Thievery Corporation is well known-amongst the electronica/downtempo/i-don’t-know-what-you-call-this-genre crowd.  The two albums I have have both pulled me through long nights of coding and writing. With minimal vocals, or vocals in other languages, the music does the work of occupying that part of my brain that needs rhythm and melody while the rest of me gets something done.

Now, you get something done. Enjoy!

I’d like to think this song called “The Pioneers” is true. So, I’ll believe it for now.

More substance later….

“How much?” I think it over for a minute. I’d never given it a price before.

“Five dollars”

“How about three?”

“That’s my painting.” I think of the night that I stayed up painting it with some acrylics I’d bought on a whim. Aside from a few childish endeavors, I’d never painted anything before. I was up till dawn, drinking tea, listening to music, getting lost in the shades between red and yellow. The next morning, I slept through the temp job I was supposed to go to. I didn’t care. I’d painted something.

“Oh.” He says and puts it down reverently. “You have to price your work what you think it’s worth.” He has a thick Spanish accent. “I really like the colors. Very beautiful.”

“Think about it.” I say. “You a painter? Working around here?”
“Yes, around the corner. My bedroom has two murals and many colors. This is very nice.” I think about lowering my price. But I’m not sure. In truth, he’s probably the only person who will want it. But he probably doesn’t have the five to spring for it. Or it’s the difference between one and two tacos for dinner for him.

“I’ll be around all week-end.” Come back. “If it’s still here, it’s yours.”

All week-end long I sit in this reconstruction of my living room letting people sift through things that I picked up at garage sales. Young couples consider shelves and tables for their new apartments. Old ladies dig through boxes of clothes.

“How much?” they ask in their thick accents.

“One dollar.” I say, certain that’s cheap enough for a cotton summer dress. They drop it back in the box.

A young guy with long hair parks next to a box of magazines and fingers them for 45 minutes.

“Whaddya say buddy? You gonna make me an offer for those magazines?”

“I’d really like one about Botswana. I don’t see any here about Botswanna.”

“Well, find what you like and take it home.” I say, hoping he’ll move on. I’m waiting for the nice white couple fondling my desk to move on so I can throw him out. He’s getting on my nerves.

A hispanic lady walks up to a rolling butcher block and looks at the price tag.

“How much?”

“Seventy-five.” I say, knowing she can’t afford it.

“How about fifty?”

“I can do sixty.” I say, thinking of the three people who emailed me about it on craigslist who didn’t haggle.

“Fifty?”

“I can do sixty.” I say.

Some other people are milling around and I know she won’t take it.

“Fifty…” She whines in her soft mexican voice.

“Sixty.” I say.

“Fifty…” Softer, like a whimpering dog. I want to scold her for begging.

“It’s solid. In very good condition. I can do sixty.” Now I just don’t want to slide for her. Don’t want to let her whine win the game. She opts for a three drawer dresser instead, talks me down from $30 to $25, then hands me two twenties when she pays. Now I have to make change. I’ve always felt that when you haggle with someone at a sale that you should hand them exact change… as if you really only had $8 instead of $10.

I’ve dreaded this week for years. Wondered what I would do when I got back to California and had to pull everything out of storage that I haven’t lived with for three years. Lots of these things I don’t need anymore. Some things I still want. But I’m keenly aware how quickly the value of something is lost the minute you purchase it. It only has value if you really use it, if it has a prominent place in your life. As each thing walks away, a pair of cowboy boots, a dresser, an old CD player I am grateful to know that I’m no longer feel the urge to collect things. I’d like to have less and less. It’s still hard to part with some things though. I don’t want to let them go for cheap, considering how long I dragged them around, paid for storage… it’s a losing battle really. Having less is always better.

I’ve been watching Michael record and mix music almost nonstop for the last six days. He puts everything he has into it. If he didn’t have to come snuggle me in bed, or sometimes make breakfast or go out to buy toilet paper, he’d stay down here in this dark basement apartment, hunched over the guitar all day long. Sometimes he struggles and gets frustrated. This process has been so amazing to witness. Whenever we’ve played music together, he seems to find melodies so easily. For me, creating melodies is really difficult. I always took his talent for granted, but to know that even he has to work at it gives me a little hope of my own.

To tell you a little bit about these songs, because they mean a lot to me:

Air From A Tiny Hole
This is the first song that I heard when I visited Michael’s myspace page. It was my first experience of his music and listening to it gave me a rush of emotion and unforeseen affection. At the time, I was in a phase of enjoying slow electro-acoustic rock and this song clicked with me instantly. It wasn’t too long before I too got to experience the air leaking from a tiny hole… a charming detail of our early days together.

We Saw A Fox In The Snow
The original riff is one I wrote on my guitar years ago… probably when I was 18. Michael and I were housesitting in the suburbs last Christmas and there was a piano in the house. We took the opportunity to record a few one minute ditties together (hence, the lo-fi sound). During that stint in the ‘burbs, Michael and I took a walk on New Years Eve. Riverside, Illinois is amazing in the winter… all the beautiful mansions lit up with white lights were no match for the piles of snow that had been working over the land-scape all day. As we stumbled out into the snow for a midnight walk, mugs of cocoa in our hands and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in our pockets, we headed away from the mansions and towards an open field fringed with trees. The white expanse was breathtaking and still, and then there was a movement off to our right… “Look” I whispered. A fox was racing through the snow, looking for cover. Then we heard shouts. Yards behind were three college-aged boys, running through the snow. We stopped to watch the pursuit. The fox slipped into the shadows and the boys stumbled after her.

Dunderpate
This song is from an album The Way It Is released a few years ago. Total girlfriend rock. Sad, slow… and then completely rocking. Perfect. I love the guitar tones when he finally opens up the pipes… and the layering of vocals. And then he brings it back down to the essential riff again. If I could play this kind of music myself, I would.

So… this post has two purposes:

1. To share some music that I genuinely love (made by a person that I genuinely love) with you, my dear reader.
2. To remind you to support and promote the people in your life who could use a little boost. One of my favorite bloggers, Leo Babauta of zenhabits.net wrote a great post called, “Why You Should Think About Encouraging Others to Be Brilliant” which I think you should go read once you are done enjoying these songs. In fact, zenhabits has had a more profound impact on me in the past year than any other website out there. I find that I’m constantly telling clients and friends about this site whenever they wince about their own productivity, organization, or fulfilling their dreams. If there’s one place where you can get constant, tangible and un-hippified inspiration… this is it.

In the meantime. Please share The Way It Is with a friend or two. When we return to Chicago this April, you might actually get a chance to see the band play somewhere around town. If you visit their website, there are new songs and videos posted on a fairly regular basis.

If your goal in taking classes or learning choreography is to improve, then you have to get used to a constant state of feeling unnatural. If your goal is to have fun (usually what we do on the social floor), then doing what feels natural works best because you get a constant flow of positive self feedback.

This doesn’t mean that feeling unnatural in class means you are always improving. Getting feedback from an experienced teacher and engaging in self inquiry are key to figuring out if your new moves are on the right track. But if you are moving through a sequence with ease while the rest of the class is struggling, either the class is below your ability, or you’re using old comfortable movement patterns rather than picking up new ones.

Picking up new body movement always takes time. The only patterns that don’t take time to develop are quick reactions… the ones that are hardwired to prevent us from falling or from being hit by a flying object. With everything else, we have to put our body in a new and unnatural position, find balance, observe our body position both by watching and from within and then repeat  that movement over and over again before it begins to feel natural.

Early in my teaching career I taught a class to a room full of other dance teachers. One teacher in particular caught my eye… she’s very graceful and sure of her body. She’s experienced in a wide range of dance styles; her versatility is one of her greatest strengths. But she seemed to be struggling with the movement, going through it very slowly and asking a lot of questions. She never got all the way through the sequence but by the end of class she seemed to have absorbed more of the beginning of the sequence than the other teacher/students who had moved quickly through each step, eager for the next one. I commented to a fellow teacher about my observation of her slow progress and they said, “I think she wants to fully understand how the movement works and so she goes about it more slowly.”

Looking back now, I see what an attentive student she was. The other teachers, feeling confident in their bodies, did the movement in their own way, rather than really observing the differences between what I taught and what they did. What made me uncomfortable was that I perceived her as feeling uncomfortable, but it wasn’t necessarily for my lack of teaching (though I probably could have been clearer with my demonstration). She was in a learning zone and pushing her body into a new space, which for her felt unnatural.

You can go to the dance studio, the driving range or pick up a guitar and do the same movements you do all the time. That isn’t the kind of practice that’s going to help you improve, since you’re just reinforcing the same neuromuscular patterns. Geoff Colvin talks about deliberate practice in Talent is Overrated and credits Noel Tichy, a former management chief at General Electric with a learning paradigm that identifies where to best focus our attention when practicing:

“Tichy…illustrates this point by drawing three concentric circles. He labels the inner circle “comfort zone,” the middle one “learning zone,” and the outer one “panic zone.” Only by choosing activities in the learning zone can one make progress. That’s the location of skills and abilities that are just out of reach. We can never make progress in the comfort zone because those are the activities that we can already do easily, while panic zone activities are so hard we don’t even know how to approach them. Identifying the learning zone, which is not simple, and then forcing oneself to stay continually in it as it changes, which is even harder— these are the first and most important characteristics of deliberate practice.”

About a year ago, I sat in a music lesson, something I hadn’t done since high school. Even though I’ve owned and played a guitar since I was fourteen, I haven’t improved much. After we had talked theory for a few lessons, my teacher asked me to pick up a guitar and simply find the A on each string. When I look at the guitar, I have no awareness of the relationship between the strings. I know that if I place my fingers in certain positions, pleasing sounds can emerge, but I don’t know why and it seems sort of random. I plucked the fifth fret on the E string. Easy. Then I plucked the A string. No problem. I got to the D string and faltered, plucking at a fret that I thought might sound close to the A. Wrong. I rushed towards a nearby fret, searching for the A, beginning to feel a bit awkward.

“Wait.” he said. Take your time. If you get rushed or impatient with yourself, you won’t learn as quickly as if you go slowly and take your time. Be patient with yourself and take time to reason it out.

I took a deep breath and analyzed the D string and then confidently chose the 7th fret.

“Good!” he encouraged. I took the same slow pace with the next string. “You’re approaching this now like an experienced student.”

Now when I struggle, I remind myself to slow down, take my time and relish the process of being uncomfortable, but still finding the answer.

Only after a pattern is repeated slowly and accurately can it be sped up and then modified. A good student gives herself time to treat each new skill like brand-new movement, working through it deliberately and with increased awareness. Once the action has been repeated many many times— only then does the feeling of naturalness and ease emerge.

“What? Your dog doesn’t like art?” asked the man. “She likes smells.” I replied. He walked up to her and put his hand out. She looked past him to the doorsill of the gallery. There was a smell there that she’d spotted and was eager to investigate. This made me feel better about putting my foot in the gallery. A woman sat at a desk in the far corner.

“Can my friend and I come inside?” I asked.

“Oh sure!” she replied. I walked in and the dog followed suit. Something about the woman and her now visible assistant in the corner excited the dog and she ran over to them. They made dog/human communication sounds and petted her while I wandered around the room. I realized that I’d stumbled upon a photography exhibit by an artist who had documented Devendra Banhart and other musicians that seem to be part of the same clan. The photos had that deep textured quality and graininess of the 70’s. The characters themselves embodied a flavor of 60’s 70’s willy nilly love child, long hair, clothes askew, skin art, far-east, guitar, banjo, sitar, tinkling bells, pinky rings, faded paint, volkswagon bus, road living adventurers.

I had the feeling of finding something great and walked slowly, looking at each photograph. I always wish there is a little summary beneath the photo to explain what is not in the frame.

“D was sleeping on the bus back to London after a week in the country with friends.”

“The boys painted themselves in the fashion of Indian Brides and laughed, drinking wine in the backyard.”

There is a feeling in these photos of an era, a time, a renaissance that is somehow a throwback to the past. I feel that I am missing something. It’s happening around me, behind me… these musical moments, these gatherings of bearded men and wistful eyed women. Where are they? Where do they congregate? How does this photographer get in among them with her gadgets and capture these moments?

I looked at the info sheet about the photographer, thanked the girls at the desk and wondered what happens at these galleries? Do they sell copies of the photos? Can you put in an order for a book? But I stepped out, slipped in my earbuds and scrolled down to D and played Cripple Crow, the album by Devendra Banhart that I downloaded last fall and walked home, listening to the music with a new awareness. Pianos, guitar arpeggios, soft background vocals, an easy high hat, that soft high voice.

If you want to see these photos in person they’re at the Eleanor Harwood Gallery at 1295 Alabama Street at 25th in San Francisco’s Mission District. The Photographer is Lauren Dukoff.

(I too have stumbled down these dunes at Camber Sands on the east coast of England….)

The culmination of that feeling hit me when Steven Watkins, San Francisco’s venerable DJ played “I Live the Life I Love” by Buddy Guy. I took to the dance floor on my own. It’s really a perfect solo blues song because it’s about self fulfillment and personal choice. A fella asked me to dance and I said, “I would, but this is a solo song to me. But if you wanna solo with me that’s great.” So he did. Not everyone feels comfortable solo dancing at a partner dance venue, and I can appreciate that. But he gave it his best effort and it turned out to be pretty fun for both of us.

Throughout the evening I had conversations with a couple friends who have been having some relationship difficulties. It’s something I can strongly relate to, but there in the middle of the dance I said to my girlfriend, “Hey… you’re doing alright. You got a house, food, some good clothes and you’re out dancing. You’re still doin’ pretty good.” She smiled. I realized that I was doing pretty good too. There are a lot of things I need to sort out with myself and my life, but I’m not so immobilized that I can’t get dressed up and get out of the house on Friday Night and hit the dance floor for a few hours.

And the fact that I can have an evening of great dancing with old and new friends rejuvenates and revives me.

An afterthought to this evening involves the deeper implication of what is important about social dance. NYC’s Radiolab produced episode called “Contact” where they talked about what happens when people get together in social groups. On the show, they featured Robert Putnam, a professor of public policy at Harvard who has been studying social trends in the last century. According to Putnam:

“In 1975, the average American went on 5 picnics. Last year, the average American went on 2 picnics. There has been a 60% decline in picnics in America… America is facing a little recognized national picnic crisis.”

“From 1950-1965-70 more and more people were involved in the scouts, the PTA, and the Moose Club and then suddenly, silently, mysteriously, sometime in the late 1960s or 70’s all of those trend lines reversed and began to go down again… And we trusted one another less too… levels of trust began to decline.”

He goes on to provide analysis: “Your chances of dying over the next 12 months are cut in half by joining one group. Social isolation is as big a risk factor for death as smoking. So if you smoke and belong to no groups, it’s a close call as to which is the riskier behavior.”

The show’s narrator concludes: “Being alone is physically very stressful. Being alone has a price, biochemically.”

Which reminds me of the underlying reason why anyone goes out dancing. Sure, many of us have motivations about flirtation or love a particular style of music. Some people see dance as exercise— a way to stay active and limber. But people need social groups to survive. And fortunately, social dance fills a lot of different needs while connecting us with each other.

Beyond that, I sometimes wonder about the fleeting nature of dance. There are other art forms that seem more tangible and long-lasting. A book, a film, a recorded song… all of these things can be duplicated in their exact form and shared. They can be dissected and analyzed and re-worked. They are a finished product of hours of toil. Dance on the other hand, is just a series of moments. A video, no matter how well blocked and captured never truly relates the essence of a dance. And the feeling… it’s only shared between my partner and I. Seeking out good dance experiences is kind of like looking for love over and over again… waiting for that moment, and then it slips away. Sometimes it’s like a drug. You can dance all night and get high and find yourself crashing on Monday morning. Then you go out two nights later and realize that the high can’t be re-captured.

I know that there are amazing things about partner dancing, or I wouldn’t have kept at it after all these years… in spite of the chores, the sore feet, the bad dances, the awkwardness.

But what I’ve been wondering lately is if the benefits of dancing last beyond the moment? Is it like crack… a temporary high… or is it like eating healthy food? Or does it sustain? Sometimes I think of all the time and energy my compatriots and I put into organizing dance events and I think, “Damn… if we put this same energy into urban gardening, peace talks, public education, energy conservation or any other ill that plagues society, couldn’t we really make a difference?”

At what point does dancing become an egotistical self-pleasuring past-time and lose its value as a social bonding mechanism? At what point are there diminishing returns when it comes to developing balance, coordination and body plasticity? Is there a higher purpose to dance? Do the benefits extend beyond the 3-5 minute song?

Martin Sexton is such a multi-talented musician, that I was almost disappointed to find that there aren’t more songs like this in his collection… it seems an anomly… but a damn good one.

Usually I post two or three songs together as companions, but I’m just not sure anything else out there matches Sexton’s intensity and rawness. There are a few songs out there that Make Me Cry just about every time I play them… but they seem to be about death. So… I challenge you to find a song that could be posted alongside this one.

As influential as he is exceptional, he’s been covered by Robert Johnson, Cream, Dion, The Stooges and Beck, all pioneers in their own right. James originally recorded in 1931 for Paramount Records as part of their “race record” series, and was rediscovered in the 60’s and cut several more tracks for Takoma, Melodeon, and Vanguard. The first recording here is from the 1931 Paramount series, the second from the Vanguard series cut in the 60’s. The difference in audio quality is notable, but even more remarkable is the strength of James’ voice 30+ years later.

When James’ 1931 recordings hit the market, the Depression wiped out any opportunity for music stardom and he took work as the music director at his father’s church. Blues and religion didn’t always mix well and James’ tenure as a blues musician seems to be something that troubled the religious part of him. Many of his songs blur the lines between Blues and Gospel.

In 1964 James was discovered in a Mississippi hospital by three young blues musicians who were on a mission to uncover their own musical roots. This revivalist period which also unearthed living legends Son House, Bukka White and Mississippi John Hurt revitalized James’ career and he re-debuted at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival to an audience of young white hippies who idolized the blues musicians of old.

James played numerous engagements till his death in 1969 and today his recordings are more widely distributed than when he was alive.

To me James’s recordings are haunting, ghost-like. To look into his face as he played to that audience in Newport in ‘64 must have been like looking into the past. Unlike the earthy gritty tones of his contemporaries, James’ blues is spiritual in nature, always looking towards the heavens, plaintiff towards his creator, even when he’s bemoaning his own earthly status.

In a hospital in Washinton DC, ain’t got nobody to see about me
But I’ms a good man. But I’ms a poor man. You can understand…
Oh the doctors and nurses too, they came and they ask me, who in the world are you?
I say I’ms a good man, but I’ms a poor man. You can understand…
—Skip James, Washington DC Hospital Center Blues

Actually, I didn’t mean to open this entry with a King Missile reference, but as soon as the word “betrayal” came into my head, King Missile followed suit. That was probably a song I listened to in my early 20’s, when I was too young to actually understand the feeling.

It seems that the end of 2008 featured a whole bunch of relationship betrayals among people close to me. So, these tunes are for you. You can salt your wounds with them and still totally rock instead of being a fucking sad-sack like Morrisey.

The first track, “Grounds for Divorce” by Elbow was featured on an episode of All Songs Considered with guest DJ, Cheryl Waters of KEXP. I was immediately taken in by the bad-ass beats, and pleasantly reminded that singing “whoah oh oh oh” between verses can still sound cool. The rest of the Elbow tracks I’ve since downloaded (52 to be exact… all purchased online… not pirated!) have equal merit… just a different feeling. They remind me a little of Coldplay, but with more complex instrumentation and beautiful symphonic rock themes… and also not as horribly overplayed. Recently, I was distressed/overjoyed to hear this song as the backdrop to a big budget movie preview. Part of me wants Elbow all to myself. But, they should get recognition for what awesome music they make. Anyways, listening to this song makes me feel like smashing stuff with my guitar would feel really good.

“Friday the 13th” by Beaujolais is part of an album about his divorce. The whole thing is raw and heart-breaking, yet completely lacking in pathetic navelgazing. I’m also heartened by the fact that a man could be as hurt by betrayal as I have been. Thank you Mr. Beaujolais for telling it like it was.

I suspect that part of my motivation to lead is linked to my desire to buck gender roles. But that’s a facile way to write off all of my other motivations as well as the advantages I reap by learning how to lead AND follow.

1) Leading is fun and challenging. You have to figure out how to get you and your partner from point A to point B and stay on rhythm. There are myriad approaches you can take. It’s problem solving for the body.

2) I love to dance on my own and I have a strong sense of how to interpret the music. When I’m in the mood to share my interpretation with someone else, it’s more polite to just ask someone to follow me, rather than back-lead an unwitting lead.

3) Learning how to lead has made me a better follow. The first time this became clear was during a fast song with an instructor who knew I was learning to lead. After about half a song of crazy swing-outs he stopped and pointed out that I was yanking on his arm during the swing out… essentially leading myself into him.
“Here, show me.” I asked, and took the position of the lead. As I led the first swing-out, he demonstrated what he had been feeling (by yanking on my arm) and instantly, I understood what I’d been doing wrong. It was so much easier than having explain it or demonstrate using another follow.

Understanding the challenges that leads face on a visceral level helps me understand what I need to do to be easier to lead.

4) Because the rest of the dance world is still mostly stuck in men=lead/women=follow, leading means I get to socialize with the other half of the room. For the first year of my dancing, I never knew any of the women except for one or two of my friends. Now I’m more connected to everyone on the dance floor.

As women, we are constantly divided and conquered in society. In social dance, this can materialize in the form of competitiveness for the favored leads. Fortunately the Lindy-Hop and Blues scenes feature a lot less of this female-on-female competition, but I also suspect that the larger acceptance for women as leads/men as follows is responsible for this.

I feel a much stronger sense of connection with the dance community now that I can connect with both men and women on the dance floor. Additionally, the playfulness of swapping lead/follow with another dancer who can do both adds to the fun.

5) Knowing both roles is essential to being a good teacher. Because I haven’t found my teaching soul-mate, I have to prepare to teach classes by myself or with anyone who might be available. Knowing what the lead must do to be successful on the dance floor makes me a better teacher. Being able to dance WITH the follows helps me know what kind of information follows need from me in a dance class.

6) Once you get to a certain level in partner dance, the hard and fast rules of lead and follow fall away. The general structure still applies most of the time (unless you are doing contact improv), but  high-level leads and follows both listen to each other and impose their will on each other.

7) Why shouldn’t I lead?

postscript: A humorous video by Mark Kapner of Swing-Out New Hampshire that played years ago at San Francisco’s Dog House featured new “politically correct terminology” for social dancing. Some of the new gender-neutral terms included replacing the move “Texas Tommy” with “Texas Person” and changing “Leader/Follower” with “Suggester/Agreer.” If you really think about it, that’s what a good dance is… a suggestion by one partner that gets instant agreement.

It’s always interesting to break convention by being a female lead, particularly because I’m only five feet tall. The response varies greatly, from friendliness and encouragement, to outright standoffishness. I have the advantage of having danced as a lead for several years, so I know I can convey a basic sense of connection… it’s just a matter of figuring out the rules for Tango.

Usually conversations with my female dance partners in a beginning class go something like this.

“Oh! You lead? That must be so hard.”  Why? Because leading is intrinsically linked with having a penis? Because women are destined to only follow? Because there’s some sort of kinesthetic disability that women suffer from that prevents us from moving ourselves and a partner around a dance floor? This is the same kind of mentality that created the talking Barbie who said, “Math class sure is tough!” Science has since proven that women aren’t any less capable in math and science either.

“Oh! You’re so little! I’m afraid I’ll knock you over.” My usual response runs something like this: “Honey, if I can leverage a 400lb motorcycle, I can leverage you.” Yes, it’s true, big men can move a smaller mass around the floor with ease, but that’s because they can cheat with their mass and muscles. Good leading comes from having good technique. With very little muscular effort, I can shift your weight, move you across the floor, redirect you and stay on beat. No matter your size, as a follow, if you stay on your center and respond appropriately to tension and compression, your size doesn’t matter.

I always wanted to lead, but wondered if I could ever really excel until I met Cid Galicia. Cid is about my height and probably  has less mass than I do. At Blues Rising in San Francisco 2007, Cid won both the Jack and Jill contest and the Strictly contest. He instantly became my hero. With a Martial arts background that primed him at using his size to his advantage AND leveraging the mass of his partner, he is the perfect example of technique reigning over mass. I figure if Cid can do it, so can I.

Also, do you women hear what comes out of your mouth? “OH! you’re so little” is not really a compliment, and it probably stings even more to hear it as a man in a society that values tall men. The counter to that is, “Oh! You’re so large! How will I ever haul you around the floor?” Some of the lightest follows I know are big women who’ve learned how to keep their center and be easily moved, because frankly, getting hauled around the dance floor doesn’t feel all that great.

The line that really takes the cake came out of a class-mate this past week. During a break she turned to me and asked,
“So, how long have you been back-leading?” I really should have countered with “How long have YOU been back-leading?” but the best I could muster on the spot was,
“I just call it leading.”
“Well, my girlfriends who practice together call it back-leading.”
“Yep, well… I just lead.”

It’s possible that this woman wasn’t really aware of the depth of her insult, but she proceeded to backlead her fancy footwork through the new move that we were learning. When I attempted to put her on her axis and rotate her, without completing the move, she stepped through even though I didn’t lead the step and proceeded to do some fancy foot thing. When I attempted again, she asked me, “Are you attempting to do a mordida?” It’s not really lead/follow when I have to tell you the move that we’re about to do… is it?

Leading in class is always a good learning experience for me, because it reminds me of two things:

1. Many dance teachers are men who are larger than their partners. They have no idea how to explain the technique for the shorter/smaller lead. Which means, that they may not actually know how to verbalize how the technique actually works.
2. Many of these larger lead instructors don’t realize how much technique goes into following… it really is a 50/50 deal. The “it’s always the lead’s fault” adage cheats follows out of having to actually learn to follow. I can employ all the technique in the world on a follow, but if she doesn’t have any idea how to engage her frame and find her center, she can’t hear me. It’s like yelling into a pillow at someone on the other side of the room.

Because it’s harder for me to cheat with mass and muscles, a shortcoming in a follow’s technique or in the instruction will always be more visible with students like me.

I played guitar in a punk band from 1994-96 with three other guys. The other guitarist was way better than me. He was more experienced, he had better rhythm, and better finger control. And frankly, he just knew how to rock it out. After all, he’d been doing it since he was 12. So, I was always amazed when people walked up to us after a show and said to me, “Wow. You’re such a great guitarist.” I could always hear the part of the sentence they didn’t say, “…for a girl.”

Not much has changed since ‘96.