Dancing Man

When you first move to a new place, like, say, Hobart, it's important to work out local directions - my walk from North Hobart to Hobart went like this. Down the hill, past the post office, past that really weird shop on the corner no one seemed to be able to make a go of, then past the hotel with the topless waitresses and the gun fights, past Burger King, past Elizabeth College, then past the place that made the worlds biggest pancake parlour, and then, into town. That was the easy bit, the walking in a straight line into town. There were many local customs to work out - avoiding the big black girl who ran the mall, working out the incredible rudeness of the bus drivers and their palpable inability to explain the ticketing system to newcomers, the system by which Hobart shopkeepers let you know you've spent far too long in their shop, how easy it was to get a CD that wasn't in the 40, like a Catatonia one, compared to Burnie at least, and of course, what all the fuss was about Dancing Man. Later, I would learn the mysteries of the homeless lady with the bag full of door knobs who would walk through the town, and then spend nights playing the piano at the casino to a Grade 12 level. However, she was no Dancing Man, and she was not who the populace flocked to. I had to go and see him...and see him dance, I did.

Dancing Man was one of our local characters here in Hobart - to briefly explain, in the middle of Hobart, there were two Sanity music stores. A little one, and a big one, about 50 metres apart. I have a theory that to make up for the smaller stock range, the much, much more attractive girls worked in the small store. Just a theory. No, I didn't understand it either, don't ask me how the economy works. Outside the little one, no matter what music was playing from inside the store, outside, a bearded, apparently homeless man devoid of shirt would dance to the music in the mall. He didn't have a lot of different moves, basically about 6 different steps, and I'd imagine that he'd have been chased out of any kind of formal dancing competition, but that wasn't important. To the uni students were I went to uni, he was an anti hero, a poetic beloved figure. What he represented was far more important than what he did. People said he was "the maestro of alienation", he was listed as a tourist attraction in brochures, and an incredibly hot girl at uni had a T-shirt with him on it. He sort of wandered through life as far I knew, staying at peoples houses as a guest, joining in with bands on stage. Naturally, you got a lot of uni students saying "Gosh, he's SUCH a free spirit!" - any thoughts he was just a nut who liked dancing and dossing at peoples houses were far, far too simplistic...

In fairness, I'm not a particularly free spirit, because I'm Scottish, where difference and weirdness and free spiritedness is punished with a swift slap to the heid. Most of my attempts to be a free spirit, like when I ran away from home, have ended in disaster. I've always been the classic guy in the corner tutting at people acting silly at parties. Or at least, I used to. I think as I become older, I'm starting to get more in touch with my inner free spirit. Mind you, this is entirely because I've discovered alcohol. That said, I'm still never going to be the guy who stands in the middle of the football over without a shirt on or decides to turn up at a fancy dress party with a girl on my back and...well, you know the rest. I'm barely able to talk to people with any interest or enthusiasm these days, never mind wearing a lampshade on my head. However, I do have a really burning ambition left in my life to do a tight ten at a stand up comedy night, but my attempts at being at one with my karmic universe always end up with me just looking like a knob - one time we decided to play statues in the middle of Hobart, and my friends just ended up having a go at me for being a rubbish statue and left me to go do something else. I'm going to make such a great grumpy old man you know...

Dancing Man, well, he died a couple of years ago, I presume there was some kind of impromptu tribute to him outside little Sanity, which became In 2 Music (with much uglier staff), and now, as far as I know, is closed. The lady with the bag of door knobs, she died too, well, she went missing, as far as anyone can tell. The topless barmaids and gunfights are long gone, replaced by grumpy Tim Rogers and poetry evenings at the Republic Bar. Even the big black girl that ran the mall has been moved on by police and the passage of time and possibly a jail sentence or two. There's no local characters anymore, just some gangs apparently ramming a car into Banjos at high speed, and probably some school girls kissing each other while Katy Perry plays in the background, thinking they are ZOMG outrageous. Eventually, even the freer spirited amongst us find responsbility, maturity and the passage of time will weigh us down, no matter how we might fight it for as long as we can. Dancing Man at least held on longer than most, longer than I did, so I guess I can respect that. The world though keeps on spinning, and time is marching on for all of us...

I think he'd have got a good groove on to the PreSets though, no matter how "dated" I might think they are...