink whatever fluid is provided for you at a dance, and drink it in copious amounts.

This I discovered was to be a true pearl of wisdom as I awoke my first morning of the camp feeling as though I had drunk 10 shots of tequila the night before and flung myself against a brick wall several times.

My solution to this problem lay in the purple yoga mat at the foot of my bed and the block of cedar-wood I brought with me, (affectionately named "blocky"). You may think yoga is for hippies, or poseurs or Madonna, but after an intense night of dancing, nothing feels better than a good stretch and a little bit of a head-stand. Our resident camp photographer Kyle, documented my morning stretch, much to my amusement. Perhaps the photos will be used in conjunction with the classes taught by my friend, YogaBeth- who cured many a sore body with her Swoga class taught during the optional class slot.

Rule of thumb #4: Even if you are too cool for yoga or would rather do Steven's Jazz routine, take some time out for a little stretch between classes. Your body will keep dancing for you in exchange.

My first day of classes issued forth a number of "aha" moments. A long-time resident of San Francisco, I was never smart enough to attend Paul and Sharon's classes on a regular basis. I will now catch them whenever possible, because of their ability to break down lead-and follow in a way that no one else can quite articulate. What did I learn that first day in my intermediate track? Swing-outs. We did swing-outs with Paul and Sharon, swing-outs with Bill and Julie, swing-outs with Steven and Virginie and by the end of camp, YogaBeth reported that my swing-outs had become smoother, clearer, and imbued with a little more of that delicious momentum that she so desires.

Rule of thumb #5: You are never too advanced to work on your swing-out.

Rule of thumb #5a: There are some really cool variations on the swing-out. Learning them will make your dancing feel more advanced than it really is.

Yes, it really is possible to have too much fun

By Saturday night I was dragging around the water coolers waiting for water to turn into bug-juice (where is Jesus when you need him?), and wondering why I hadn't already given up and gone home to sleep. It was only 1:00 am but I'd been dancing steadily since Wednesday night and well, I was tired of it. The music was hot- but too hot for me. I couldn't do with another fast dance, I could no longer lead even a decent swing-out and even though there were a number of dancers congregating about that I would have loved to take a spin with I really was no longer interested. I'd been having fun since Wednesday night and I really didn't want to have any more fun. I wanted to rest. Yes, I concluded with the help of several other bedraggled cohorts, it is possible to have too much fun. Fun was no longer fun. Yet I managed to stay out even later on Saturday night... till 5:00am. Why? Because at some point (after re-hydrating) the tone of the evening shifted, the music got less bouncy, I got flung around a little less, I started reconnecting with the music and with my partners and I had some truly amazing dances with dancers I have the utmost respect for.

Rule of thumb #6: The later you stay at a dance, the better the dancing gets. So stick around.

Don't plan to go on a diet when you attend a dance camp. If you have low-blood sugar halfway through Steven and Virginie and can't pay attention, you'll never forgive yourself. Despite huge breakfasts, a massive plate at lunch plus a sandwich and a huge dinner, there was only one meal of the entire camp where I ever felt I'd actually eaten too much. The rest of the time, I ported around a small container and stashed sandwiches, peaches, plums, apples, english muffins and spice cake for my next break so that I could keep going.

Rule of thumb #7: As long as you are dancing, keep eating. You'll burn it up in an hour.

Don't Skip the non-dance events

It's not just about dancing. When you are sitting around chatting, don't be thinking, "I should be dancing instead" because the connections you make will last you if you let them. And don't forego the campfire sing-along, or you'll miss the violent overthrow of Kum bay ya by campers who would rather sing "Swing low sweet chariot." Missing the cabaret would mean missing a heartwarming group rendition of "lean on me" various and sundry insults between Paul and Mark (reportedly toned down from the previous year), all manner of hat tricks, sultry cabaret songs and a hendrix-like sacrifice of a borrowed ukulele.

Save some for the last dance

Because invariably the dance will go to sunrise and beyond. You will dance beyond what you ever thought your body capable and then some more. When Jesse Miner gets on the mic and tells you that breakfast will be served in 45 minutes, you will stick it out for that last 45, and when he puts on the second to last song- a hot 280bpm you will throw out into the dance jam and do tricks that you are too tired to do safely and when Jesse plays the last sweet song of the morning, you will settle into your favorite partner's arms and stumble about, teetering on the edge of exhaustion and exuberance and finally you will pose for the group photo of those who managed to stay through the night, and then you will fill up your plate and eat a good hearty breakfast and then load up the car and drive home.

A final note on frame

I've gone home from many a dance event with sore calves, legs, back, biceps, hands and feet and this event was no exception, except in one department. All those parts of my body were a little bit sore... but the ache didn't last beyond a day. The one set of muscles that actually felt truly fatigued were my latissimus dorsi. Remember when Bill and Julie told you to sqeeze your core muscles until your arms floated about waist height? Remember when you were told to dance as though you were squeezing grapefruit juice with your armpits? I must have been doing that because my back and shoulders did not hurt nearly so much as my lats- the one part of the body you are told to both lead and follow with. After nearly 40 hours of dancing, the muscles that hurt the most were the ones that were supposed to and the rest were spared. Good frame makes a difference.

Thanks to everyone who consented to dance with me, especially those follows who acted as my guinea pigs. Next year I'll be better... I promise.