Sunday, 5 August 2012

It’s ONLY rock’n’roll?

After the end of my party a few weeks ago, I decided that my dancing days were more or less over.  I’d put together a couple of playlists, but they weren’t working, so I handed over to Matt, and then Tracey, who plugged their iphones in to the hi-fi and got things going.  But I couldn’t dance to their music.  Oh well, I thought, I am seventy after all, and I’ve had a few good bops in my time.

So, it’s Saturday Night.  I’m at a ruby wedding celebration in the function room of a rather nice local sports club.  Usually, I’m irritated when the loud music starts too soon, when people are still trying to chat and break ice, but I knew just five of the seventy or so present (and one of those consisted of two people I only half-knew), and a few conversational attempts had pushed me towards feeling that I wasn’t going to improve on that, and looking at my watch.  So when the band started up, I was quite relieved.

I listened.  Classic line-up, two guitars, bass and drums.  They started off with some Johnny Cash number, which didn’t augur well, but rapidly moved on to proper rock’n’roll.  I knew every single song.  They were pretty competent – good singers, a capable lead guitarist and a brilliant drummer.  I was shifting towards critical mode – they’d got the vocal timing of the Evs’ ‘When Will I Be Loved?’ wrong, like everyone does, and attributed several Chuck Berry songs to the Beatles – when Caro dragged me onto the dance floor.

Astonishingly, it was ‘Move It’, and I went into dance mode.  I turned into Embarrassing Uncle At The Wedding.  People were gazing at me in amazement.  “How does this man do this?” they were thinking, or “Why?”  I couldn’t have cared less.  I was dancing to real songs, rather than mere beats, however hypnotic.  When the Shirelles sing ‘when the night meets the morning sun’, you think ‘ when the night (da da da) meets the mor(da da da)ning su-uh-ha-un’, don’t you?  And dance accordingly.  Well, I do, anyway.

At the end, I interrupted Linda and Alex, who were for some reason smooching on the dance floor, to say thanks.  We hugged and kissed.  “Thanks for the music”, I think I said.  “It’s ours”, I think he said.

7 comments :

  1. I had you down as my age!
    Anyhow, thought you might like to know that you and Z are my bedtime reading... I don't always comment but I enjoy the read very much.
    Sx

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  2. 'Move It' is a cracking number, but I've never been a dancer. Hats off to you for letting it all hang out!

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  3. Darling, much as I love a dance, even I couldn't do it to the Laughing Policeman.

    Scarlet, aw thanks xx

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  4. I'm impressed. I didn't have you down as a boogie monster at all.

    I also didn't realise you were quite as mature as that. As far as I'm concerned, anyone over the age of 60 is entitled to dance in a style guaranteed to embarrass the young people.

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  5. None of you knew my big brother when he was a serious bopper (is that the word? it somehow doesn't do justice) You should have seen him on stage in the Cromwellian, Eel Pie or the Flamingo circa 1966.

    BTW Tim which half of those two people did you know?

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  6. Why thank you, Scarlet! (Assuming you're younger than me, that is.)
    Martin - I wasn't a dancer either, until they abolished predefined steps in the sixties, thus taking off all the pressure.
    Z - I'm sure everyone not in the know is agog to hear what you couldn't do to the Laughing Policeman.
    Liz - so leaping around like a demented meerkat is a sign of maturity. I have to agree.
    Richard - oh, I can't think of an answer. Not a blogworthy one anyway.

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  7. They were certainly thinking "how does this man do this".
    Delighted to hear that you got the right music - one should never stop dancing.

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