Danceteria

I feel so free on the dance floor.

Yep, the unapologetic reference is to Madonna's brand-spanking-new album Confessions II. To say it exceeds expectations is an understatement - we've been drip fed teasers for a couple months now with her unscheduled appearance with Sabrina Carpenter at Coachella back in April to June's Times Square takeover for Pride in NYC and that intro-teaser montage film with anyone who’s anyone rocking up in toilets or spandex corsets, and with the chef’s kiss of her mini-me daughter sealing the whole visual fest. I can’t remember any other artist in history introducing their work in such a creative and provocative way.

The almost seventy Queen of Pop, strutting around in PVC corsets and knee-high shiny boots with her flawless cosmetically-adjusted familiar face is still leading the way in innovative ways that her disciples can only drool about! The incoming reviews on the album are pretty positive citing it as her best work since the original Confessions album that spawned this sequel. I'm on about my tenth listen of the day so far, so yeah, I'm totally in love with the entire composition. Of course the usual ageist, misogynist drivel pops up on most soc-med posts that actually amuses me now and I’ve come to expect. Bless! I almost feel sorry for their unilluminated souls - almost!   

Anyone who’s known me for any length of time knows that she continues to be the shiny disco ball of light in my life. I know she’s not for everyone, and that probably makes me love her even more. Maybe it’s because of how unwavering her resilience has been throughout the years - that rebellious resistance to societal expectations. She literally gives no fucks on the surface, but there is a fragility underneath everything she produces; it’s weaved in and out the lyrics in between the lessons and determination - she’s never been so real and yet so fucking powerful.

My god, my muse, my inspiration, still my love

Anyway, the reason I wanted to write today was because when I listen to the first few songs of the album (which, by the way, absolutely need to be played in order), made me remember the last time I felt truly free on the dance floor was about 20-odd years ago in one of my favourite clubs and moments in my own history. Allow me to explain…

I’d moved back to the Isle of Man in February 2000 after I’d secured a job at a big printers and was promptly sacked within the first three days - a record even for me. I’m not even sure what I did wrong, but instead of retreating back to Doncaster, I managed to find some temp work before finding a permanent job as a DTP operator at a smaller printers called Kall Kwik in the centre of Douglas in the October. Apparently, I found out after from the cheeky lads, that there were more 'pretty' and 'qualified' people who came for the job, but I looked like the best ‘craic’! And they weren’t wrong. I was going through a bit of ‘personal experiment’ where I had decided to move back to my homeland in hopes of meeting Mr Right/Baby Daddy and settling down in my birth place that I had felt stripped away from after my own Dad had died in 1980.

I’d only worked a week at KK before the print-room lads asked if I wanted to join them after work on Friday for a drink at The British pub. It was a small team of Pete the print room manager, two junior printers, Simon, my boss the lead designer, and 3 or 4 girls who worked on the shop floor alongside the boss, the bigger boss and the delivery driver. I can’t remember how many of us went out for that first sesh, but I remember ordering a pint of Caffrey’s thinking this was a cool ‘look’ to ingratiate myself with the ‘lads’. Now, I’ve never really been a big drinker because (a) I get drunk and giddy quite fast (b) if I did end up on a sesh I would often be sick and consequently (c) the hangover’s ruined me for days! So by three pints in, I think it’s safe to say that my pretence of being one of the drinking lads had been totally shattered as I couldn’t remember leaving the pub and ended up at the nearby nightclub called The Outback. I’d been there a few times in previous years, but little did I know that this was about to become my new favourite Friday night haunt for the next few years.

It wasn’t a huge place, (previously known as The Tardis) but it was split on a few different levels including the dance floors which I headed for pretty much straight away given my intoxicated confidence. I left the gang propping up the bar, by which time had thinned out, and I think there was just Pete, Simon and couple of the other lads still left, while I spent the next 3-4 hours just dancing and boogeying without a care in the whole world. Spinning, writhing, strutting, stomping and basically giving myself the best workout I’d had in years. Of course, I pestered the DJ to play Madonna - which eventually he obliged with either Vogue, Express Yourself or Into the Groove or perhaps them all. With my quota of Caffreys being excelled and now sweated out my system, I ended up drinking pints of lime soda or coca cola, until it was time to leave the club.

This began a new ritual that would be repeated on a regular basis (replacing Caffrey’s with other less manly drinks!) over the next few years with my new ‘crew’ and became known as the PRNO (print room night out). Friday nights became my new sacrament, taking the unholy communion following work at The British, maybe visiting a couple of other pubs on the way to my new divine cathedral of dance. Usually accompanied Pete who, despite all the fond insults and piss-taking along the way, has become one of my dearest long-term friends with his wife Tray. Though I think he still hopes I'll one day tear up the dance floor like I did back in the day - me too Pete, me too!!

Only when I’m dancing can I feel this free…

This was transformative time for me in so many ways. I’d found a freedom to be myself on that dance floor. I had always loved dancing which in my childhood had been channelled through ballroom dancing and later as an adult I loved dancing in clubs, but had previously found those experiences to be a bit performative given the club culture of drug-related raving and casual sexual encounters, both of which I’d dipped my nervous toes in the water of, but I'd never really felt comfortable with. But here on this Outback dirty wooden floor, playing Modjo’s Lady Hear Me Tonight, Ultra Nate’s Free, Shapeshifter’s Lola’s Theme, Sophie E-B Groovejet and numerous Jamiroquai, Groove Armada and Moloko floor fillers alongside the Queen herself and the almighty Princess Kylie’s Can’t Get You Outta My Head. It was probably the first time in my life I was dancing purely for myself.

My previous few years hadn’t been easy in Doncaster - the Annus Horribilis and consequent fall out from all that trauma had left me reeling, medicated and grossly overweight. Unsure of my future, I was desperately trying to re-invent myself to find a place I belonged, and I finally felt I was there - on that very dance floor. The DJ soon started playing her royal Madonna-ness as soon as I walked in, accompanied by these new accomplices I’d found through my new job, that I was actually starting to thrive at.

Some of the KK gang at the Crimbo parties - a scarcity of photos given prior to smartphones!

It was a special time in my life and although I have had many more happy and special moments in my life so far, this time remains an often revisited comforting memory. The feeling of being so totally fucking free and me truly expressing myself the only way I really knew how at the time. Spinning, bouncing and sweating, shedding the pounds and the trauma in each shake of my then very malleable hips. Boy, I could fucking dance. And if it didn’t look like I could to anyone else, I really didn’t give a fuck.

All this in a time preceeding the first Confessions album, before the Mr Right Now, before my son and life in Wales, and well before my knees and joints totally gave in. Looking back at that time, it wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as I think I’d ever got to feeling it was - on that sticky dance floor in Douglas.

"Dance in the rain - no need to explain."

Me n Pete - Enduring friendships!