Dancing in a Video

My dance instructor, Kimani, who teaches my African dance class (more African/hip-hop/modern fusion) asks me last week, "So, would you like to dance in a video??"

Turns out that Kimani had been asked to choreograph a "tribal african" dance scene in a video for a group called !!! (like Prince, it really has no pronunciation, so they're usually called "chk chk chk" or "pow pow pow." I'd never heard of them.

Of course, my first question, "Will I be naked?"

The only thing holding me back was that my memory is THE SUCK, and even though I can manage to dance in class, I can't remember more than 30 seconds of choreography at a time. And we were to learn the mini-routines (5 of them) at the shoot. I agreed.

I mentioned this, both proud and embarrassed at the same time, to some friends of mine, and it seems they had heard of and liked the band. I get a call Friday night from the producer, telling me to meet him at the Virgin Records at Union Square so a van can take the "talent" to Orangeburg for the day. And he told me that there would be a "wardrobe and makeup person" to take care of everything else.

Holy shit. What did I get myself into?

The van is full of Williamsburg hipsters (OK, no joke. There was an ad on Craigslist.org for hipsters/models/actresses to be in the video), Kimani, me, and Shola, another friend from my dance class.

We get to the house, and everyone's eating breakfast. They're setting up the shoot. The director comes to us and says "OK, for the first scene, we need a model to snog with the lead singer." One girl's hand goes straight into the air, and she says "I'll do it! What do I have to do?" He says "Kiss his neck?" and the girl says "Um, OK. But will everyone get to see my face??"

Ah, aspiring actresses.

We spend the whole day snacking, dancing on and off. I can't seem to remember the choreography. Which is making me nervous. I keep practicing. Luckily, Kimani's other dancer friend Krishna is like me in that she can't seem to remember choreography, either. Shola had learned it all last week. Cheater.

We wait and wait and wait. All the models have been dressed and made up since noon. We're still waiting. We have no idea when we're getting filmed. The wardrobe person is the most dry, sarcastic (and NOT in a good way) brat. She's saying things to us like this....

"YEAH... I don't know..... WHEEEERE you're supposed to be, but, like, you .....CAN'T stay here. I really need.... this space. Um, yeah."

At dinnertime, she had a different outfit on. W e asked her if she was going to be in the shoot. She said "Uh... NO.... I'm the WARDROBE PERSON." Kimani says, in her most patient voice, "I know. But you changed your outfit." She said "I wanted to feel pretty for dinner." She changed her own outfit 3 times.

Meanwhile, we learn that they're shooting our scene at 1/2 speed, (1/2 speed so much better for me) but they can't seem to get us the music at 1/2 speed. Nice.

They're shooting and shooting. It's getting later and later. They're out of coffee. They send us to wardrobe.

"Wardrobe" is a small bedroom with clothes and fabrics piled up on a bed. And in a corner. And on a rack. She says, "OK. Is there anyone here who is uncomfortable exposing a little skin?" I raise my hand, and explain that I've got a day job where I really shouldn't be half naked, even if I AM wearing a mask.

Kimani and Krishna are now wearing bras made out of pelt. And the girl says "here, put this on."

It was a hot-pink, off-the-shoulder leotard. And a matrix-y, boxy, brown, almost corrugated, sweater. And continues to dress my fur-clad friends. Which took at least an hour, for some reason.

Not a good look for me, I think.

I wrap an earth-toned, psychadelic printed, silk scarf around my 80's-Olivia-Newton-John-looking-ass. And manage to convince the wardrobe person it was her idea.

Shooting was supposed to be over at 11 pm. At 10:45, we get called down to do our thing. The room is small and hot (which was good because it was a cold-ass house) and full of everyone on the set. We're to dance in a small space while the others groove. Like some kind of tribal orgy scene. We ask if we can mark it, to the time. Denied. I'm wearing a mask which totally obscures my peripheral vision. Except it also hides my eyes, so I can sneak a peek at the others if I am nervous.

We are rushed, shoot only two of the pieces. I'm sure I fucked up. I'm sure I'm not the only one. There is no re-take. In fact, after the two out of five (maybe 40 seconds of dancing), they spontaneously (or maybe just because we were not let in on the plan) tell everyone to lie and writhe on the floor, feeling the lead singer up.

And that was that.

Hours of nerves, practicing, freezing our asses off. For 40 seconds, of which I'll be lucky if I'm on camera for 1. And evidently, it doesn't even matter if we weren't perfect, because the way videos are shot, there's a flash of this, a flash of that.

Everyone, including the band, keeps coming up to us to tell us how great we were. How they wish they could have seen more. Asking me if how long I've been a dancer, and if we're a troupe. I didn't get home until 1 in the morning.

It was all very surreal.

Mostly because of this:

I love to dance. I've been taking these African classes for over 4 years, and people run up to me after class to tell me how impressed they are, how long did it take to get this good, how much they enjoy watching me dance.

I realize that I'm not the best compliment-accepter, and it's taken me a long time to even be able to accept one at all, without feeling like the other person is just placating me.

But I'm a petite, skinny, white girl, and I have always felt like this style of dance looks best when it's done, by, well, a buxom, curvy, sometimes even just FAT dark-skinned woman. When I see these large woman, bedecked in colorful prints and headscarves, undulating and pulsing where even the smallest movement creates a ripple effect in their whole bodies... I know I can never recreate that with my own.

Anyway, a load of fun, and the experience of a lifetime.

Link to the preview of the song "Must be the Moon"