A week ago I finally went to Fabric, the legendary east London club I never made it to in my twenties – despite many of my friends spending nights there that they’ll never forget (nor fully remember).
It’s safe to say it wasn’t how I thought it was going to be. For once I am not talking about the impact of Covid; social distancing, maskne and tickly nose tests. More the fact that I was stone-cold sober upon entry, it was 2pm and I was holding the hand of our three-year-old as we descended into the darkness, cheeks full of UV hearts.
The family that rave together stay together, right? No, I haven’t heard that one either. But thanks to the events company Big Fish Little Fish, which styles itself as providing a party for the “post-rave generation of parents and kids”, I finally found myself back on a sticky dance-floor. And my god, I’ve missed it.
It took me a good little while to recalibrate and get used to the sensations that had become like second nature during my clubbing years: the darkness, the volume and the most important thing – letting go and dancing with the DJ. Putting your arms fully into the air, feeling the music reverberate through your body and throwing yourself into it – with even more gusto once the song you thought deserved to be on finally crashed through the speakers. Essentially surrendering.
Don’t get me wrong – keeping one eye on a toddler charging around with his best friend and a balloon sword doesn’t leave one totally carefree. But my husband and I were with our best friends and between us we kept watch. And who hasn’t had to keep an eye on that one friend who can’t stay in one place easily and is prone to bouts of tears? Not that different to clubbing with a three-year-old.
Drinks were bought, dance moves had and we left bloody knackered. (Plus, at this afternoon rave, there were delicious cookies, brownies and popcorn on sale – I always thought clubbing should have had many more snacks.)
Why I am sharing this with you today? Well, tonight millions will be tuning in to watch Strictly Come Dancing kick-off proper. In what has become a comforting ritual for so many, we sit on our arses and watch others move and do that marvellous thing called dance.
In this country it seems an unwritten law that one must be arse-faced drunk to dance in someone’s house
I believe more of us should come out of dance retirement. In fact, I am calling for it. I know we are bone-tired post-work and that sitting is so, so lovely. I agree. And I am aware that lots of people never liked clubs in the first place. But I also feel that our dance retirement is pushed upon us in an awkward kind of way without us realising it. It just creeps up and then boom. You are done. Out of the club. Literally.
Of course, no one is blocking older people from going in. And plenty of you will buck the trend – perhaps finding places that play music of your youth. I know many older Northern Soul ravers, for instance.
But, broadly speaking, one of two things happens as you get a bit older: once you have mated, your need for the big sex jungle of the club dissipates. The same incentives to hit the floor in that sort of sexually charged space simply melt away. Or if you haven’t mated, no longer do you want to find a potential partner in that environment – despite still wanting to go out, meet folk and have a dance at some point.
Neither of these statuses should mean your dancing career ought to be over.
At this point some of you will be protesting, thinking: what about music festivals or house parties? You can dance there. Yes, you can – but not everyone likes those nor has friends who throw them. As you get older, even house parties sometimes lack a proper dance situation – or one that’s remotely satisfying. And in this country it seems an unwritten law that one must be arse-faced drunk to dance in someone’s house. Do you know how risky a hangover becomes once you are older? It’s a full-blown crisis. I have been known to plan for weeks for the biblical aftermath.
Somehow if you don’t fancy professional dancing lessons or Zumba down the gym, we end up with weddings and chance moments that may tip into a party being the only times in our older adult lives when we can actually get the hell up and dance.
Even when we watch a bloody musical or concert, too often as older people we are sedentary – mildly tapping our foot – when we really should be letting rip in a distinctly non-British way.
It’s not good enough. End the spectatorship, I say.
As my much loved friend and trained dancer and choreographer Emma Zangs argues in her compelling TEDx talk “We Are All Dancers”, we are actually born to dance. Our first moves are in the womb; those instinctive somersaults and high kicks, all performed to the first beat we know: our mother’s heartbeat. Then once we are on our little feet ex-utero – we move again with wild abandon and dance as if no one is watching, new sounds enveloping our being.
Our son moves like no one is watching and it’s amazing to see the beat possess his whole body. He is pre the dance shame that haunts us all pre-booze. During lockdown I instigated many a kitchen disco and we all felt the benefit. Flailing limbs all around the fridge is very, very good for the soul.
We need to take back dancing from a set of unwritten rules that leaves us on the sofa. It isn’t only for the young or the gym bunnies, or the drunk or the pros on Strictly – it’s ours.
So, yes, it took me until the age of 36 to go to a club I never made it to in my younger years, and with a toddler hanging off me and my husband. But we went, we didn’t get proper drunk, and we danced. And gosh, I felt good. Alive. Vital. And free. After the 18 months the world has had, I can highly recommend.
We all need to move. Tonight, if you are a Strictly fan, get up, despite what your family says – or if you live alone, quids in – and dance along. Or have a living room disco afterwards. I dare you.
Let’s resist dance retirement together.
Emma Barnett presents BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour and BBC Two’s Newsnight
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