A few nights ago, I went to a one-time dance class (free to YMCA members, $10 for guests, $60 value) to learn the dance from Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” video. My friend Melissa told me about it; we had missed the “Learn Michael Jackson’s Thriller” dance class a few months ago.
I was nervous going into the class. I knew the song. I’d seen the video. I was sure I was going to go in with an attitude and come out on a stretcher. I asked Melissa to hold my hands as I said a little prayer before we went into the dance room with twenty-eight other Beyonce wanna-bes.
We had chatted up one of the women beforehand. She was in her seventies, at least, and she had an outfit on that would make St. Valentine blush. She was wearing a form fitting red V-neck top that revealed seventy-year-old tanned cleavage that looked more like forty year-old cleavage. She wore exercise pants and sneakers. The things that made the outfit, however, were her accessories. She adorned each wrist with an elastic that had red and white ribbons on it. On her neck she wore a fake gold heart necklace that rested on her throat, almost a choker. It was about an inch and a half in diameter, and had a cutout of a bird on it. It was delicate and outrageous at the same time.
No Place for Young Women
We talked about dancing, and I asked her where she went to dance. She named a couple of places, but made sure to tell us that we wouldn’t want to go there, it was full of “Old people. You don’t want that!” We chatted a bit more, and then it was time for the doors to the dance class to open.
Our instructor, Michael, checked off names from a clipboard. He could not fit more than thirty people in the class, but if there were a couple of people hanging around, maybe he could fit them in. We went in and twittered to each other nervously, as if we had been chosen to attend a sacred ritual.
Michael introduced himself, saying he had danced for as long as he could remember. He had danced professionally for Disney, and for Mary J. Blige. He taught classes all over Boston. This man knew what he was doing. He told us he’d do the dance for us once so we could get a feel for what the steps were. He said it took him six hours to learn it, and that we’d probably only get through half of it that night. There would be another night coming up that was a fundraiser, and we could sign up for that and learn the other half of the dance. I told Melissa I would (“providing I’m still standing,” I thought to myself).
Our fearless leader asked who had not seen the video or heard the song, and a couple of people raised their hands. He explained that it would be hard for those people to follow along because it was an advanced dance, without a standard one-to-eight-beat count. We’d use the words as cues. I was thankful I knew the song and had seen the video. Didn’t make me any more confident, but at least I knew what the song sounded like. He ran through the dance once, and we whooped and hollered our approval. He was good! We couldn’t wait to get started. A warmup and a few stretches later, we were good to go.
The first few steps were pretty simple, and we went over them a few times. Then we did it with the music. Have you ever heard Beyonce’s song, “Single Ladies”? It’s very fast. And he wasn’t kidding when he said it didn’t have a standard count. He made it very fun and easy to remember the steps, though, with visual cues. “Step, step, step, step, hold. Now put your hands UP!” (arms in the air). “Push, push, pushpushpush, turn, out, point the toe…step over the fence, bend over, whip your hair. Quick quick quick quick, slow, slow, quick quick quick quick…kick turn!”
We went over and over the steps. He was very enthusiastic, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Even after repeating the steps five times, he’d make this barking sound, “HAH!” and it gave you just the jolt you needed to do the move. It was fantastic.
The dance was so difficult, however, that we only learned about a quarter of it, and I remember about half of that. I didn’t break anything except a sweat, and I have a new appreciation for performers. Beyonce worked her derriere off in that video—take a look, you’ll see.
Melissa and I are going to the fundraiser to learn the rest. In the meantime, we’ll practice. Our cats are sure to be riveted.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at campbellalexandra@hotmail.com
