Dance Your Way Home: A Journey Through the Dancefloor

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Emma also makes strong stands against injustice, both in the removal of spaces and to people in general (see the writing in the book on David Emmanuel aka Smiley Culture). She is cautious to not stand where her shadow hasn't been so uses Lewisham at one point, home borough to Emma, to tell the story of reggae and reggae dance in the area and London's wider whole. Us club regulars need no convincing. But throughout Warren’s book, the police are aforeboding presence, poking their beaks into almost every chapter. They’re either closing down aparty, attempting to end the fun, or at least moaning about it. ​ “I wasn’t expecting to be writing abook with so much police in it,” Warren says. ​ “We know the Met have troubles and need to do some radical fixing up of the systems of accountability around policing, generally, in this country. Iwonder if they just need some dancing culture-ation?” Part of the beauty of this evening, and of Emma’s book, is that it is not genre exclusive. Every type of music – from Jungle to R&B, from Disco to Dubstep – is mentioned, truly asserting the power of the all encompassing dancefloor as a sacred space above bpm definition

There are countless books on nightlife out there – ones that summon images of sweaty, swaying bodies in illegal raves, trace the impactful origins of techno in Detroit, and make Berlin’s underground club scene sound like ahardcore orgy (not so far off, to be fair) – but Warren’s second book places direct emphasis on movement. It’s not all about clubs; it’s about dancing as aprimal need. Over the last 10 years, the UK has suffered a huge cultural loss. To some extent, it is part of the great shrinking of shared and collective space, which takes in everything from pubs and bars to community centres and libraries. But this particular change stands alone: a striking example of how something that was once thriving and important can hit the skids, and precious few people in positions of power and influence will even notice.Warren is joined by two other panelists Fitzyroy, co-founder of Soul Survivor Magazine and all round jazz funk soul legend, alongside Marsha aka MarshMellow, longtime NTS resident and tastemaker. Haseeb introduces Fitzroy and Marsha by asking them to share an early and more recent dancefloor memory. This question made me smile. I felt blessed to be in a space where people were qualified to sit on a panel based on how much dancing they had done, how beautiful. The dancefloors Warren explores span from busting moves to Top of the Pops in living rooms to 1980s youth clubs. She digs into the ideologies and moral panic behind the “down with jazz” protests in 1930s Ireland, via skanking in smoke-filled dancehalls, slow dancing at school discos, and the joys of dancing in darkness to bone-shaking sub-bass. Publisher Faber's blurb about 'Dance Your Way Home' reads: "This book is about the kind of ordinary dancing you and I might do in our kitchens when a favourite tune comes on. It's more than a social history: it's a set of interconnected histories of the overlooked places where dancing happens... Why do we dance? What does dancing tells us about ourselves, individually and collectively? And what can it do for us? Generously and warmly written, Warren’s book encourages us all to unabashedly express ourselves, to feel the rhythm as best we can, and work alongside one another to make sure there are always spaces for us to keep dancing, resisting, and be in community. As she puts it: ‘To dance you must let go of self-consciousness, embarrassment, pride and prejudice, and embrace what you actually have. […] We’re dancers because we’re human and we’re more human – or perhaps more humane – if we dance together, especially when we make it up on the spot. The woods were lovely, but it wasn’t enough. I needed other people, and I needed more music. It took a few attempts to find the right location. First, I tried a class at Pineapple Studios in central London. I’d been there once before, in the late 1990s, when publicity averse Detroit techno originators Underground Resistance used it as a location for a press conference. They walked in in a line wearing balaclavas and sat down behind a long desk, answering questions from us one by one.

Why do we dance together? What does dancing tells us about ourselves, individually and collectively? And what can it do for us? Whether it be at home, ’80s club nights, Irish dancehalls or reggae dances, jungle raves or volunteer-run spaces and youth centres, Emma Warren has sought the answers to these questions her entire life. The idea for the book, called 'Dance Your Way Home: A Journey Through The Dancefloor', emerged after Warren focused on some specific lines from her last book, 'Make Some Space', which was about the community around London venue Total Refreshment Centre. The lines, which Warren said "a few people honed in on" was that "dancing in the dark is a human need, that we've been doing this forever, and that it's a kind of medicine". All of these powerful dancefloors [in the book] happened from the street up,” Warren says. ​ “It was often made by people who were living in aversion of the state that did not operate in their interests. Grassroots creativity is always present. We need amuch, much bigger appreciation of the way that communities of colour built post-war culture, because it’s absolutely true in every single way when it comes to music.” At the intersection of memoir, social and cultural history, 'Dance Your Way Home' is an intimate foray onto the dancefloor – wherever and whenever it may be – that speaks to the heart of what it is that makes us move." Change the plan you will roll onto at any time during your trial by visiting the “Settings & Account” section. What happens at the end of my trial?For cost savings, you can change your plan at any time online in the “Settings & Account” section. If you’d like to retain your premium access and save 20%, you can opt to pay annually at the end of the trial. Emma Warren’s Dance Your Way Home is a beautiful and timely defence of dancing. Whether it’s at home or with friends, professionally or for fun, dance is one of our most natural outlets for creativity and connection. Warren’s book focuses on dance in community and culture. Warren is for the most part deft and light in her writing style. You can feel the giddy feet bouncing off wooden floors, the sly breeze of the Electric Slide (which, she correctly surmises, a generation of people – myself included – have never known as anything but the Candy Dance), the tenderness of a grandfather on his deathbed asking his granddaughter to dance while he passes, the joy of Warren and some peers encouraging schoolchildren in a conga line. And like the dancers – of whom you are now one – you feel compelled, perhaps propelled, to action with each history you read. Emma closes the discussion by reading out the pre-epilogue of her book which I cannot try to recreate. A reading that no-one wanted to end, and I wasn’t surprised to overhear one listener express the goosebumps it gave them. I urge everyone to buy and read Emma’s book, find their dancefloor whether that be in Ibiza or your bedroom, show love to your dancefloor partner, but most importantly, keep moving in time to music. This is not just a book for devoted clubbers and professional dancers: Warren also explores the importance of dancing round the living room as a new parent, taking up space as a middle-aged woman and making sense of dyspraxia through movement. The depth of research is fascinating, but it’s written by a fan as much as an expert. Statistics and laws are bolstered by Warren’s own feelings and stories, offering a warmth and authenticity that could only be achieved by someone who has spent many hours on various dancefloors.