A Slice of Americana

So, we went to Catherine's dance recital this evening. The yearly recital, where girls grouped by age, tap, shuffle and often stumble their way through a series of dances, is a flourshing aspect of at least a Utah girlhood. "Suzanne's School of Dance" where Catherine and two of her friends go weekly looks to have around 200 girls from 3-18 trying to step in time. And Suzanne is just one of many valiant women across the Salt Lake valley imparting the love of dance. Every other year the recital is held on the university campus at Kingsbury Hall with costumes. In the off year, there are matching T-shirts in a Church basement. This year was Kingsbury Hall. Dressing rooms, bright lights and, oh, the costumes. I shall try to paint a picture for those of you who don't immediately know what such an event might look like. And stay tuned for photos and perhaps even video to be added next week.
First, the costumes, because clearly this is mainly what it is all about. Each group does three dances and hence, gets three costumes. They are a wonderment of spangly, sequiny, stretchy delight. The very young girls also get at least one dance in yards of tulle. Lest they look too innocent, this is offset by another number in an outfit that Craig remarked "wouldn't look out of place with a pole". The dances fall under one of four rubrics: jazz, hip hop, tap and ballet. Ballet is only for the little girls, and hip hop only for the big ones. The hip hop dances are all to songs that I am quite sure Mrs. Stott does not grasp the lyrics of. My favorite of the evening was Sean Paul's ode to marijauna backing a bevy of jaunty, very blond mormon girls.
But it's not just dancing. There's more! In addition to the dances, there is tumbling. After one of their three dances, the girls demonstrate two tricks that they have been working on. The audience is subjected to an astonishing array of aborted handstands, failed cartwheels and split second head stands. This is all done on blue mats that have been dragged on stage. As an audience we begin to get the hang of the routine and the appearance of the blue mats becomes Pavlovian. We know we are in for some class entertainment. No one is any good at any of the tricks and most people are beyond bad. Why must they do it? Why must they confront the mat of shame? It did make us contemplate buying the DVD of the evening just for the sheer comic value. But given that Catherine was among those who "misjudged" her trick... we thought it might just be unkind.
I promise pictures.