Photo: Barbara Lowing/Common People Dance Project.
Goofing around on stage is the whole point at Australia’s Common People Dance Eisteddfod.
You could pull many different lessons from today’s story, but one that stands out to me is the way that a mother’s insecurity can warp a young child’s self-image, making a revolution necessary. The revolution may turn out playful and silly, a childlike release like a new dance style in Australia.
Dee Jefferson interviews an enthusiast called Bryony Walters, whose mother used to shame her about her weight. Bryony tells Jefferson it “affected her relationship with exercise, and movement in general. ‘It always seemed like a punishment that I was inflicting upon myself. … It wasn’t a thing you were engaging with to have fun or to feel good.’
“But when she saw a post in her community Facebook group about dance classes for a DIY eisteddfod, Bryony’s curiosity was piqued. …
“Neridah Waters and her Facebook post set off the amateur dance revolution known as Common People Dance Eisteddfod. Now in its seventh year, the project invites people of all ages, abilities and bodies to dance together – to 80s and 90s music, while wearing leotards, sequins, sparkles and glitter – culminating in a dance-off as part of the Brisbane festival. ….
“Waters, a stalwart of Brisbane’s alt cabaret scene, describes the project as a mix between Young Talent Time, sports carnivals, 80s gameshow ‘It’s a Knockout’ – and, of course, the Australian Rock Eisteddfod Challenge: a nation-wide high school competition that was popular in the 80s and 90s.
“Bryony, who has performed in five Common People Dance Eisteddfods, says it’s a ‘rare and special’ opportunity to ‘engage in really joyful movement in circumstances where the concern isn’t how you look.’ …
“Like Bryony, Amanda [Dell] came to Common People with an unfulfilled childhood dream of dancing. This year, she is dancing for Southside, one of seven teams of between 30 and 65 people competing in the eisteddfod, each performing their own routine of around five minutes – featuring moves with names like Jazz on Ya Face, Chicken Chicken Pelvis and Aunty Pat’s Christmas Trifle.
“Waters, who came up with the idea for the eisteddfod during a middle-of-the-night burst of inspiration, had no idea it would snowball into an annual juggernaut attracting hundreds of participants. Back in 2019, she was experiencing a lull in her career after becoming a mother. She’d been teaching community dance classes that were attracting middle-aged men and shy people who ‘wanted me to teach them seriously, from scratch, how to dance,’ she says.
“ ‘I wanted to do something more theatrical. I wanted participants who were as silly [as me].’
“As soon as she posted her alternative rock eisteddfod idea ‘it went nuts.’ she says. ‘People understood immediately the sense of humor behind it.’
“Starting off in her local community hall, the project spiraled into classes and teams in different suburbs. Brisbane festival came on board to host the eisteddfod as part of their program, and before the inaugural event the dancers of each team marched through the streets of South Bank to converge in a dance battle outside the festival’s Spiegeltent – set to Survivor’s ‘Eye of the Tiger.’
“Amanda, who was part of the march – wearing a leotard for the first time, not to mention in public – remembers it being nerve-racking. ‘The way that women think about their bodies, that’s a big thing to do,’ she says. ‘But you’ve got the power of the group. And that day is one of the best days of my life – it was just such joy and excitement.’
“Waters says, ‘We had women who were size 20 or 24 in leotards who looked like superhero versions of their suburban selves.’ …
“From the get-go, Common People Dance Eisteddfod has predominantly attracted middle-aged women. … Some are former dancers looking to let their hair down, most are amateurs or people who have never danced. Whatever their reasons for coming, they stay for the sense of community, the confidence boost – and the endorphins.
“Amanda, who describes the last few years of her personal life as ‘a shocker,’ rarely misses a class. ‘I know that no matter how I’m feeling beforehand, I will feel better afterwards,’ she says. ‘Having people that you meet with regularly, who you can rely on for that emotional support and friendship and fun – those things are invaluable.’
“For some, the eisteddfod is life-changing. Waters tells me about Zak, a shy teenage boy who slowly came out of his shell doing Common People’s living-room dance parties during lockdown. When IRL classes resumed, Waters encouraged him to take more of a leading role – culminating in him dancing and lip-syncing to a packed house for the eisteddfod.
“A couple of months later, Zak decided he wanted to run for school captain. ‘His mum said “Are you sure?” and he said, “Mum, look, I stood in front of 1,500 people and did the dance battle. I can do anything now,” ‘ Waters says. ‘And so he did it – and he ended up becoming school captain.’ “
More on the Brisbane Dance Festival at the Guardian, here. The Guardian has no paywall, but please consider donating to them — any amount.
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