Dance Dance Revolution, pt. 1

Guess what, boytshiks and girltshiks. . . the KassaNostra's got the FEVER!!!

As all my adoring fans know, I'm wild for the folk dance. I may not know all the steps to Shostoyka, and, uh. . . I probably can't spell it correctly either. Oh yeah -- and I always confuse it with that other dance. The other really hard one. Nonetheless! When that crazy music comes on, I'm doing a boogie-woogie in my head that'd knock yer socks off. (No doubt to be later recovered by the Camp Mom.)

Let's talk for a sec about the dances we do at Kinderland that aren't traditional folk dances. Not counting stuff like the Alley Cat and Popcorn, I hear six killer tunes on the K-Land countdown that fit the bill: Snoopy, Pata Pata, Salty Dog Rag, Montego Bay, Sweet Gypsy Rose and Fever. Now some of these are well known dances outside of camp. Salty Dog Rag, first released in 1952, became a national square dance hit when it was re-released in 1964 to promote Red Foley's return to the Grand Ole Opry. And as everybody knows, Pata Pata is the name of a dance we do down Johannesburg way. Others. . . well, you gotta wonder if a couple of counselors didn't just make them up to fill an open evening activity slot. (Y'know -- to placate the rioting masses of dissatisfied folk dance enthusiasts clamoring for new material.) Tommy James cut Draggin' the Line in 1971, but I've never seen it referred to as Snoopy anywhere outside of Tolland.

Regardless of where they come from, what I want to know is this: why those six songs? I mean, I love 'em all, and rest assured, this isn't a call to swap them out of rotation. But there are hundreds of other pop and r&b songs out there that have corresponding dance moves. So who decided that those six had crossover potential on the folk dance charts? And if some of those steps did originate on a slow night in the Paul Robeson playhouse, then I really want to know more, 'cause those are some seriously trippy choices. Anyone out there have answers, or related questions, or speculations about what they're dancing to in some parallel universe Kinderland, send them on in. Meanwhile, let's talk about Fever.

First of all, the genius who decided we should sway-sway-step-behind-step to Little Willie John's original 1956 single, rather than one of the 400+ cover versions that followed, gets my vote for sainthood. John didn't write Fever, but he sings it like he owns it, and his backup band does their damn best to stay out of his way. Literally. This song personifies the "empty space" theory of r&b -- instead of a steady barrage of music, the band lays down a bare-bones track that gives the vocals plenty of room to pivot and glide wherever John decides to take them. Add to that a few key idiosyncrasies that keep popping up: the on the beat/off the beat/on the beat piano chords in the opening bars; the backup vocals restricted to abrupt bursts on the third line of every chorus; the absence of a guitar until the last verse, when it subtly picks up the rhythm, then disappears again until that final, resonating chord that just hangs in the air.

Little Willie John: Fever

Pure. Heaven.

And yes, the man said 400+ cover versions. A few of those I really dig and want to play for you, but if I gave you five or six versions of any song in one shot, you'd grow irrevocably bored of it pretty quickly. And if there's one thing the KassaNostra can't abide by, it's turning anyone off to any music, for any reason. So instead, I'll try to include some bonus Fevers over the next few posts. Here's one to hold you for now: Patti Drew, off her 1969 album "I've Been Here All the Time." Everything I said above, about empty space and quirky moments? Well, I like Drew's take for all the opposite reasons. This is a full-on soul extravaganza with all the trimmings. Hyperactive bass line? Check. Funky organ? Check. Dynamite horn section? Check. It sounds like they just threw in as much as they thought they could get away with. You can almost imagine the producer stopping the session in the middle of everything and racing out on an inspired whim to find someone to play vibes. If they only had a string section coming in on that third verse, it'd be perfect. But I'll take it as is, no worries.

Patti Drew: Fever

Now. . . anybody else missing their socks?

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra