Ramble, rant or reminisce, this is an artist’s opportunity to pen their own Clash article. Why you won’t see me on the dance floor, by Incubus front man Brandon Boyd.
“Maybe it’s just LA. Perhaps it’s the fact that two of my closest friends are truly gifted dancers? Or could it be that I am just plain shy? Regardless of those circumstances, it does seem to me that there exists an inordinate pressure to “dance”. To get to a party, or a club and if there is music playing, good or bad, you have to be so excited to run straight for the dance floor. It’s been documented in seven out of every ten songs that becomes popular, whether in content or in rhythm. It’s re-enforced in looks, glances and the occasional scowl from the dance floor.
The pressure to dance on the dance floor is so beyond subtle it actually keeps me away from clubs. And it isn’t that I don’t enjoy moving to music! It’s that I don’t really feel the need to do so in front of other people. Maybe I am publicly prude in my physical expressivities. Maybe I just think too damn hard about it all. Perhaps a bit of both. I even enjoy going out every once in a while and tying one on. But, Jesus W. Bush, I sure wish I didn’t have to be privy to the pressures of, ‘Come on! What’s wrong with you? Don’t think about it! Just dance! Weeeehoooo!!!!’ Leaving me standing there, tipsy, uncoordinated and clamming up. I like watching people dancing! I enjoy watching individuals express themselves to noises that twist, shout and philander about their torsos. I just haven’t enjoyed the circumstances that have grown around the opportunities to dance over the past say...ten years or so.
I used to run like an antelope, out of control when I was a kid. I danced to Primus, Stevie Wonder, Roni Size, the Dead, and a handful of other bands that really turned my knobs. I actually dance every night, continually, when I am on tour. But I can’t help it. I can’t not dance to my own music. It feels innate. Like something is wrong with me if I am not moving to it. That must be how people on the dance floor perceive me when I am NOT dancing with everyone else when that “dope remix” of that other “dope remix” comes vomiting out of the sub woofers for the thirtieth time that hour. Or when the new, Ke$ha track spills onto our ears like crude oil onto the wings of a defenseless sea bird.
So, this is my ‘Fuck You, I’ll Dance When I Damn Well Please’ manifesto. Brief, yes. Salty, okay. Mean spirited, perhaps. But honest. I will dance when I damn well fucking feel like it. And maybe if you assholes at the ‘Dance Music Factory’ would start making some club music that didn’t sound like diarrhea covered in moldy oatmeal I might kick up my heels a little more often. After all, it’s hard to kick up your heels in diarrhea. It’s slippery, it smells bad, and you can’t get it out of your ears once it gets in. And as far as I know, you can get really sick from being around it too much. Or maybe I need to start going to some different clubs...”