Blogging again...what an oddity.
With my raving days long behind me, my skanking shoes are antique-worthy. So when my boy implores me to accompany him to a house rave (a rave playing house music, not a house party) I'm unequivocally obliged to politely decline. But after some strategic and guilt-stained badgering I succumbed and agreed to roll through.
Him: "Nah,I'm wearing trainers. None of that"
Mildly comforting I didn't have to make an effort appearance wise although the idea of being met by grunges and underaged miscreant did circulate my cerebrum of expectation.
On arrival we were met by a hollow gathering of females in dirty converses and retro-shoulder slash tops and dudes in electric blue skinny jeans with a bellowing baseline of uninspiring house rhythms. Those who didn't get the memo and came in heels were looking understandably uncomfortable - hastag TeamOverdressed *sigh*
To my surprise the demographic consisted mostly of young, black city kids of a similar age to myself who didn't look like they were about to slit their wrists or send someone to their maker anytime soon; just out to have a good time. Even more surprising was how they were dancing. House music isn't the Holy Ghost but boy it was making people move in mysterious ways and with this I began to decipher the logic behind the choice of dresscode or the absence of one - casual and comfy. It's full on - dancing imitates the monotonous boom of the music blurting out the speakers with sporadic, almost off-beat shuffles and heel clicks. Heels, pointed office shoes and figure-hugging dresses would restrict movement and longevity. Revelers were there to simply dance without ceasing - chirpsing and drinking were secondary and tertiary objectives respectively. Instead interpolations of "Oi Yoi, Faaack Orrrf!!!", "Av a Wooooord!!!" and the trump of horns blowing whilst ravers spawned with the music was undoubtedly the highlight of the night. My inhibitions fully took a dive and my gassed raving persona of old made a special guest appearance at heightened intervals.
What looked trivial at first soon started to look vaguely enjoyable - my friend a prisoner of Rosé was in his element doing his very best to fit into what was clearly an acquired taste to body movement. There was no Azonto's or Etighi's to be had in this environment and for 4+ hours we tried our best to be House ravers failing miserably but enjoying it nonetheless.
I left with a desire for more, not exactly in terms of raving again but just for that shuffle dance. I've been scouring YouTube for any viable tutorials on how to learn a little side step so I don't look so out of place next time if indeed I ever venture into such establishment. Here's the one I'm heeding at present...
And before I forget, Mr O - what's was that rant about?
AV A WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRD!!!!!!!!!!