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10 Steps to Starting a Kizomba Scene Where YOU Live!

Rachel Cassandra
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10 Steps to Starting a Kizomba Scene Where YOU Live!

Kizomba is spreading rapidly across the world, with new cities joining the kizomba community every week. However, there are still plenty of places where the answer to, “Where can I dance kizomba?” is “uhhhh…..what?”

Let me take you through 10 steps that I have put together from loads of stories people have told me about their experience getting things started here in the United States. The order isn’t exact – you may be doing a few of these things simultaneously or recursively. That said, these simple actions have helped numerous scenes grow from 5 people in a kitchen to 100+ attending workshops and dancing the whole night through!

1. Fall in love with kizomba

This is the easy, inevitable part that set you on this quest. Believe me, if you’re not in love, the following steps won’t be worth it to you. Passion is what will fuel your progress. If you just don’t care that much, you’ll probably just wait till someone else gets things going.

2. Check the area around you for kizomba

Get on Google. Ask your friends about their friends in nearby towns and cities. If you’re in the US, visit www.kizombacommunity.com. You want to figure out what the nearest city with regular socials and/or workshops is. If it’s a reasonable drive or bus ride away, start making the hike as often as you can manage. Even once a month can help you get the ball rolling.

3. Gather a small group

Are there any others in your town who have been bitten by the kizomba bug? People who have been to a salsa congress, or who like your reposted videos from YouTube? Are there any other sensual or African roots dances in your area? Find a few like-minded people. This will be much easier if you can share the responsibilities and joys of building your own scene.

4. Travel together

Road trip! Carpool to close scenes for their weekly social, or fill up a few bus rows to get to a bigger workshop weekend. Sharing gas and hotel expenses helps on the financial side, and having a group to share experiences and process your learning with will make a big difference.

5. Start a practice group

Even if it’s just you and one other person at first, try to make a dedicated time for kizomba. Practice what you’ve learned on your trips to nearby scenes. Go through technique exercises together. Explore new music. Sharing honest feedback and helping each other is a totally legit way of both improving and enjoying your dance.
Once you have your core group attending regularly, gradually open the group up to the kizomba curious. Use someone’s living room or kitchen or apartment complex common room so that you can keep it free. The more interest you can build, the better, and it’s always easier to get people to check something out for free.

6, Start doing demos and offering free taster classes

Collaborate with other successful dance venues or events in your local area. See if you can do a 1- or 2-minute demo of social kizomba. Ask about offering a free 30- or 60-minute taster class in kizomba. Make sure you feel confident about your basics – you don’t want to shoot yourself in the foot by confusing your community from the start. Be sure to invite everyone to check out your regular meeting, too!

7. Start a regular weekly beginner class with practica

Once you have at least a couple of new people showing up every week, it’s time to up your organization level. You will probably need to find a place to rent – check ballet studios, yoga studios, fitness centers, and even restaurants. You want to find a rent that wouldn’t kill you to pay by yourself for a month if things don’t go as well as you hope. If you have a strong core group, you can share that risk and even share teaching responsibilities. You can rotate through beginner instruction duties, and make sure everybody gets the chance to practice dancing during the practica. Be honest about your own status as an amateur enthusiast and ongoing learner, and remember your goal: to grow your own local scene. That will require patience and an inclusive spirit.

8. Take private lessons and do instructor training

Taking group classes will only take you so far – while you might become a pretty awesome social dancer on just that diet of instruction, teaching will require much more focused feedback and direction. That might not be what you want to do as a scene builder; fine! Find the person or people best suited to becoming your local teacher and be their advocate. Help them get to events where they can get awesome instruction and bring it back to your budding scene. Regardless of who decides to start teaching, stay humble and don’t be afraid to admit when you’ve been doing something wrong. You are all learners.

9. Invite traveling teachers to get the scene to the next level

It can seem tough to hire those awesome professionals you so admire. It doesn’t have to cost you an obscene amount, though. See if you can find a teacher with family or friends in your area, so they wouldn’t mind sharing or even skipping travel costs. Inquire about doing a profit-share – no set rate for the workshop, but instead a large percentage going to the instructor AFTER expenses like venue rental, advertising, and travel are taken care of. If you’re in the USA, I’ll be happy to help connect you to teachers who have a heart for young scenes.
Another option is to collaborate with a stronger dance scene in your area to bring such an instructor to a large annual event. The most common internationally has been adding kizomba teachers to salsa congresses, but there’s crossover potential with tango, West Coast Swing, blues dancing, and more.

10. Grow your scene with regular instruction and parties

If you want to move beyond a small beginner scene, at some point you’ll need to have a second level of classes. If you’re not sure how the progression should go, ask for advice from other scenes, or offer topical series. You’ll also want to start having social dance parties with a sizable percentage of kizomba music. If there are no capable DJs, explore the mixes on SoundCloud. Even if you just start with a monthly social with 80% kizomba, you’ll be giving people something to look forward to and to work towards.

The road to having a kizomba scene where YOU live may not be an easy 1-2-3, but rest assured that many many others have gone before you. I have seen scenes that started with 3 beginner enthusiasts road tripping 2-4 hours to learn transform to having multiple classes in the week, a devoted kizomba social, and a couple other collab socials playing kizomba – all in the space of one year!

I look forward to hearing that your town has joined the international kizomba community as well. Comment with your questions and stories!

Let’s Talk About Intimacy!

Rachel Cassandra
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Let’s Talk About Intimacy!

Is kizomba too close?

I have been teaching kizomba since the fall of 2012, and one of the main concerns I have always encountered is a fear of how close kizomba is danced.
“I just don’t feel comfortable dancing right up on someone.”
“My spouse would NOT be okay with that.”
“It’s so blatantly sexual.”
“I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
“Kizomba is way too intimate.”

On the other hand, those who have become kizomba enthusiasts explain that they love aspects of the dance that stem from that very closeness.
“I just love the feeling you have in kizomba.”
“It’s so amazing to move completely together with your partner, two as one.”
“It’s all about the feeling.”
“You can just let yourself go with the music.”
“I tell people we dance heart to heart.”

The same state of closeness produces powerfully different reactions. So how can we explain it? I think it’s largely a conflict between our social hang-ups around intimacy, and the powerful benefits it offers.

Defining intimacy

So let’s talk about intimacy. A Google search will quickly give you three primary definitions, which I quote in abbreviated form here:
“1. close familiarity or friendship; closeness
2. a private cozy atmosphere.
3. an intimate act, especially sexual intercourse.”

Clearly the third definition is the one making people worry, as they stand on the outside looking in. They imagine unwanted sexual contact, or the judgmental view of others. Are these concerns justified?

Dancing kizomba does not involve any contact between erogenous zones. I joke about “Health and Safety Space” in my beginner classes, a line I took from my mentor Nelson Campos. It doesn’t take much effort to keep your intimate space non-sexual – if you’re a normal-shaped human being, your torso will be bigger around than your pelvis. That means that when you stand torso to torso, there’s no contact between genitals.

As you move forward and back, both partners should have their torsos over the ball of their feet, ensuring that no objectionable contact could possibly occur.

Blame the creepers

So maybe the problem is the “creepers,” the people who deliberately exploit a dance venue to touch others inappropriately. The men who lean back, bringing their belt buckle forward, or who bend their head down to stare into cleavage. The women who rub against their partners, caress their necks, or breathe into their ears. If my first experience with kizomba had been with one of their ilk, I’d be turned off too!

But every dance has these people. The men who catch a breast as they turn the follower in swing or salsa. The women who wear low-cut tops and shimmy wildly or bounce. The men who put the followers into dips that bring their faces close or require the follower to clutch them closely in fear. The women whose shines borrow from strip-tease. Every dance can and has been sexualized. Kizomba’s just the new kid on the block.

Personal space

Others may protest that it’s the nature of the dance that offends them – you shouldn’t be so close to someone else! What about personal space?!

It’s true that Americans prefer more personal space than almost any other culture. We speak to each other at arm’s length. We sit across the table from each other on a dinner date. We can easily point to American-born dances like swing, lindy hop, contra dancing, and line dancing, where close contact is the exception.

Yet, at the same time, we are a culture of people who HUG when we see each other, and even when we meet friends of friends for the first time. Hugging involves more close contact than any other greeting. In the realm of dance, other American-born forms involve plenty of closeness. Balboa maintains chest-to-chest contact for the majority of the dance. American ballroom dancing has plenty of close contact. Even dances where people lean away from one another – like competitive waltz or quickstep – require lower abdomen contact!

Today we think of the waltz as something older people do, or maybe something done at weddings. It’s elegant or staid, depending who you ask. However, in the 1800s, dancing the waltz was considered scandalous! So it seems we come back once again to an objection that seems to come from kizomba’s newness in America.

Fear of the unknown

Let’s say the main problem then is that people haven’t had time to get used to kizomba; they’re still afraid of what they don’t know. That fear turns to avoidance and scorn. I saw the same exact thing happen as blues dancing started to be introduced in the swing scenes ten years ago. I even felt it! I was sure people were humping in the dark in the blues room. Today the modern blues movement has won a certain measure of respect.

Maybe only time can resolve this problem for kizomba, but I’d like to offer some facts to help persuade the uncertain.

Returning to the definition of intimacy, we had the first two meanings that offered a wonderful picture of closeness. Friendship and coziness are socially acceptable concepts, right? Even positive ideas?

Plus, the intimacy of kizomba also means that the dance is about you and your partner. It’s not about making a display of your body or being exhibitionist, like some dances we could name… Instead, it’s about feeling the music with your partner, and interpreting that together.

Science says…

Let’s go a step further, though. What do scientific and medical research have to say on the benefits of non-sexual contact between people:? Believe it or not, studies say that touch:

  • boosts the immune system
  • improves emotional well-being
  • reduces stress
  • stimulates cognitive function
  • lifts mood
  • improves communication
  • helps create social bonds

A couple of great articles that skim the surface of this topic can be found at:
Psychology Today
The New Yorker

What now?

If there are so many benefits to touch, why don’t we engage in more contact? Many believe that it goes back to our upbringing. Most of us Americans grew up with adults afraid to touch us or each other. Think of the trials for pedophilia, still causing men to think twice before applying to work in an elementary school. Consider sexual harassment suits and sex scandals, preventing touch in the workplace. Homophobia has created a culture where most men fear not only contact with other men, but any contact that could show weakness or emotion rather than sexual hunger. Girls, in turn, have been taught that too much contact entices men and compromises their own character.

I’m not saying that dancing kizomba is going to fix our touch-averse, fearful society. I certainly don’t think it can hurt, though! Kizomba may not be for everyone, but it’s worth a try. Go take a lesson from someone legitimate and get on the dance floor. Reap all the health and social benefits of close contact with other human beings.

Lets create communities that shine as examples of friendly, cozy intimacy.

When Your Non-Dancing Spouse Doesn’t Support Your Dance Life

Melissa West-Koistila
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When Your Non-Dancing Spouse Doesn’t Support Your Dance Life

Something unusual happened during dance class last weekend.  Upon walking into my Sunday afternoon dance class I noticed a young man sitting silently by the window at the front of the dance studio.  I generally make an effort to introduce myself to newcomers to the class, but the instructors started playing music before I had a chance to speak to him.

After our class warm-up I noticed that the young man was still sitting by the window. He was watching us quite intently, but made no move to join the class.  We soon began our partner work and I temporarily forgot about this “mysterious” stranger.

At the end of the class, nearly two hours later, I noticed that the young man was still sitting by the window.  However, by this time he was no longer alone.  Rather – he was speaking quietly with one of the female students in the class.

The two spoke briefly and then the young man left the studio.  As I was now beyond curious, I approached the female student and asked “was that one of your friends?”  She turned to me and said, “No. That was my husband.  He wanted to watch me dance.”  I said, “Oh—is he interested in learning to dance?” She replied, “No, that’s not it.  He told me last night that he wants me to stop dancing because he doesn’t think it’s appropriate for a wife to dance with anyone other than her husband. So he was here watching to see what goes on … he is really making me mad.”

Needless to say – many ears perked up at this last statement and some of the women in the room, including me, began to gather around this young woman.  No one expressed shock at her husband’s attitude; rather we all began to exchange similar “war” stories in an attempt to comfort our fellow student.

Unfortunately, many of us could relate to this situation as most of us have experienced problems in either past or present relationships due to our involvement in Latin dance.  Prior to meeting my fairly laidback husband, I was often interrogated about my “need” to go out dancing by the men that I dated.  I even had to break up with one man who totally lost it during a salsa social when I danced with someone other than him.

Based upon the experiences of myself and my friends, most of the problems between dancers and their non-dancing mates seem to fall into the following categories:  1) dancers being begged and/or “told” to stop dancing; 2) dancers being told that they can dance, but only with their non-dancing or beginner dancing spouse/mate; and; 3) dancers being given an ultimatum to choose between dancing or continuing the relationship.

I should mention that my friends who have experienced the “relationship ultimatum” are all male dancers.  Interestingly, two of the three men who complained of this situation actually gave in to the demands of their partners and stopped dancing COMPLETELY after years and years of dancing.  As a side note—both of these men are now happily married to the women that offered the ultimatum, so perhaps this was a good choice for them.

Although I am writing from the perspective of someone who is an avid social dancer, I do understand the perspective of the non-dancing spouse/mate.  The Latin dance scene is filled with attractive, interesting people whom are easy to connect with, both on and off the dance floor.  For many non-dancers this scene is intimidating and is ripe with many possibilities for jealousy to rear its ugly head.

With regard to myself and my female friends –none of us have stopped dancing, but most of us have reduced the frequency and intensity of our social dancing for the good of our relationships.  I can’t speak for my friends, but I understand that my husband did not marry me with the expectation that I would be salsa dancing in a club with strangers every night of the week.  We’ve informally negotiated a dance schedule that gives me the dance time I need, balanced with the time my husband and I need to be together.

Some people have suggested to me that I should encourage my husband to take salsa or casino lessons so that we can dance together, but this suggestion makes little sense to me.  My husband has no interest in dancing and would rather spend his free time doing something he enjoys, like playing golf or riding his bike.  And, while I do not consider myself to be an advanced dancer I am certainly an intermediate level dancer who enjoys being challenged on the dance floor.  Due to the inevitable gap in dance skills between a beginner lead and an intermediate follow, I doubt that my husband and I would enjoy dancing together on the social Latin dance floor.

A few of my dancing friends have spouses/mates who insist on accompanying them to dance events even though they have little to no dance experience.  This puts a lot of pressure on my friends as they want to please their mates, but they also want to dance with the more experienced leads present at these events. Once again, the imbalance of skill and training between my friends and their mates leads to an experience that is usually lacking in entertainment for either partner.

Ultimately, when these kinds of problems arise, it seems that communication and negotiation are the keys to erasing or at least diminishing the negative feelings the non-dancing spouse/mate may have developed with regard to his/her partner’s dance life.  The dancing spouse/partner should make an effort to balance his/her dance life with home life and to reassure his/her spouse that he/she will not allow dancing to destroy the relationship. Similarly, the non-dancing spouse should allow his/her spouse the freedom to dance, while making sure that he/she is still getting what he/she needs from the relationship.

How important is it for your spouse/partner to support your dance life?
Vote

Interview with Joan Soriano

Roberto Ramirez
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Interview with Joan Soriano

Joan Soriano, the popular bachatero from Monte Plata, Dominican Republic, and singer of many hits like “Vocales de Amor“, “La Mamandela” and “Que Pasara Mañana“. We caught up with Joan and asked him what he does when he’s not playing, and his view on bachata today.

What do you like most about touring the US?

The people. They’ve always treated me very well there. I’ve made a lot of friends and contacts, some of who have even visited me in the Dominican Republic. It feels like we are a big happy family and I love that. It’s without a doubt the best part.

In addition to being a full-time musician, you also teach kids in programs like the iASO Bachata Academy. What can you tell us about this?

Correct. I was one of the very first bachata instructors at the academy. I’m not currently teaching, but I stop-by every now and then to check on my students’ progress. This is a wonderful program, mainly because it’s the first bachata school in the world that my label and the DREAM project have put together. I wish I could have gone to a music school like this one.

How did you learn to play music?

I taught myself, really. I listened to a lot of bachata songs when I was little. My brother, Tatico, made a guitar with a few household items, and I started playing it. This was my very first guitar, and I knew it wasn’t much, but it was a good start for me.

What type of music do you listen to in your spare time?

I listen to all kinds of music, I don’t think there’s a particular type of music that I don’t like. I enjoy listening and learning from every artist, and every song.

In the bachata world, who have been your favorite artists or idols, and who do you consider an inspiration or a mentor?

As far as my favorite artists goes, the list is way to long. I started listening to bachata when I was a kid. Back then there was only one radio station that played bachata in the D.R., it was “Radio Guarachita”, which I used to listen to every day with my family. That was it. No one else played it because bachata wasn’t popular then. I have had the privilege of working with very talented people who have inspired me and who I consider my mentors. People like Leonardo Paniagua, Edilo Paredes, Marino Perez, Luis Segura, Ramon Cordero, Isidro Cabrera, just to name a few.

Bachata is often associated with songs about heartbreak and sorrow. What’s your take on that?

Bachata includes equal parts of love and heartbreak. I like to think that it has more songs about love than songs about heartbreak but that’s not the case. To me it’s all part of life. We love… then we get our hearts broken, and after some time our hearts heal and we love again. In my opinion, bachata songs are not sad, or about sorrow, they are simply about life, which often includes heartbreak.

What do you value most in life?

My God, my parents, and my son. I thank God every day for being here, and I thank my parents for raising me and giving me the wonderful gift of life. I’m also eternally grateful for my son, who gives me the courage and inspiration to work very hard and be “El Duque.”

Why do they call you “El Duque” de la Bachata (The Duke of Bachata)?

I choose that name because in the music world there are a lot of kings. Like “The King of Pop” or “The King of  Rock” and so on. However, there’s only one duke in bachata, and that’s me.

Would you like to say anything special to all your fans waiting in the US?

I can’t wait to see you all! I’m bringing new songs that I’m sure you are going to like. I love you, and I wish that God blesses you and gives you twice as much love you have given me.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nq8XFQUeqF0?rel=0]

Cuban Music: To Be or Not to Be Played for Salsa Dancers?

Daybert Linares Diaz
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Cuban Music: To Be or Not to Be Played for Salsa Dancers?

If you were to read a book or online article which narrated the history of salsa music, in every single one I guarantee you that you will find Cuba mentioned, in some way or another. Some stories will say that what was done in New York was nothing but a rehash of Cuban music from previous decades. Others will say that, although the roots of the music can be traced back to Cuba, salsa became its own phenomenon by combining elements from different musical traditions which were not all exclusive to Cuba.

Whichever the case, Cuba always gets mentioned.

So it has always baffled me to no end why songs performed by Cuban musicians are absent from most salsa DJs’ playlists, or why they don’t get played at salsa socials or congresses (this is not true for all events, but certainly for the majority). After all, mambo as a musical genre was created by the Cuban Dámaso Pérez Prado. Chachachá—or “Cha Cha”, as is known in the States—was a 1950s musical genre created by Cuban musician and composer Enrique Jorrín. And “guaguancó,” that word that I’ve seen take hold in the salsa/mambo community, goes back to the Afro-Cuban musical tradition of the secular rumba, of which guaguancó is a sub-genre, along with columbia and yambú.

Cuba’s presence in the music that you listen to is there, and the salsa scene borrows left and right from Cuba’s musical vocabulary. So the baffling question remains: why is music by Cuban musicians not being played at salsa congresses, when music from Colombia and Puerto Rico—the two other countries that salsa histories mention—is? Why this aversion towards Cuba and its music in the United States (and I specifically say the U.S. because Cuban music is heard all across Latin America)?

Honestly, I do not know. As I have stated, I am baffled by this. After all, isn’t Cuba part of the “Latin” community, too? All I can do is attempt to provide some possible explanations as to why this happens, based on my very own experience.

Nationalisms: Some DJs use their craft to express their identity and roots to their country of origin, or to the country to which they feel connected, if they were born in the U.S. So some DJs are very reluctant to play music that is not from their countries. A friend of mine once requested Cuban music to a Puerto Rican DJ, and his response was a decisive shake of his head, followed by, “I don’t play that Cuban stuff.” (Mind you, this particular DJ was playing at Bongo’s Cuban Café. Here is to irony.)

Embargo: What to do, then, with DJs from, say, Nicaragua or El Salvador who have no national stake or agenda when it comes to the music they play because the salsa narrative does not really pinpoint the emergence of salsa to their countries? That’s where the embargo comes in, or seems to come in. The more-than-half-a-century long U.S. embargo on Cuba has made it hard for Cuban music to get out of Cuba and into the U.S., even if Cuban musicians tour Latin America. This was particularly true up until the early 90s. But after the fall of the Soviet Union, U.S. relations with Cuba have progressively taken a turn for the better. Cuban musicians/bands like Los Van Van and Eliades Ochoa, who reside in the island of Cuba, have won Latin Grammys, hosted in the U.S., since its debut in 2000.

So with this influx of Cuban music coming into the U.S., and it being accepted and awarded within the United States, why are Cuban musicians still absent from DJs’ playlists at salsa socials/congresses? This leads me to the next possible reason:

All Cuban music is timba: This has to do with the embargo, too. When Cuban music abruptly stopped being imported into the United States, for decades after, Cuban music, to many Americans, was the stuff that was played in the U.S. prior to the Cuban Revolution of 1959. That’s why when Buena Vista Social Club came out it was such a success: because it tapped into that nostalgic—and honestly, quite outdated—conception of Cuban music. It fomented a way of experiencing Cuba as a land stopped in time, with half-a-century old Chevys and people dancing everywhere, or smoking prohibited cigars, to the sounds of blissful tropical music. Indeed, it is no coincidence that this documentary was produced by an American.

But from 1959 to the 90s, Cuba musicians never stopped producing music and evolving. So when relations became less strained between the U.S. and Cuba in the 90s, and music from the island began arriving once again to the U.S., it was so radically different that many people saw it as an abrupt departure from the stuff they thought—or remembered—Cuban music was. It was everything that Buena Vista Social Club was not. A new name emerged to explain these forty years of musical production in Cuba which had gone unnoticed in the U.S. due to the embargo: timba.

This “timba” is, of course, different from the music people in the U.S. have grown accustomed to dancing. In fact, most salsa/mambo dancers who are not used to the sound will find it difficult to dance to these songs. They would argue—and correctly so–that it does not have the same “feel” than that of what they call “salsa dura” or “mambo.” Here is an example of the type of music I am talking about:

Because Cuban music has been branded as “timba”—that is, music that is arguably unreachable to salsa dancers—in many places, Cuban music does not get played at salsa socials/congresses.

With these things in mind, we might have an explanation as to why Cuban music is not included in DJs’ playlists at salsa socials and congresses, or why people do not want to dance to it.

Yet, given all that Cuba has done for the music to which we listen and dance (again, remember that no history of salsa is complete without Cuba), would it not be fair to at least attempt to find a space for it at salsa events that is consistent with the preferences of salsa dancers and DJs alike?

I hope that you join me in saying that, “Yes, it would be fair,” and also, “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

So, to that end, I propose the following: think beyond timba—or, in this particular case, think before timba.

What do I mean by this? Well, take a listen to these songs:

Aren’t these song, arguably, something that most salsa dancers would have no problem whatsoever dancing to? As a person who regularly goes to salsa events, I cannot think of a reason why people would say they cannot dance to these songs. They are very much in par with the music to which salsa dancers are already accustomed to dancing.

And the music is Cuban. What is the difference between these songs and the “timba sound”? Simple: they are decades apart. This is Cuban music from the 50s and 60s (hence my suggestion: think before timba).

So why are songs like these not being played during salsa events?

Beats the heck out of me. The best thing I can come up with is: people simply don’t know that there is Cuban music beyond the label of timba.

But as you can see, there is. All you have to do is look for it—just like you look for music from other countries—and you’ll find it. Above, I have provided you with different songs, all of which can be downloaded either from iTunes or Amazon.com. But do not take it as an exhaustive list. Take it, instead, as a starting point.

No history of salsa is ever told without taking Cuba into account. Mambo, conga, timbal, clave, tumbao, montuno, guaguancó, chachachá, guaracha, pachanga, guajira—all these words borrowed from the Cuban musical tradition, whether you recognize all of them or not, have made into the lexicon of salsa dancers all around the globe.

Cuba is part of the history of salsa. Cuba is part of the vocabulary that we, as dancers, employ.

Let’s have Cuba be part of the music to which we listen and dance, too.

Note: Special thanks to Carlos Ramírez, Carlos Cardo, and Darwin Peña for helping me in compiling the list of songs used as examples.

10 Ways to Become More Creative and Musical in Kizomba

Rachel Cassandra
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10 Ways to Become More Creative and Musical in Kizomba

Kizomba is a dance with immense freedom. I would argue that kizomba is an aesthetic more than a syllabus of steps. It is closely partnered and very grounded, in the way of African dances. Motion is continuous and controlled, except as punctuated with staccato movement for effect. Of course, there are basic steps at the core of the dance to which we always return. Yet at any given moment we are free to step in any direction, and to modify our movement in a number of ways.

I’d like to share 10 ideas that you can use to become more musical and creative in your kizomba dancing – many of which translate well to other dance forms as well! This article is primarily directed at leaders, but followers will facilitate such musicality by being ready for anything – maintaining connection, practicing continuous movement, and never committing to a step before the leader.

1. Style/Posture

While kizomba has not yet been divided into distinct genres the way salsa has, many people recognize at least three styles. The more traditional Angolan style has a stronger hold in the arms, a bend at the leader’s waist, and a circling motion. The style most commonly coming from Portugal displays more chest compression, pelvic isolations, and level changes with bent knees. In what some people call French style or modern kizomba, the posture is more upright and the hold may not be offset.

Although some people prefer one style and stay with it, it is entirely possible to vary it according to the music. When an older instrumental song comes on, try the traditional hold. When it’s ghetto zouk, perhaps explore a larger body movement. When the music is a digital remix, it could be interesting to experiment with dancing toe to toe.

2. Emotion

I’ve said it before: kizomba is not just a time to try to get romantic – or sexual – with your partner. In kizomba we may express a whole range of emotions. I have heard Angolan emigrants recount how they came together to dance kizomba after fleeing the civil war, and tears rolled down their faces as they held one another. Kizomba songs with lyrics may be about heartbreak, about celebrating life, about dreaming, about memory, about love, as well as attraction. That means that we have a lot that we could unpack as we approach a song. Try being playful, or beaten-down-yet-determined, or dramatic, or sweet.

3. Repetition

It’s a simple idea – choose any two steps of a move you know, and try doing an extra set of them before continuing or finishing the move. Walk forward a few times before your marqua. Bring the follower in and out of exit position. Pivot back and forth. You get the picture!

4. Slow motion

Slowing down your movement is an excellent way of following a lyrical line, reaching the end of a phrase, or drawing out a moment. A single slow step can create beautiful contrast. Experiment with choosing a step or two to do slowly.

5. Acceleration/Syncopation

Whether it’s a rapid shuffle back in close, speeding forward to reconnect from saida, or the follower quick-stepping around the leader in dissociation, these steps can add serious flavor to your kizomba. To keep it looking effortless, stay relaxed!

6. Direction Change

We tend to learn moves as discrete blocks. We don’t have to limit ourselves that way, however. Changing the direction of a portion of your move may give you whole new ideas! Imagine your movement as seen from above, and create a new shape.

7. Pause/Stop

There’s few things that make followers gasp with delight so much as a well-timed halt. Aside from knowing the music well enough to know where to place it, the key to a good pause is solid balance. Also, don’t be afraid to hold your stop for even a few counts, if the moment is right.

8. Footwork Variation

Many people learn footwork variations as part of a choreography in a class. Take those elements and try placing them in your regular dancing. Experiment with your own variations as well – forward steps are among the easiest to play with.

9. Connection Change

Much of kizomba is danced chest to chest, but there are far more position and connection possibilities. saida position and promenade may be the first we think of, but front to back, perpendicular stepping, and circling are all options. It is important to consider what the primary connection point will be as the chest connection is lost – in the arm? The back? The leg? The hip?

10. Interruption

In order to escape from repeating overmuch your typical patterns, try breaking moves into smaller pieces and inserting other moves between. This is an exceptionally good method of unlocking your creativity, because it gets you thinking about your dance vocabulary in entirely new ways.

Try them all! Don’t forget to listen to plenty of kizomba music and watch other dancers whose creativity impresses you.

And if you’re more of a visual than verbal learner, check out this video:

How Do I Tell Him He Smells?

Chilly Alisar
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11
How Do I Tell Him He Smells?

A salsera stands by the side of the dancefloor after just having had a wonderful dance. The DJ spins a romantica track and this happens to be one of her favourite songs. She scans the room all excited looking for a lead to take her out onto the dance-floor and then she freezes as she sees ‘Him’ approaching. A cold rush goes down her spine and she is now desperately looking around for someone-else, anyone-else to take her for a dance. Even that beginner guy who only learnt the basic step yesterday will do, just please don’t let it be ‘Him’.

Too late, her nose gives an involuntary wiggle, ‘He’ is almost there her sense of smell knows it. She tilts her head to the side, her last desperate attempt to try and breathe in one last breath of fresh-air and then she braces herself for what will be a very uncomfortable couple of minutes.

‘He’ finally arrives and he says – ‘Hey, wanna dance?‘ She looks up at him and his handsome features, she realises he actually dresses quite well and she remember his lead is amazing. The only downside – He smells and its awful. I often have to imagine pink rabbits playing with kittens just to prevent myself from puking on the dance floor. (Ok, that last part is a bit of an exaggeration, but this body odour is not to be trifled with.  If only he did not smell so bad, this would actually be a wonderful experience. Potentially the best dance of the night.)

The range of possible excuses start to go through my head:

  • My feet hurt
  • I am sitting this song out
  • I promised someone else this dance
  • I don’t dance romantica
  • I hate this song

However, as I stand there looking at him I decide to just deal with it and focus on enjoying his lead which is good.

Would you want to be this Guy?

The dance begins and he brings me in close and the only thought going through my head is – I cant take this no more. How do I tell him he smells? If he fixed just this one flaw, it would make this one of the best dancers ever.

Should I:
A. Buy him some deodorant
B. Be honest and just tell him he smells
or
C. Speak to a friend of his and ask them to speak to him about it?

I wonder which one because I am never subjecting myself to this again. He either sorts out his body odour or this is our last dance.

The dance finishes, he smiles and thanks me for the dance. I quickly nod and walk off and I cant help but be excited that I can finally breathe again.

Stop lying to yourself!

As I am walking away, I run through the options again:

A. Is kind of rude and is not likely to be received well.
B. While honesty is indeed the best policy, this is an embarassing situation. Plus people generally get defensive when you tell them something negative about themselves. So how do I go about starting off this conversation without him taking it the wrong way?
C. We both go to the same school, so maybe I should speak to our instructor and ask him to tell his student about the smell? Maybe if the feedback comes from someone whom he trusts and respects, it is less likely to be embarrassing and it can be anonymous and my name does not even need to come up and I will be doing All the ladies a favour?

Yeah, I think I am gonna go with option C. Now where is our Instructor?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roll-on goes a long way!

P.S. For any Guys reading this – Remember, Salsa is a physical activity and that means you will get hot and you will sweat. So the rule of thumb, invest in a sports active roll-on and an appropriate spary that neutralises any body odour. Don’t just stick to whatever you used to use before you started dancing.

At the end of the day, my advice for you is simple; If Women don’t comment on how good you smell during the night, then implement a few smell tests throughout the evening.

What is a smell test you may ask? Basically every now and then after some dancing walk up to someone you trust and ask them to lean in close and smell you. If they gasp and gag, it may be time for a towel down, change of shirt and round of cologne before asking the next lady to dance. 😉

Do you have any stories, comments, suggestions or ideas about this topic? I am sure you do. So drop me a comment and lets get the dialogue going. It may just help someone out there. 😉

The Best Salsero YOU Can Be (Why you aren’t as good as you want to be?)

Richie Kirwan
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2
The Best Salsero YOU Can Be (Why you aren’t as good as you want to be?)

Can you remember the first time you danced salsa?

I can.

I can remember how awkward I felt, how clumsy my movements were, how hard it was to learn the basic steps… and (importantly) how much fun I had.

I can remember my first year of dancing too. How nervous I was dancing socially, the fear I felt of making mistakes on the dance floor and the difficulty I had in asking people out to dance. I even remember the horror I felt the first time I stood on a girls foot (sorry Lucie).

Thankfully times have changed.

The desire to improve

Like virtually everyone I know who started dancing salsa in classes (i.e. most people from a non-latino background) I was taken over by a desire to get better.

Whenever I saw the veteran dancers doing their magic on the dance floor I always felt a mixture of two emotions;

  • disappointment at my own dance level and…
  • STRONG motivation to get better

That’s the great thing about being exposed to good dancers; it makes us want to improve. It gives us something to aim at.

Realistic Expectations

I wrote an article when I first started blogging about “How to be Great at Anything and the Rule of 10,000 Hours” which is basically an observation that people who achieve the absolute highest levels of skill in their respective fields (be it golf, piano, dancing or professional air-guitar) have all put in ridiculous amounts of practice to get where they are. The whole gist of the article is that if you want to be good at something, you just need to practice (a lot) and you can achieve it. I can sum up the entire article with one of the lines from it:

“CONSTANT, DELIBERATE PRACTICE MAKES MASTERS. IN ANY FIELD!”

“But I’ve been practicing for years! Why aren’t I a master yet?”

Sometimes I ask myself that (and then I realize that I haven’t been practicing much at all… stupid life, getting in the way of my fun). I am, however, aware that I should be a lot better for the amount of time I’ve been dancing…

Luckily, I recently had a little revelation. I read an excellent article by a man named Greg Nuckols entitled “What it Takes to Break World Records” which I highly recommend that every human being with physical goals reads (after you’ve finished reading this one of course 😉 ).

Now, Greg’s not a dancer (nor would you ever mistake him for one if you met him in a club). No, Greg is a Powerlifter, a man who lifts heavy things… and then puts them back down again… for medals. In fact, he is one of the best powerlifters on Earth and has held 3 all-time world records and now works as a coach and exercise science blogger.

Powerlifting and Booty Shaking

If you’ve failed to make the connection, don’t worry, I’m getting there.

Greg’s article about breaking world records basically explains that he (and all other world class powerlifters) wouldn’t have achieved what they had if they hadn’t been naturally blessed with a “knack” for lifting heavy things. That’s not saying that they don’t train like beasts to be as strong as they are, they probably train harder than anyone else but they just have a natural capacity to lift heavier weights than the vast majority of other people.

He goes on to say that most people who lift weights will never reach his level of strength because they simply don’t don’t have the natural gifts necessary, no matter how hard they train… ever!

(I’m expecting some rather confused looks at this point)

“So you’re saying I should just give up?”

Not at all. What Greg goes on to explain next is what’s important.

What he has seen from his experience as a trainer is that with constant training and hard work, everyone will get better… in their own context.

Not everyone who starts lifting weights has the ability to become an elite-level powerlifter like Greg Nuckols but they certainly will be able to lift far heavier weights than when they began… with practice.

Correspondingly, not everyone who starts dancing has the ability to become the next Frankie Martinez or Magna Gopal or Oliver Pineda… but they can become far better dancers than when they started… with practice.

If you’re a pessimist the message of Greg’s article might depress you. In my case, it motivated the hell out of me.

You’ve come so far

Remember at the start of this post how I asked you to think of the first time you danced? Compare your dancing then to your dancing now.

Look at everything you’ve achieved; all the skills you’ve learned, all the insecurities you’ve overcome. You probably went from having two left feet with no sense of rhythm whatsoever… to being a salsero. You’re F@£king Awesome!

Just as these guys are the best in the world at what they do, with practice you can be the best version of you.

Never forget who you’re competing against

Wanting to improve and get better is a great thing and setting your goals high is a great way to motivate yourself. Keep those goals high and take inspiration from the great dancers that you see around you or online but never forget “They’re not your competition, YOU ARE!”.

The only person you need to be better than is the old you. If you learn to do something new today that you couldn’t do yesterday then you’re already winning.

We may never be as good as we want to be, unfortunately that’s just part of being human (we’re greedy). But we need to learn to stop comparing ourselves to others and instead be happy for how far we’ve already come as dancers and to be excited for how much better we can get if we put in the practice.

Everyone is capable of achieving incredible things…  just in their own individual context.

Keep dancing folks.

This Casino Isn’t for Gambling: Clarifying This (And Other) Misconception(s) About This Cuban Dance

Daybert Linares Diaz
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6
This Casino Isn’t for Gambling: Clarifying This (And Other) Misconception(s) About This Cuban Dance

As a casinero (Spanish for “male casino dancer”), over the years I have found that misconceptions abound in the Latin dance community when it comes to the Cuban dance of casino. In fact, it may very well be the case that when you read the phrase “male casino dancer”, if you had never heard of the existence of casino dancing, you thought I was a male dancer who worked in a casino and danced for the entertainment of the crowd who went there to gamble away their savings.

On the other hand, if you are more acquainted with Latin dances, it may be the case that you read “casino” and thought: Cuban salsa.

And yet a third subset of readers may have probably thought: Rueda.

All of these interpretations of “casino” could not be farther away from what casino actually is.

Allow me to explain.

First, there is the homonym, which we must understand. “Casino” has a very specific connotation in most parts of the world. It’s the place with the coin slot machines, Poker games, roulette, dice rolling—and also part of the title of one of the James Bond movies. When most people think of “casino,” they think of these things. But in Cuba it is a little bit different. In Cuba, when people mention “casino,” since there are no actual casinos in the island (and because you can only watch the James Bond movie so many times before it gets old), chances are they are referring to a dance that has been very popular there since the 1950s: the dance of casino.

The reason the dance is called “casino” is still contested. People have different stories, but the one which seems to be more widely accepted—and the one I am sticking to, because it seems to make a bit more sense than the others—is the one which traces casino’s gestation to a place in Havana called “Casino Deportivo.” Casinos in Cuba were recreational hotspots, where people went to socialize and dance. Around 1957, people in the Casino Deportivo began mixing bits of different dances as they came together in a circle. Later—so the story goes—when these dancers would meet up outside of the Casino Deportivo—say, at a house party—and wanted to dance with each other in a group, they would tell each other, “Hey, let’s dance like in the Casino.” With time, the name stuck, and the dance that was developed at the Casino Deportivo came to be known as “casino.”

This bit of history becomes extremely important when trying to explain why casino is not “Cuban salsa,” as many would have you believe (including Wikipedia). If you belong to that subset of readers who saw the title of this piece and thought, “Cuban salsa”, your thinking is not unfounded. Indeed, many dance academies/groups which teach casino nowadays market the dance as some form of salsa dancing. It is not uncommon to see a flyer or Facebook post from a dance group trying to promote their lessons which reads something like this: “Casino (Cuban salsa) class tonight!” Other names which are commonly used are “salsa casino,” “casino salsa,” casino-style salsa”; and then there is also “Cuban-style salsa” and “Cuban salsa”, which omit “casino” altogether. The dance of casino has come to have so many labels that, if it were a person, you could say it was going through a pretty serious mid-life crisis.

With so many labels, which one would be the actual name of the dance?

None, actually. You see, all these labels which people have found for the dance of casino share one thing in common—a common denominator, if you will: salsa. Salsa is what gets people interested, because “salsa” is what people know and have come to associate with a dance, beyond the “salsa” that you eat. In short, calling the dance of casino “Cuban salsa,” or a variation thereof, is a marketing strategy, a bait designed to spark your interest in dancing while avoiding connotations to the casinos where you actually gamble.

But the dance of casino is not salsa.

The reason why it is not salsa was, in a way, explained when I narrated the story of how casino was developed. Notice the date of casino’s inception into the Cuban dance scene: 1957. Now think about when salsa music came about: the late 60s, early 70s (these are the dates that most historians use). So how can casino be salsa, if casino, as a dance, already existed before there was even such a thing as “salsa music,” let alone a dance for it?

Now, some of you may be reading this and saying, “But I have Cuban friends. And they call it salsa.”

I guess I could respond, “Well, I’m Cuban, too. And I don’t.” But that sort of logic won’t go anywhere. So let me try to give you another response:

While I don’t seek to speak for every Cuban, I can nonetheless attempt to provide a couple of reasons as to why this happens. First: some Cubans are actually misinformed about the dance of casino. They don’t know the history of the dance. They don’t even know why it is called casino. Some of them—and this was the case with one of my cousins—actually think casino is a musical genre. “Salsa”, on the other hand, is a word that is widely used in the island to refer to music, and because casino can be danced to what we call “salsa,” many make that connection. Then there are others who, knowing the dance is called casino, will call it “salsa” in order to make it easier for you (the outsider who will think they are otherwise referring to gambling) to understand what it is that they mean—especially if they are trying to sell casino dance lessons to you, or find some sort of common ground on which to establish a friendship.

But even if some Cubans refer to what they dance as “salsa,” this should not be grounds to call casino “salsa.” In fact, the biggest dance show produced in Cuban television history, which ran from 2004 to 2006, was called Para Bailar Casino (“In Order to Dance Casino”), not Para Bailar Salsa. The name of the dance has always been casino. Anything else is a misinformed label—or a marketing strategy.

Now let’s get into the third biggest misconception when it comes to casino: Rueda.

You’ve probably heard the term. In fact, nowadays it’s hard not to, given the number of rueda flash mobs that people are doing around the world. If you were part of that subset of readers which read “casino” and thought rueda, there is also a reason for that. Remember how casino got started, back in 1957, with the people coming together in a circle formation, combining different moves? Well, that’s the rueda part. “Rueda” is Spanish for “wheel”, and in the context of the dance of casino it refers to the formation dancers get into when dancing casino as a group. When this happens, this is known as “rueda de casino”, or “wheel of casino.” Here is a rueda de casino video, from the show Para bailar casino:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciwZvsz6EZ0&w=420&h=315]

Do notice that I keep using the word formation when I refer to rueda. The reason for this is that that is what rueda actually is: a formation in which you can dance casino with other people. However, what has happened over the years is that people outside of Cuba, when marketing their “rueda de casino” lessons, have begun referring to casino danced in a rueda formation as just rueda. (The sample flyer above provides a perfect example.) And I get it: “rueda de casino” is sort of a mouthful.

But rueda is not a dance. What people are actually dancing when they are in the rueda formation is casino.

You may ask, “But what’s the big deal if it’s just rueda? After all, it is easier on the tongue.”

Well, I don’t know how much easier it could be. After all, rueda is not an English word, as Microsoft Word keeps reminding me by underlining it in red every time I write it. But more to the point: the big problem with this marketing strategy of oversimplification is that, in the process, the eager young minds who go to dance classes to learn a dance called “rueda”:

  1. Will mistakenly call it “rueda,” as if it were a dance (it’s not; it’s a dance formation);
  2. Could likely consider the dancing that they do in this format as a group-centered dance which does not translate to dancing with another person individually; and
  3. Could never learn that the name of the actual dance that is being done in the rueda formation is casino (this is the saddest one to me).

(These three reasons as to why shortening “rueda de casino” to just rueda is quite harmful are my reasons, based on my own experience—that is, I have seen all of this happen. But I’m sure there are more.)

If saying “rueda de casino” is too much of a mouthful, try “casino rueda.” Maybe that will solve it. If saying “casino rueda” still feels like too much, and you’d still just call it “rueda”—well, though I’d rather you not, there is nothing I can do about that, other than repeat what I have already said.

But at least now you’ll do so knowing that rueda is not a dance; that rueda is a dance formation.

That the dance done in the rueda is actually called “casino,” which in this context does not refer to the place where people gamble, but rather to a Cuban dance.

And that casino is not “Cuban salsa.”

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qCuiziKO6M&w=420&h=315]

3 Reasons Kizomba Is Easier Than Salsa. Or Is It?

Rachel Cassandra
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4
3 Reasons Kizomba Is Easier Than Salsa. Or Is It?

Yeah, I’m taking this on. So, why does kizomba seem easy?

1. Kizomba music is extremely accessible.

There’s plenty of remixes of popular songs or tracks that sound like R&B, and the beat is clear and undeniable.

2. Kizomba dancing is simple to get into.

In an hour or two you can get enough understanding of movement and basic steps to dance through an entire night.

3. Kizomba is focused on the feeling and musical interpretation with your partner.

On the social floor, it’s very much accepted to do simple steps, and you don’t need to worry about showing off.

The thing is, those points are just the tip of the iceberg.

In fact, let me extend that metaphor. Let’s say learning salsa is like a mountain. There’s a huge base of essentials you need in order to dance proficiently. If you didn’t grow up with it, the music seems impossibly complex. A month of classes might have you doing the steps to the right count with some basic leading and following, but there are so many partnered positions and so many parts of the body that have to be placed correctly. You have to learn how to turn rapidly. You have to learn to coordinate hips and shoulders. You also have to learn vocabulary or routines to use when dancing in breakaway. You compare yourself to the professionals and think their level is utterly unattainable.

With kizomba, many people just see the surface, that exposed part of the iceberg floating on the water. When watching people in the kizomba room at a salsa festival, you might think “Wow, they’re barely doing anything. So relaxing. Great way to cool off from the salsa room.” You take a class or two, and can enjoy connecting with a partner and dancing in a fairly musical way with your basics.

But for those of us that are enthusiasts, addicts, true kizomba-lovers – the journey to mastery is just beginning. Kizomba has so much subtlety, and so many intricate possibilities. The iceberg is a mountain with the bulk of its mass hidden. It takes time to dive below the surface and explore.

Ground your movement and find the right alignment with your partner, and you begin to feel their every tiny isolation. Figure out pivot technique and every move you know can suddenly be opened to variations in position. Work on slow-motion, stop motion, and syncopation, and again the standards become almost unrecognizably new, and your feet can dance out the exact rhythms of a particular instrument. Dissociate your upper and lower body, your feet from your partners’ – This list could go on and on and on

As with any dance, the more you learn, the better you are able to appreciate the subtle differences that set the best apart. In kizomba, each technique mastered is like an additional color palette for you to paint with, another supply kit for you to build from, another door to a realm of expressing the music with our bodies. That complexity is felt and perceived mostly by the person with whom you are creating your dance, though – the folks on the outside can see little of kizomba’s depths.

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