Sink or Swing
In fifth grade I timidly walked into my first middle school jazz band rehearsal, lugging a tenor saxophone that was practically bigger than me. "Improvisation," the director explained "meant turning our ideas into melodies on the spot."
"Let's start with... Take the A Train. When I point at you, it's your turn to improvise." I'd been practicing my written part for a week to make sure I could keep up with the older kids. As we approached the solo section I was excited for him to point to one of the 8th graders so I could see what this "improv" thing was all about.
With half a second's notice, he pointed at me. I almost pissed my pants.
Needless to say it took me a little while to get the hang of things, but I loved the anticipation of seeing who he'd point to, followed by the release of a flurry of notes that one of us occasionally managed to fit into the tune's chord progressions. We played all sorts of songs, from bossa nova, to rock, to soul and Latin, but from the very beginning I loved jazz that really swung.
Tapping into Something New
So, there's the music part, but what about the dancing? Well, at that point in my life and for the years that would follow I was a water fountain dancer. What's a water fountain dancer? Oh, it's the kid at the homecoming dance who makes as many trips to the water fountain as possible so he never has to actually dance. As a kid growing up in the primarily white suburbs of Philadelphia, dancing just wasn't really a part of my upbringing.
Fast forward to junior year of high school and I'm playing the reed 1 part (tenor, alto, & soprano saxophone) in the pit orchestra for the school musical -- the 1920's-set Thoroughly Modern Millie. At one point I had a swingin' soprano sax solo, but there were these weird gaps throughout. Come to learn it's a call and response with a tap dancer onstage. Four bars sax. Four bars tap. Two bars sax. Two bars tap. Both at once rising to a riffin' and shufflin' crescendo.
Suddenly dancing seemed... cool!
Bow Ties and Nikes
On my second day of college, there were 104 kids at club soccer tryouts... and five spots on the team. I knew that it was over before it even started when the captain signed his email "Cheers, Mate." So, the next night I decided to go with my hallmates to Freshman Performing Arts Night (FPAN) -- a firehose to the face of a performance where every single performing arts group at Penn had a 2-minute slot to show the eager beavers what they'd got. With that Thoroughly Modern Millie scene still in my head, I was looking forward to the tap team's performance, but the all-female group's rendition of Uptown Funk left something to be desired.
Then, over the speakers came the roarin' soprano sax intro to the Monsters Inc theme song, and out from the wings swung a dozen joyous dancers -- the West Philly Swingers. They twisted and turned and even threw a knickerbocker. I loved every second of it.
Penn requires dance groups to hold staged shows and auditions every year, and even though I had literally never danced before, I knew that I had to give it a go. "Bow ties encouraged! ;) " read the auditions poster. Poor young Nick's excitement blinded him to the sarcasm, so in I walked to a room full of people stretching it out in sweatpants... in my blazer, dress shirt, bow tie, khakis, and black Nikes (the kind a waiter would wear to meet dress code -- not the cool kind). Talk about putting a target on your back.
Somehow after two hours of tripping over myself and being absolutely pissed off that the six count tuck turn didn't fit with the 4/4 bars of Solid As A Rock, I got a callback. One of the WPS vets had already taken to calling me "Bow Tie Nick," so I decided that I had to sport the signature outfit once more. For some reason, they took me.
Routine Routines
Although I enjoyed the choreography they threw all the newbie dancers into, it was the social dancing that really lit a fire in me. At my first weekend event (just a few days after I joined the troupe), WPS' own Penn Intercollegiate Lindy Exchange, Kevin Mascitelli and Julianne Ferrill were tasked with corralling the beginners. They walked into the room like they owned the place and absolutely threw down. I knew that I wanted to be like them, so I developed a routine...
Penn's Business & Psychology studies paid students $10 for 30 minutes of research. Dumplings from "The Real Le Anh" food truck outside my dorm cost $3. Philly's weekly social dance, Jazz Attack, cost $7 for a lesson and DJ dance. From there on out, every Thursday meant study up, chow down, swing out. I never looked back.
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