By the Way You Dance”: an Essay on Disco and Identity Andrew Morwood
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The novel Each Distant Light and “By the way you dance”: an essay on disco and identity Andrew Morwood Thesis submitted for the qualification of Doctor of Philosophy at The University of East Anglia, Department of Literature, Drama, and Creative Writing, June 2017. © This copy of the thesis has been supplied on condition that anyone who consults it is understood to recognise that its copyright rests with the author and that use of any information derived there from must be in accordance with current UK Copyright Law. In addition, any quotation or extract must include full attribution. !1 Abstract This thesis is presented in two related sections; the first (primary) section is the novel Each Distant Light, and the second, ‘“By the way you dance”: an essay on disco and identity’, is an investigation into the role of disco in the creation of a gay identity. Each Distant Light, set in 1981, follows Col, a young gay man who leaves his Northern Irish home in search of a more accepting community in New York. Over the course of one night in a dance club, memories from Col’s past overwhelm his present, increasing his sense of dislocation. Longing to belong, he’s homesick for a home he can never return to, yet is unable to find comfort in the sexual liberation of the gay scene. ‘“By the way you dance”: an essay on disco and identity’ is an exploration of the transformative effects of dance music and club culture, particularly with regards to gay men. Focusing on the disco scene of 1970s New York and Andrew Holleran’s 1978 novel Dancer from the Dance, the piece investigates the disruptive attributes of music and club spaces, their role in the development of gay liberation, and the possibilities they offer dancers in contemplation of the self. !2 List of Contents Abstract……………………………………………………………..2 List of Contents……………………………………………………..3 Acknowledgements…………………………………………………4 Section One: The novel Each Distant Light……………….………….…..5 Section Two: “By the way you dance”: an essay on disco and identity………………….….….…259 Discovery: an introduction………………………260 Journey to Paradise………………………264 Part 1: Lost in music……………………………..271 Disco (re)defined…………………………271 Disco as a feeling………………………..275 Disco disruption…………………………277 Disco time……………………………….293 Disco coda……………………………….297 A brief interlude on drugs……………………….398 Part 2: Dancing in outer space…………………..306 Disco space: the beginnings…………….307 Disco space: disruption of society………314 Disco space: disruption of the self………323 Disco space: closure…………………….329 Last Dance………………………………………331 Disco Reprise: additional notes…………………335 Bibliography…………………………………………………….352 Additional bibliography…………………………………………356 !3 Acknowledgements: I would like to thank the staff and students of the Department of Literature, Drama and Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia. Particular thanks to my supervisors, Andrew Cowan and B.J. Epstein, for their kindness, patience, guidance and all-round good advice. Very special thanks to Andrew Haigh: You make me feel (mighty real). Dedicated, with love, to my dad, Frank Morwood (1941-2018). !4 Section One The novel Each Distant Light !5 It’s Just Begun – The Jimmy Castor Bunch I rush the stairs at 103rd Street Station, relieved to have completed this journey without complication, and vow to take cabs for the remainder. As I exit, a goading, icy whip of wind almost sends me toppling back to the platform but, in spite of its cold, I open my jacket and check the bulk of goodies. Running my fingers around the sharp edges of the ziplock, I reassure myself there’s still no breach, then do the same for the pocket lining, scraping away fluff to test the integrity of the seam. Satisfied, I button up and walk on. This is the furthest north I’ll have to travel. My other deliveries will take me downtown. I ring the doorbell, retreat the four stone steps to the pavement and wait, measuring time by the sequence of traffic lights at the end of the block. Last time I counted five, but tonight, after just two full cycles, a shadow darkens the opaque glass of the door and a gap appears large enough for the fat, moustachioed head. ‘Irish, it’s you. Well, come on in. Get yourself out of the cold.’ Jack’s nickname for me is as original as it is accurate, but now’s not the time for a lesson on the Troubles and besides, I’ll gouge him on the price. Up two flights then we pause by the door as he slips off his loafers. ‘Bobby’s trying this kind of Japanese thing at the moment, so if you wouldn’t mind.’ He points to my shoes. I bend to untie them but my frozen fingers can’t untangle the double knots, so I peel off the backs with my toes. Underfoot the !6 hallway carpet feels expensive and mossy. In the living-room large tapestries and wall-hangings have replaced the paintings. Bobby is sitting cross-legged at a low table and his kimono parts to reveal more white thigh than is necessary. I sit opposite, and as he bows his head ceremoniously his fringe drops teasingly close to the candles floating in the large glass bowl. ‘Namaste,’ he says, pinning the rogue strand of hair behind his left ear. I don’t bother to correct him. ‘Hi.’ ‘Get you anything…beer, sake?’ Jack calls from the fridge. ‘I’m fine thanks.’ I don’t want to stay longer than necessary. ‘So where are you guys going tonight?’ I pull the bag from my coat. It’s not a social call. ‘Oh, we’re not sure.’ Jack hands an eggcup of sake to Bobby and joins us. ‘We thought we might try somewhere a bit leathery tonight. Bobby has this waistcoat he’s dying to wear out.’ ‘It’s very elaborate…very detailed stitching. It must have taken days. But’ – Bobby’s speech is slow, his attempt at sounding thoughtful – ‘maybe I’ll just wear it to The Saint. It might…stand out more there. Really…you know…’ His hands blink open for emphasis. ‘Well, what do you need? I’ve a bit of everything.’ I pat the bag. ‘Did you manage the coke?’ ‘I did and it’s great, but it’s not getting cheaper. I can split it if you want.’ Derision crosses Bobby’s face. ‘Please.’ I pass over the whole baggie I knew they’d buy. ‘How about some downers? After all that blow you’re going to need them.’ ‘We’ll take six,’ Jack counters without hesitation. !7 ‘I have some California sunshine, too. Jimi’s friend flew it in from the West Coast just this week.’ ‘Blotters or caps?’ ‘Neither, it’s drops.’ I hold up a small amber glass bottle. ‘I’ll lay it for you right here. While you wait.’ ‘Oooh, fresh. I like the sound of that,’ Jack replies, as if I’m a waiter listing specials. ‘Can we get, like, ten hits?’ Bobby nods. ‘We may bring a few…friends home later.’ There’s an insinuation that I find repulsive, and combined with the spidery hairs I can see just above his knee and the thin probing fingers that he waves through the air, he’s really starting to sicken me. I quickly unwrap some sugar cubes, pilfered from work, and, using the dropper from the bottle, squeeze two tears of liquid on each, like I’d been shown. ‘Let them dry for a minute. Once the wet patch goes, they’re ready. Don’t eat them all at once, you might never come back.’ It feels good to play the scientist. Bobby’s tapping at the table; the bag of coke is open and he’s chopping it with a pocketknife. ‘Jack, get the money. Col and I will seal the deal with a little toot.’ He sculpts the pearly white mound into three thin lines and passes me a metal straw. Politely, I make for the smallest and hoover it with one swift motion, another sniff to get it down. ‘Let’s call it four hundred,’ I tell Jack. ‘Is that OK?’ He’s already counting out the notes. !8 ‘Coke’s certainly not getting any cheaper,’ Bobby says, as if he’s ever paid for it, or anything else, since he snared Jack. His chosen line disappears in an instant, then he holds one nostril and snorts three short blasts with his eyes shut – it’s a ritual I’ve had to endure since Jimi let me take over these transactions. Perhaps the monotony of the exchange is the reason he wanted to stop. As I wait for Bobby’s choreographed grunt and shake of his head, I imagine supplying something nasty and corrosive, something that could burn a hole straight through the back of his skull. My coat goes on before the coke really takes hold and they become that unmanageable combination of needy and chatty. It’s happened before, last month I was trapped in the corridor, talked at for hours about people I don’t know or only half remember. Jack hands me the cash at the door. ‘If you’re looking for a place to hang later, let us know. Like we said, we might bring some friends back. An intimate party.’ He squeezes my shoulder. ‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ I tell him, but I’ve already erased the very idea. Bobby breaks his post-snort meditation to offer a wave, but his eyes remain closed. Instead of sobering me up the cold air outside accentuates my jitters. I didn’t want to start this early but it’s an issue of trust, proof that what you’ve sold them won’t kill them or, worse, won’t work, ruining their weekend.