It's 1992. I'm in the dank basement of some underground industrial music dive in Salt Lake City, flailing to the metal-against-metal of Front 242 and Nitzer Ebb. Half the people in the scene have Robert Smith hair and enough black eyeliner to make Nick Cave weep more than usual. The skinhead next to me is wearing a ripped tee broadcasting the f-word. The place is wall to wall with freaks. If it weren't for the strobe lights and smoke, everyone would be invisible, because everyone is wrapped in black upon black.
Suddenly, I snap out of this delicious, inky reverie. It's the brutal winter of 2004 and I'm in my Hurley house, blueprinting a quasi-hip dance party which will take place in the living room. It's not my first; it's not my last. My mission is to get some of the mole people to crawl out of their frozen lairs and swing by. I've got three video screens going, the lights are happening, the i-Book is fired up, and I'm jonesing to move. But it's four degrees outside, and my driveway is a sheet of ice. Then it hits me. I've got to get out of here and shake it up in the real world soon, or I'll wind up in a straightjacket, and that's a fact.
I suppose the dance club scene in the Hudson Valley had eluded me, cuz I certainly didn't know where it was. There's New World in Saugerties, but I never dug dancing to live music. I'd heard that Freestyle Frolic was good, but the name always left me horror-stricken. Joyous Lake in Woodstock is cool when it's open, but I'm in agony now. And I don't want no Latin, no salsa, no tango, no swing. I'm on the prowl for a disco ball, and I enlist some friends to help me find one.
Lucy invites me to Powder, a club in Tannersville. Yeah, I didn't know it was there either. It's just reopened, and DJ VS is spinning some Hip Hop after a singer-songwriter set. Kewl. I drive up the mountain, hand over five bucks, and wait for the DJ. No one's dancing. The music's good, but methinks this is some new-fangled version of the genre, because it's a bit slow. I'm an old fart, and I need some Funky Cold Medina and a little O.P.P.
Suddenly I'm hungry for a taste of the '80s. But where can I find such dope notes on one disc? You guessed it - loser alert! - the mall. Whoomp! There It Is: Non-Stop Hip Hop. How could I have ever forgotten Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock? The way those boyz put me on crutches was wack. Of course, I don't have those moves anymore - thanks to that industrial club, my knees are shot to hell.
Arriving home with my new acquisition, Kriss Kross makes me jump! jump!, but ultimately it's unsatisfying. I want to go nuts in public with some other nutjobs. Where to go? I let my fingers do the walking in the Yellow Pages under "Dance Clubs." It says, "see Clubs." So, bust this: there's the American Legion, the Elks Lodge, a sportmen's club, a moose lodge, a bridge club, a rod and gun club, a fish and game club, a cricket club, and the YWCA.
But this sounds promising - Joe's East/West with retro night every Friday. I am so there! Just lay some Bee Gees on the Dancing Queen and observe. I haul down to New Paltz with my friend Renee and shell out my three bucks around 10PM. The place is considerable - fantastic lights, big screen, the whole shebang. I'm in need of some Salt-N-Pepa and I'm more than ready to push it good. The DJ plays pretty much everything we request. Why? We're the only ones dancing, that's why. There are dozens of people in there, all standing around watching. Eventually I'm left dancing solo. This is a disco, is it not? Why are all these weenies just standing around?
"You're an extrovert," Renee yells over the beat.
"No, I'm not," I yell back, "I just wanna dance!"
Sure, I'll put my hands in the air. Hell, I'll shake it like I just don't care. Maybe I'm putting on a show for these people now. Whatever. Put me in a cage, throw me some popcorn, and I'm on autopilot. Losers. The music is smokin'!
I mention my dissatisfaction to Ted at Evergreen. "Dancing is so out," he jests. "No really, dancing is a tribal element, it's natural, it's sensual. It's fear that holds people back. People are afraid of looking stupid. I say, get up offa that thing. Looking stupid is where it's at." We exchange thoughts about my spinning at his venue in the future and creating our own scene, dammit.
What's next? I recall Prime Time, a cool gay club out on 9W that I checked out a few years back. Yes, that one with the G-string stud dancing behind bars (emphasis on "behind"). But I'd like to see what's closer to home. So, I do what any thinking person would do - I Google it. A few unknown places pop up, along with a few I've heard of. A band usually plays at Forum in Kingston with DJing before and after; five bucks to get in, dollar drinks from 9 to 10PM. I try it. The place is like a NYC dive, a long, narrow space with pool table and small stage. Coolio Iglesias! It's cozy and I'm groovin'. DJ Wavy Davy is spinning acid jazz. The bar is packed. But there I am again, a-dancing with myself, oh oh. Should I request some Billy Idol? Whassup? I get some thoughts from Wavy.
"There's no one dance club or scene that serves as an epicenter," he says. "It hops from venue to venue, night to night." He mentions scenes in New Paltz (Snug's, Oasis, Wave, Cabaloosa) and Kingston (Rive Gauche, Rosita's, Ship to Shore, West Strand Grill, Sweetwater's), but some are mainly bars/restaurants, not places pigeonholed as dance venues.
"Ulster has a funny demographic," he continues, "a mix of college students who like everything, working folks who dig rock and rap, and the upscale crowd who appreciate Latin, mainstream house, or club music. There aren't many young people between 20 and 30 in Ulster County, which is the prime demo for a dance club."
DJ Michael Longto blames the lack of dancers on the season. "As it gets warmer, it gets better," he says. He also pinpoints the economy. "People really can't afford to go out like they use to."
I talk to another dance fiend, Dina, to get her opinion.
"A lot of the scene is geared toward younger people who don't have to get up in the morning. I can't go out at 11PM. I want to dance at 8. Older people want to dance, but they may have to teach a 9AM yoga class on Sunday. DJs should cater to all ages, start earlier. And more venues like Freestyle Frolic should be around to cater to parents."
Dave Leonard, who spins regularly at various locations, says his floor is usually packed by midnight with all ages. He explains why sometimes people stand around.
"You have to play their music," he says, "DJs also want to infuse their own tastes. I like artistic segues - some cool, loungey, groovy track or a new tune that fits my mix. Not everything has to be dance oriented. The music's a focal part of any gathering whether or not there's dancing at that moment."
Ah, this is beginning to make sense, but it's becoming a more difficult venture than I imagined. I have to be at the right place at the right moment. So, I continue to troll around for my favorite new spot, a place where the dancing is unbridled and eternal.
I hit Rive Gauche. Thinking things will only get hopping after 11PM - old lady alert! - I take a nap, pop a Geritol, and bounce on over. The place is sexy, dark, and claustrophobic, the dance floor is tiny, and score! - they've got a pole. DJ George is spinning with his i-Tunes, and he lets me peruse the hits and pick a few. I'm stunned - there's Revolting Cocks' "Beers, Steers and Queers" in his hard drive. Suddenly, I'm stupid and sublimely happy. I feel drunk. I'm in love. Perhaps I'm the only person on earth who still requests this song, but it doesn't matter. Six people join me on the dance floor, which seems like an army considering the size of the place. I'm sated. But have I located the hot spot, or did I merely stumble upon Hammer Time? I return another night and it's deader than Elvis. I continue to explore. I am 2 Legit 2 Quit now.
Come on, deadbeats. Let's bounce! Make Travolta proud. If I can move my creaky ass, so can you. I want to see some sweat this summer. Don't make me quote C+C Music Factory. Let's make the dance scene happen everywhere, every night.
