Southport June 2017
A glance at the cars parked at this Southport showed an more affluent group in attendance than in my early years here. Sure enough a quick scan of the photos shows a higher average age. The dance floors are emptying earlier in the evening, the fastest tracks are not as fast as the early years of Ceroc and the young people are in a distinct minority.
The dynamics have changed too. The teachers and their demos mandated to do cabarets, power hours and earn money were understandably more scare on the dance floor. Their work takes priority over their pleasure. Their job is different nowadays - I think it takes it's toll. But there were plenty of GREAT dancers there.
Pontin's staff were on the whole jollier. Our chalet was clean(ish) but the floor was a maze of tree roots - Middle Earth self-catering - one wonders if the entire block will need to come down!
The weather was due to be dreadful - a potent burst of optimism on our block reminded us all was not lost.....
Notwithstanding the vagaries of weather forecasting, some things had not changed. The sound quality and quantity in the bar area was stupid - a DJ will never admit they are going deaf so their actions are understandable, if rather worrying. The other DJs seldom check the sound and don't correct it (unless they are told) SO TELL THEM. Better speakers would help no end.....but well you know....
There were several times at this weekender where I looked round to see someone who looked like someone I knew would not be there. It is these tricks that grief plays on us. It's both jaw dropping and heart breaking. Sheena played a tribute to Garry. I was shaken after it at the intensity of a loss. Later I grudgingly accepted that the place will never be the same again - and thereafter I frequently dismissed the thought of irrecoverable moments. Time has emptied a huge palace from which flowed Garry's music - how dare it, how fucking dare it. How dare it leave me with only memories. Such is the work of a master.
A long time ago I began to wonder if I would ever understand this music I dance to in the way that I grasp the music I listen to day in day out. Garry was my guide there - bypass the intellectual, just feel it deep beyond simple musical comprehension and foot-tapping, beyond lyrics and the banality of form. Feel it as you grasp a story, a journey through a thunderstorm or a rose garden or both at the same time. Don't measure it - let your core be the judge. Suddenly sets that were good made sense - they felt good - they were rounded, intricate, varied and daring. The good set is hardly capable of expression in language: close to the ecstatic mass reaction. Music - that hard wired stuff we can't describe - is just understood by feedback and Garry was a master at reading reaction. His gift was matching a temporary vibe with a temporary need for that vibe - at scale. Some are capable of that still: on their day. None with his consistent level of engagement with the floor was evident.
In the main room chaos reigned - I was reminded of Zappa's quote "anything that deviates from that reinforcement of your factory rhythm could be perceived as rhythmically dissonant". The floor would clear at anything notably hard or fast. It was hot there and fancy dress was the norm: a giant hot party - with a passing interest in floorcraft. The Blues room - where I spent some blissful time - was a place of musical safety and popular for that. Rachel and Marc know what their customers like - wistful romanticism and water, tea and coffee!
Dance aristocracy from years past turned up. Members of the Ceroc Scotland Forum (an internet Message Board populated with egos and alter egos all with aliases) were out at a reunion and it was a joy to see these faces again. And to see that dance remains a universal language wherever jive or blues or swing music is played. And given their excellence, my weekend was lifted by "presence" the only way to embody that music which so easily slips away.
Hot days gave way to cool nights (one rainy one) but the midsummer treat of Southport was restored - dancing as the sun comes up.
Was it a good Southport weekend? Yes - yes it was, despite some odd sets, seem lapses in good manners and the inevitable over-reaching of Cerocers who just dance the same speed whether the music is faster or slower than the factory rhythm. Someone ought to teach them how to dance slowly - the SILC room at midnight was quicker at times than the fast room - and some folks struggled to slow down as the night went on. The resultant close hold, flailing limbs, awkward moves and low lighting put me in mind of Frank Zappa again...
"..a world of sexual incompetents encountering each other under disco circumstances"
A glance at the cars parked at this Southport showed an more affluent group in attendance than in my early years here. Sure enough a quick scan of the photos shows a higher average age. The dance floors are emptying earlier in the evening, the fastest tracks are not as fast as the early years of Ceroc and the young people are in a distinct minority.
The dynamics have changed too. The teachers and their demos mandated to do cabarets, power hours and earn money were understandably more scare on the dance floor. Their work takes priority over their pleasure. Their job is different nowadays - I think it takes it's toll. But there were plenty of GREAT dancers there.
Pontin's staff were on the whole jollier. Our chalet was clean(ish) but the floor was a maze of tree roots - Middle Earth self-catering - one wonders if the entire block will need to come down!
The weather was due to be dreadful - a potent burst of optimism on our block reminded us all was not lost.....
Notwithstanding the vagaries of weather forecasting, some things had not changed. The sound quality and quantity in the bar area was stupid - a DJ will never admit they are going deaf so their actions are understandable, if rather worrying. The other DJs seldom check the sound and don't correct it (unless they are told) SO TELL THEM. Better speakers would help no end.....but well you know....
There were several times at this weekender where I looked round to see someone who looked like someone I knew would not be there. It is these tricks that grief plays on us. It's both jaw dropping and heart breaking. Sheena played a tribute to Garry. I was shaken after it at the intensity of a loss. Later I grudgingly accepted that the place will never be the same again - and thereafter I frequently dismissed the thought of irrecoverable moments. Time has emptied a huge palace from which flowed Garry's music - how dare it, how fucking dare it. How dare it leave me with only memories. Such is the work of a master.
A long time ago I began to wonder if I would ever understand this music I dance to in the way that I grasp the music I listen to day in day out. Garry was my guide there - bypass the intellectual, just feel it deep beyond simple musical comprehension and foot-tapping, beyond lyrics and the banality of form. Feel it as you grasp a story, a journey through a thunderstorm or a rose garden or both at the same time. Don't measure it - let your core be the judge. Suddenly sets that were good made sense - they felt good - they were rounded, intricate, varied and daring. The good set is hardly capable of expression in language: close to the ecstatic mass reaction. Music - that hard wired stuff we can't describe - is just understood by feedback and Garry was a master at reading reaction. His gift was matching a temporary vibe with a temporary need for that vibe - at scale. Some are capable of that still: on their day. None with his consistent level of engagement with the floor was evident.
In the main room chaos reigned - I was reminded of Zappa's quote "anything that deviates from that reinforcement of your factory rhythm could be perceived as rhythmically dissonant". The floor would clear at anything notably hard or fast. It was hot there and fancy dress was the norm: a giant hot party - with a passing interest in floorcraft. The Blues room - where I spent some blissful time - was a place of musical safety and popular for that. Rachel and Marc know what their customers like - wistful romanticism and water, tea and coffee!
Dance aristocracy from years past turned up. Members of the Ceroc Scotland Forum (an internet Message Board populated with egos and alter egos all with aliases) were out at a reunion and it was a joy to see these faces again. And to see that dance remains a universal language wherever jive or blues or swing music is played. And given their excellence, my weekend was lifted by "presence" the only way to embody that music which so easily slips away.
Hot days gave way to cool nights (one rainy one) but the midsummer treat of Southport was restored - dancing as the sun comes up.
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| 04:40 BST |
"..a world of sexual incompetents encountering each other under disco circumstances"
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