2008 Woodie Awards
Musician's dancing days come to halt
Issue date: 4/29/08 Section: Features
I bet you look awkward on the dance floor.
Two months before the short, painful heat wave of August 2005, I waited with some friends in the incredibly shady industrial park of Denton, Texas. It was one of 18 100-plus degree days that summer, but there I was, sweating in line outside of an old cement factory.
It had been converted into a venue and bar called Rubber Gloves, and there was no air conditioning at the time.
On this particular night, I was waiting to see Of Montreal, whom I'd seen once prior. They'd just released "The Sunlandic Twins," so this was my first live experience with the "new" Of Montreal. Songwriter Kevin Barnes had gone funk, and he demanded dancing. It just wasn't an option.
So I danced my ass off for every minute of the (at least) three-hour set. It was impossible not to. The 200-person-capacity club was unbearably sweaty and way overfilled - to the point where the sound man could hardly get to the mixer. But every person there was busting a groove of some sort.
An hour after closing time, everyone finally poured out of the cement factory. The night was over, and Denton's craziest dance floor was no more. I've never seen a show like that since. I know I'll never forget it, not just because of the performance.
That was the last time I danced. And that was June 2005.
Almost three years later I'm still not sure what happened. Dancing was something that I used to really enjoy. Nowadays, I don't even try. It's sad, I know, but I can't depart from my awkwardness. I just clam up and can't move. I've become a total wallflower.
But I haven't stopped listening to dance music. During my dance-free years I've grown to appreciate it even more. It's a good, motivating soundtrack for any occasion. I simply don't separate it from other types of music.
I can sit down with a house record and enjoy it in the same way that I would psych-pop or hip-hop. No matter the genre, when I listen to music, that's all I want to do: listen. I'd rather focus on what's going on than think about what to do with my arms and legs.
I'm almost positive this comes from a hobby of making my own electronic music. Before I played anything but drums, I learned how to program beats and sequence them to original melodies.
At 12, I had produced a few CDs of horrible electronic music. Thankfully, it never saw the light of day. I started to learn other instruments and play in bands, but I never stopped creating.
As I progressed musically, I began exploring dance music with real instruments. Inspired mostly by disco - and also by dance-punk favorites The Rapture and Death From Above 1979 - I began practicing these beats on my drum set, beats that I once had to program into a machine. I've been able to use this style in a few groups, each with its definite groove songs. But, since most were post-2005, no dancing for me.
I hope I'm at the peak of my dance-free years. My feet are growing restless, and I predict good things for the future.
In January, I began working on a house mix that I hope to debut here in Lincoln. It's dance music made from completely un-danceable music, and that excites me. I really enjoy making others shake, which I have started to notice more and more.
Even last week, my guitarist and I wrote a new, super dirty dance-punk song with just drums and bass. In my years of playing music, I've never been so into one song before, especially one so rooted in American dance music. It's ferocious, unrelenting and completely undeniable.
If I was to hear it independently, I know I'd be cured of my dancing woes. But therein lies what I think is the problem. I'm making it. And I certainly can't play drums like I do and dance at the same time.
So, it seems that as long as I'm making any sort of dance music, I'll be unable to bust a move. Is this a curse that was given to me by Kevin Barnes on that hot, dry Texas night? I just can't stop making music for others, so what if I can't ever dance again?
I guess I'll have to just keep listening to disco in my car. It's a compact, so there's no real room to move anyway.
Dave Ozinga is a sophomore broadcasting major. Reach him at daveozinga@dailynebraskan.com.
Two months before the short, painful heat wave of August 2005, I waited with some friends in the incredibly shady industrial park of Denton, Texas. It was one of 18 100-plus degree days that summer, but there I was, sweating in line outside of an old cement factory.
It had been converted into a venue and bar called Rubber Gloves, and there was no air conditioning at the time.
On this particular night, I was waiting to see Of Montreal, whom I'd seen once prior. They'd just released "The Sunlandic Twins," so this was my first live experience with the "new" Of Montreal. Songwriter Kevin Barnes had gone funk, and he demanded dancing. It just wasn't an option.
So I danced my ass off for every minute of the (at least) three-hour set. It was impossible not to. The 200-person-capacity club was unbearably sweaty and way overfilled - to the point where the sound man could hardly get to the mixer. But every person there was busting a groove of some sort.
An hour after closing time, everyone finally poured out of the cement factory. The night was over, and Denton's craziest dance floor was no more. I've never seen a show like that since. I know I'll never forget it, not just because of the performance.
That was the last time I danced. And that was June 2005.
Almost three years later I'm still not sure what happened. Dancing was something that I used to really enjoy. Nowadays, I don't even try. It's sad, I know, but I can't depart from my awkwardness. I just clam up and can't move. I've become a total wallflower.
But I haven't stopped listening to dance music. During my dance-free years I've grown to appreciate it even more. It's a good, motivating soundtrack for any occasion. I simply don't separate it from other types of music.
I can sit down with a house record and enjoy it in the same way that I would psych-pop or hip-hop. No matter the genre, when I listen to music, that's all I want to do: listen. I'd rather focus on what's going on than think about what to do with my arms and legs.
I'm almost positive this comes from a hobby of making my own electronic music. Before I played anything but drums, I learned how to program beats and sequence them to original melodies.
At 12, I had produced a few CDs of horrible electronic music. Thankfully, it never saw the light of day. I started to learn other instruments and play in bands, but I never stopped creating.
As I progressed musically, I began exploring dance music with real instruments. Inspired mostly by disco - and also by dance-punk favorites The Rapture and Death From Above 1979 - I began practicing these beats on my drum set, beats that I once had to program into a machine. I've been able to use this style in a few groups, each with its definite groove songs. But, since most were post-2005, no dancing for me.
I hope I'm at the peak of my dance-free years. My feet are growing restless, and I predict good things for the future.
In January, I began working on a house mix that I hope to debut here in Lincoln. It's dance music made from completely un-danceable music, and that excites me. I really enjoy making others shake, which I have started to notice more and more.
Even last week, my guitarist and I wrote a new, super dirty dance-punk song with just drums and bass. In my years of playing music, I've never been so into one song before, especially one so rooted in American dance music. It's ferocious, unrelenting and completely undeniable.
If I was to hear it independently, I know I'd be cured of my dancing woes. But therein lies what I think is the problem. I'm making it. And I certainly can't play drums like I do and dance at the same time.
So, it seems that as long as I'm making any sort of dance music, I'll be unable to bust a move. Is this a curse that was given to me by Kevin Barnes on that hot, dry Texas night? I just can't stop making music for others, so what if I can't ever dance again?
I guess I'll have to just keep listening to disco in my car. It's a compact, so there's no real room to move anyway.
Dave Ozinga is a sophomore broadcasting major. Reach him at daveozinga@dailynebraskan.com.
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