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Save the World…One Uncoordinated Person at a Time February 13, 2007

Posted by doctorolove in Music, Pop Culture Rants.

Attention Music Industry. Yeah, I’m talking to you. We’ve got a little something called “Worldwide issues” going on over here. And while you may be trying to fix things with your overly political country trios or your overzealous progressive rockers, it isn’t working.  The palpable distaste that hangs over our country, nay, our planet is because of you. It isn’t because of your misogynistic rap, your cookie cutter emo rock. No, you, my fair music industry are over due. It is time for you to gather your flock. Call Michael Bolton. Call some old men from Spain. Heck, bribe Billy Ray Cyrus (his bad cable TV show could probably be bought out by you for three bags of Cheetos and a bent 1991 Mitch Williams rookie card). That’s right.

It’s time for the next generation of bad mass dance anthems.

It is a known fact that the majority of people cannot dance. Sure, they think they can after a few margaritas and some fuchsia liquid that always tastes better when served by a pretty girl in a pilot’s uniform. But there is a reason clubs and dance halls are dimly lit with the only mirrors being in the bathroom or on Lindsay Lohan’s table. We all know we have no soul, no rhythm, no ability to do that cool, leaning thing that Michael Jackson did in the Smooth Criminal video. So, as we go through most of our lives without the courage-inducing effects of alcohol, our feet remained grounded. We know we cannot dance and we keep that inherent desire inside of all us to “push it, push it real good.”

So how does that relay to solving this world’s general disorder? It’s quite simple. Dance is a primitive, base need. Our body must release the energy it stores. Dance began as a tribal celebration when the hunt was over or the harvest was near (or it began in a small Stuckey’s restaurant when Earl “Happy Feet” MacGillicuddy released a perfect samba after making a really good plate of onion rings…still checking on that.) As our culture frowned upon “looking like you are dry heaving set to music,” the desire was hidden and often refocused. It makes us do stupid things. It unleashes rage, prejudice, and thoughts of war. It makes people greenlight Jim Carrey dramatic movies. It makes us really enjoy Pop Tarts. It leads down a dark path.

And you, Music Industry, knew this. You knew that we all had a Tiny Dancer inside of all us. And though you tried to put out good, catchy tunes that we could all release to. But we could do nothing to those. Instead we watched as the lucky few who could hold a beat somewhere other than clapping at a sporting event released their carefree spirit. We needed guidance. We needed our hands held. And when times were tough, you were there for us.

As our world teetered after World War II, you sprung into action. As the servicemen around the world came home, you gave us the Hokey Pokey. It was a dance we all could relate to. It gave explicit instructions as just what to do, when to do it and you were even nice enough to throw in a little spin at the end. You even made a comforting, calming statement at the end. As we shook our arms, our legs and shook them all about, you reminded us “this is what it’s all about.” And it truly was. It was releasing our painful feelings of war and replaced them with the knowledge that no matter who you were, you could hokey and pokey with the best of them. And that is what it’s all about.

When the Cold War gripped the planet and we were so close to nuclear annihilation that we could smell it’s cheap Eckerd bought faux designer cologne, you gave us the Chicken Dance. Sure, they were no words and no instructions, but we appreciated you allowing us to get our dance on and make us feel like it was our own. The dance transcended generations. We could stand side by side with decrepit grandmothers, shiny-faced kids and that fat kid who always wore shirts that were too tight and flap our fingers and shake our tushes. Sure, it may not have been what it was about, but it still set us free.

As Vietnam and Communistic thought still hung thick in the 70’s, you unleashed your greatest stab yet. The Electric Slide. Yet another dance with no instructions but you put one person amongst us and suddenly the dance was everywhere. Even if you didn’t know how to slide, baby, slippity slide, you could awkwardly look over your shoulder at the intoxicated aunt who knew it a little too well.

The Macarena was your crowning achievement. The Middle East was ready to pop like Target bought Firestone whitewalls. You added elderly Spanish gentlemen who looked suave, cool, and surrounded them with a weird alternate universe Spice Girls, doing the dance for us. And it spread like ringworm at a Nebraska wrestling match. Everybody was dancing. In groups. In stadiums. In outdoor parks so they could set world records. Presidents were macarening. The Pope even shook his palms and his Holy Tush (Rumors were he really liked the part where they went, “Hey, Macarena, ay!”)

Yet here we are now. Did you use all of your magic with the Macarena? All you’ve given us recently is a few lame attempts at making the Electric Slide soulful or subtly slipping line dancing into bad movies about sexy bartenders. No, it is time for you to do it again. The world is falling apart because we can’t stand in a room and set ourselves free. We are slowly pushing our way back to the wall. It’s like 7th Grade Prom…only this prom doesn’t end with vomit in a limo or an unwanted pregnancy but with our destruction.

Get it going. Give us a dance we can all do, no matter our skill. It’s time.

(The preceding paid for by the United Wedding, Bar Mitzvah, and Graduation DJ’s of America…Embarrassing You Since 1957.)



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