The weekend in dance

[parasitegirl]

I’m still coughing and having some chest problems. Some days are better than others. I think I pushed too hard this weekend and it caught up with me, smack in the middle of my set at Legend on Sunday.

My weekend in dance:

 

Friday after work I headed home to gussy up for Anatolia. On the train I got a call from the owner. Could the reservation I’d pushed through two days earlier be moved from 8 to 8:30…because it was an overly full house. I agreed and sent off a text message to Wataguy that he could take his time.

Yup. Wataguy. Nope, we’re not back together. He was coming to see me dance and have dinner for the holidays, a few days before getting on a plane to London. He hasn’t seen me dance since February, since before the break, but when you’re about to flee the country is when you play fast and loose with your heart. At least, that’s one of the things the two of us have always had in common.

The place was packed…packed full enough that the only table with a runway seat without some poor bloak trying to figure out how he could turn at watch without getting a bra in the eye, was Wataguy, my chair being unoccupied and all. He understood what I meant about the space. I’ve described the lack of it before, but this was the second most crowded night I’ve danced there.

Half the restaurant was an international foreigner party of some sort, all different countries, but they were lousy tippers. I’ve never known the staff at Anatolia to seed tip me to get things rolling, but this time, when I was up on a chair doing a drum solo where people could see me, the owner’s wife seed tipped me. Wataguy tipped. One person from the screaming and clapping tables tipped me…and that was it.

I coughed a good deal after I was finished but not enough that I couldn’t justify some good food, wine, and conversation with the Wataguy.

Saturday, no sleep for the wicked! I was in Shibuya by 10AM to meet Neil (DJ. B Krishta) and give him flyers. I walked past Tokyu hands with my wheeled suitcase…and then back. New York Café, where we were to meet, had been smashed to the ground by construction crews. This is my luck with café meetings. I went to the Starbucks across the street, got a window seat, and emailed around until I got Neil’s phone number. I told him where to find me and set to work on my coffee and knitting.

Neil arrived alone. His daughter, who had flown back to Japan the night before, had ditched him at Shibuya station. He and I caught up a bit and headed to Tower so I could drop more fliers. Neither of us was in any position to stop the other from wandering into the World Music section…where I quickly bought three cds. I have to confess that I am weak in the face of any cd labeled Balkan AND Klezmer…throw in two mixes of Hava Nagila and I am powerless. One Balkan/Klezmer fusion cd, one Turkish Orientale cd, one Romani music cd, and the latest Belly Dance Japan magazine later I stumbled into the sun. Neil headed back home to walk the dog and I delivered more flyers around and hit my favorite French creperie in Omotesando.

Over the blue cheese, potato, and walnut crepe I looked over my lesson plan for Anaan’s class.

I headed to Devidasi studio. It was nice to be back. I know now that I did the right thing leaving Saturday classes to perform more, but I wish there were a more advanced class I could fit in my schedule. It was wonderful to see Mishaal and to see her after the craziness of planning the end of the year show was behind her and all that remained was her love and pride in the teachers and students involved. We talked for a while and hugged. We’ve emailed occasionally, but it’s been a while since I saw her face to face,

Two of Anaan’s four students were there as was a first timer who wanted to try a lesson. I explained that I wasn’t one of the two usual teachers and that I didn’t teach Tribal Fusion, but she still wanted to participate so we collected her one-time fee and got started.

We warmed up for a bit and then I explained a little about 9/8 and we started clapping the slowest 9/8 in my collection. In retrospect I wish I’d spent a little more time reviewing general posture and talking a little bit between the tribal fusion posture arms they are most use to and what I am used to with Turkish style. I forget how much beginners need posture drilled into them and how confusing the different styles can seem (that time before you understand what is what and long before you realize how maliable the boundries between the helpful catagories you once learned really are).

We clapped and them we moved the accent around our body: Hip accents, chest (they were struggling with chest drops so I moved on quickly but did take time to go over lifts a bit, going over how to lift the way I know Anaan teaches it), shoulders. We drilled with that and with some basic stepping.

Then we took a sitting break and I busted out the handout I’d made them. We followed the accents with our fingers again and I saw that having a visual for the numbers/measures/accents really helped them understand what we’d been doing. I showed them how the Romani song I’d been playing placed extra emphasis on the 1^st and 3^rd beat. I put on the Beats Antique and showed them the syncopated variation that would happen every fourth measure. We counted it and followed it with our fingers.

Before we went back to drilling we had a short question and answer session. I was very proud of them for being brave enough to ask questions. Was this music “Romani?” Nope! I played music that was Turkish Romani and then Beats Antique. I explained how Beat Antiques explores a variety of music sources but is closer to the electronic music Anaan uses for Tribal Fusion than my normal music. And then I asked them if they knew what “Romani” meant…they looked at me sort of sheepishly and I told them that was ok, that’s why I asked. I explained, briefly, who the “Gypsies” are, how Gypsy is a misnomer (they were originally from India, not Egypt) that carries a lot of stereotypes and that many people now prefer to use the more respectful Roma, Romani, Rroma…

Then we got up to practice with the Beats Antique music to introduce gestures and pelvic lifts and drops.

“Who has seen gestures like this when people dance?” and did a few brief body hits. Two had. I quickly explained that Turkish Romani style uses such gestures and that most of them don’t have specific meanings. I said they were fun, but that the dance isn’t about all gestures and if you do gesture after gesture after gesture you’re just going to look crazy. I also urged them to not bruise themselves by hitting hard, but to hit and move in a manner that shows the transfer of the weight and action.

We worked on some gestures.

Then I talked a little bit about pelvic lifts and drops, how you see them used in Turkish style and how you’d also find the lower abs used to do pelvic lift, drops and rolls would help with Tribal style. I reminded them that it isn’t easy at first, but that they could find a short drill for them in the first Rachael Brice DVD.

I told them that when they felt comfortable they should try to come up with their own repeated combination for 3 measures and a variation on the 4^th but that I would also continue to give them combinations they could copy. We mixed body parts (1- Hip down 3-hip down 5-roll-up 7-8 shoulder shoulder) gestures and steps. One girl started trying her own moves, but would come back to me if there was something she liked or when she caught herself anticipating the beat instead of hitting it.

In the last 5 minutes I asked if they wanted to try a faster 9/8 (the karslima by Djinn off Middle East Side) or cool down. They wanted to try fast and we did, followed by a cool down.

As we got changed they asked a lot of questions including “What style is Mishaal, we can’t figure it out” and “Are pelvic lifts only in Tribal and Turkish?” and “Have you always studied in Japan” leading to some briefing about the different styles and I gave my best, basic, non-judgemental definitions backed up with on-body examples/well known dancers/local dancers/ Devidasi Studio teachers…and I made sure they all had Afet Collective flyers.

After I explained that Anaan and I had had the same first teacher and had started out in a style different from the ones we now dance they asked.

“Which style is easiest for beginners?”

“It’s hard to say. Different styles seem to suit different people. It takes a while to learn which style suits you best. What matters when you start isn’t which style you chose, but that you have a good teacher. You need teacher willing to answer questions. You need someone who can help you with the basics. A good teacher will also introduce you to other styles/teachers so you can learn for yourself what you love.“ I also added that seeing that Anaan and Joe had invited me, a non-tribal dancer, to teach their students something their teachers enjoy but don’t feel like they know well enough to teach, was a mighty good sign that they had good first teachers.

They told me they’d had fun and that they found the handout really helpful.

I knocked on Mishaal’s door and hugged her goodbye and scurried to Shibuya to meet up with The Romanian for coffee and catch-up time. Around 6ish I was home, frazzled from a day of eating at coffee shops and creperies…which is when I watched the DVD of myself Mishaal gave me…and then drank a glass of white wine while cleaning the apartment and catching up on my emails. I drilled some shimmies until 1AM and then slept.

Sunday I sent out the last two envelopes of flyers to Afet Collective members and guests. I’m going to have to steal some more flyers from Cozmos next week. I am very low on my own supply.

I am pretty tired right now. Sunday evening I dropped off flyers at my tattoo artist’s salon and went to Legend. A party of 45 people had canceled that day. I would be dancing before a Japanese singer sang (yeah, unusual). The staff as always was ultra-friendly and happy to see me…but right before I changed the manager mentioned that Mustapha would soon be down to watch me when he finished helping out at the shop. They’d called him that day to tell him I was dancing. At which point, instead of getting all excited like they expected, I simply said…”Shit”

Uh. I haven’t told you guys about Mustapha, but he’s seen me dance three times now. First time we talked and I gave him my card. Second time we drank together, flirted, discussed the possibility of dating, and kissed goodbye…but while drunk he was a little pushy about getting cuddly and dropping sexual innuendo like it was going out of style…and called me three times on my way home…so I sort of blew off his sober call to me later…so I wasn’t expecting to see him the 3^rd time.

Mustapha is drop dead gorgeous and his English is amazing, but the Turks are soooooo tightly knit in Tokyo that I tread lightly around them. I also know that being touchy feely with a girl in public isn’t a culturally appropriate thing to be doing. I explained to the Manager that I hadn’t returned his calls and why. The Manager vouched for his friend but also admitted that he’d gotten pretty drunk and pushy that night and that he could understand.

I changed, came out to dance, and there was a stunning, very sheepish looking, Mustapha at the bar. Instead of the last time when he’d grabbed a drum to join in (in a manner that showed me in no uncertain terms that he was no musician) this time he’d look at me and look back down at his feet. I suspect that the manager/ his friend had some words with him when I was getting ready.

Nothing like exchanging “No hard feelings, k?” gestures while dancing to a mostly empty restaurant and knowing that the whole bar of Turks is probably gossiping madly and the customers have no idea.

So, as the third song started my lungs started closing. I realized that my breath couldn’t keep up with my body. I coughed as ladylike as I could when it built up too much.

After the set I folded at the waist in the changing room and coughed my lungs out. I came out looking pretty rough and having a hard time talking. The manager got scared when he heard the wease. He got me water and gave me my cd and asked if I wanted food. I declined food. I figured I owed Mustapha some honesty, so I slunk over to him

“How are you?”

“Not well” I weased and explained the asthma.

He hugged me. I apologized for not returning his call.

“I figured you were busy”

I had been. I’ve been up to good and no good, but I couldn’t take the whole out he’d given me. I’d enjoyed talking with him before and figured he was nice enough to have earned some honesty. My not calling was mostly about him, not me.

“Yeah, I was busy, but that’s not the whole story. I didn’t call you because you were pretty pushy about sex.”

“….oooh…I remember that…trying to move fast.”

“Wasn’t the wanting to move fast that scared me off, I have that urge too, It was the pushiness and insistence.”

“Thanks for being honest.”

He asked if I’d stay for food but I declined. He hugged me again, asked if I’d brought my medications with me and told me to please, please, get some rest. The Manager gave me my money and also told me to rest. He apologized for the odd/small crowd. He told that they worry about me and wanted me healthy for next week (when I might be dancing two sets)…and how happy they all are about having me dance twice in one month.

I coughed my way to a hot bath and bed.

Today I am still coughing on and off. I keep feeling like there is something blocking my airways, but rarely is the cough productive. Tomorrow is a national holiday. I have promised everyone who has seen me this weekend that I will stay in bed for most of tomorrow.

And that concludes this weekend of dance.