One of the greatest gifts my mother gave us as children was free access to the record player. As long as it wasn't the cocktail hour, the phonograph and living room belonged to us. My sister and I spent countless hours spinning records and dancing to our hearts' content. Our parents had a solid record collection that featured not only the requisite Nilsson, Beatles and Blood, Sweat and Tears albums of the day, but also a great many film soundtracks. I can remember a solid month hurling myself off the couch and across the shag to the soaring zither of Zorba The Greek. I also remember performing an emotive, interpretive dance to Johnny Mercer's stirring Darling Lili score. My mother was always a willing and appreciative audience.
Now I am a mother of two girls who are both passionate living room dancers. Every day of the week there is a some kind of dance party going on in our house. Home dancing is a strange and glorious beast. Public dancing must be cool, but at home you can take risks. Whether it's attempting a split, spinning dizzily in a twirly skirt, or just knotting your T-shirt under your braless boobs and ponying to Madonna, at Club de su Casa your inner Dancing Queen is free to boogie down.
As a mother, I am proud to say I have provided my children with all they need to nurture their own nascent Dancing Queens: a spacious living room, second-hand furniture to jump on, and free access to a variety of CDs.
At our club the DJ is usually Georgia, my four-year-old. She works the HiFi like a pro, changing CDs smoothly and quickly. She rarely takes requests and her taste is decidedly eclectic. Georgie's current play list features Cher, Los Lobos, The Wizard of Oz soundtrack, The Bar-Kays "Soul Finger," the music of Raymond Scott, and her current favorite, the god-forsaken-Build-A-Bear-corporate-brainwash-CD that they hand out to children in the store. This is the price you pay for a no-limits policy with kids and music; sometimes you end up listening to lyrics like, "Choose me, stitch me, fill me up. Fluff me, dress me, fill me with love." But then, the other day, Georgia performed for me a sweet, tender ballet solo to "Teddy Bear Dance" that brought tears to my eyes. So I stand by my policy.
Rhino Records understands the needs of the home dancer and has several titles that I would happily accept for Mother's Day. We've been enjoying "Charlie Brown" and "Yakety Yak" from a borrowed '50s compilation album. The Coasters are a funny, catchy PG group and The Very Best Of The Coasters would be perfect. With The Disco Box I can introduce my children to the hits of my day. I think Franny, my eldest, would relish enacting the pathos of "Billy, Don't Be A Hero" just as I did. You see, a mother's work is so much about passing on traditions to her young. In that vein, I could also use Somewhere Over the Rainbow: The Golden Age of Hollywood Musicals, which would pair nicely with The Best of Broadway. Show tunes are, of course, the manna of the living room dancer. I can still remember some of the explosive, jazz-hands moves I did to Judy Garland's "Get Happy" or "Gotta Dance!" from Singin' In The Rain. Maybe I'll teach them to my kids.
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