Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, March 21, 1991 TAG: 9103210391
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Ferrum College professor Becky McKenzie met her husband doing it in Buena Vista.
And Floyd County potter Kathleen Ingoldsby swears you can do it with strangers anywhere in the country and automatically gain a new circle of friends.
Contradance is enjoying a renaissance here and elsewhere. And that means that every few weeks or so, people gather to listen to live music and dance the way they did in Thomas Jefferson's time.
That's contra - not a Nicaraguan rebel, but a dance derived from the French contredanse, in which dancers face each other in two lines. What happens next is up to the caller, who choreographs a complex pattern of swirls and swings, all of it to the lilt of live, traditional fiddle tunes.
Contradancing is like square dancing, and yet it's not.
Contradancers dance with every other person participating, not just the four couples in the traditional square. And once a dance pattern is outlined for a particular tune, the choreography doesn't change. The weaving regimen continues until each person has swung, chained, turned and promenaded with all the others in the dance.
Each song has a new dance pattern, and the number of dancers is limited only by the size of the hall and how many people show up on a particular night.
There's room for individual finesse, too, as long as it doesn't interfere with the neighborly execution of the whole.
People come from across Southwest Virginia to the Roanoke Traditional Music & Dance group's dances, held the fourth Saturday of each month at the Christ Episcopal Church.
They come to dance, sure, but there's more to it.
Like flirting.
"Once you get the dances down, you talk about an amazing amount of flirtation going on," says attorney Baer, who can make a move called the gypsy look like something that should be illegal in Georgia. It calls for partners to circle while staring each other down; no touching allowed.
Since contra etiquette is to switch partners every dance, even married couples get into the teasing and flirting - just as long as it isn't overdone.
"To me, the nice part is that it's not a barroom scene," Baer, 28, says. "You meet people, the lights are up, there's no smoke, and it's just really a nice scene."
Contra devotees are the Deadheads of the folk-dance arena. They've been known to travel from here to such weekend workshops as the Annual Palmetto Bug Stomp in Charleston, S.C., or to regular one-night dances in Charlottesville or Greensboro. There's a nationwide directory of dance groups, too, so a person visiting, say, Madison, Wis., can call up a dancer there and drop in on a new set of friends, hospitality provided free of charge.
As subcultures go, it's a fairly nuts-and-berries crowd, though participants range from youngsters to widows, from the well-heeled to the not-so. And if you don't have a partner with you, that's fine, too.
"It fills a great need for people who are wanting to meet new friends," says Ferrum's McKenzie, 37, who's been dancing for 12 years and calling for seven. She met her husband at a dance in Buena Vista, where she was calling and he was playing fiddle.
It's a safe way to meet people, and alcohol is usually not involved, she says, adding that those who imbibe before a dance are likely to become dehydrated.
In other words, you break a sweat doing this jig. Contradancers wear soft-heeled shoes, and women dancers tend to wear wide, flowing skirts that flare out when they twirl.
"All through this country, people used to entertain themselves - not just sit in front of a box," says Lexington folk singer and musicologist Mike Seeger, who contradances a couple times a month when he's not performing.
While the Colonists were contradancing in the 17th century, their cousins in England were doing identical dances on their side of the Atlantic. But with the coming of the waltz, British contradancing faded.
Not so here, particularly in New England, where people passed long winter Saturday nights swinging their partners down the centers of rural kitchens and farmhouses, often after a day of shared work.
By the mid-19th century, contradancing moved out of the kitchens and into public halls. But as the automobile came into the picture, the more romantic "couple dancing" became more popular than the old-fashioned contra lines.
Then in the '70s, a revival started in rural New England among young transplants who'd moved there for the back-to-nature lifestyle. It spread to the rest of the country, particularly the Southeast, where old-time Appalachian tunes make a perfect complement.
In this area, people became interested in the dance in the '80s, primarily due to "people wanting to be part of a community," Seeger says.
"People who contradance are types who want to participate and do for themselves, and this is doing for yourself," he adds.
The Roanoke group began in September 1989, and attracts monthly crowds ranging from 50 to 100 people, many of them first-timers.
"Because it's such a new group, people are helpful in explaining things to you and it's not cliquish at all," says Jane Tumas-Serna, a Hollins College communications professor who started attending the dances a few months ago.
"It's just dancing and having a good time, and that's hard to come by sometimes nowadays."
The next Roanoke contradance is scheduled for Saturday at Christ Episcopal Church, Franklin Road and Washington Avenue SW. Becky McKenzie will call, with accompaniment by fiddler Fred Stoll and other musicians.
Beginner's workshop at 7:30 p.m.; dance starts at 8 p.m. Donations accepted. For more information, call (703) 763-2338.
by CNB