Dance the Night Away

On this, National Women's Equality Day, it's fitting I read that the New York Times describes  Madonna as a crusader, willing or not, against ageism.

Because after all, how can we have true equality if we consider one person less (take your pick) attractive, interesting, viable, capable, sexual or otherwise simply because of the year they were born?

I'm not a pop star, so I've never had the need to continuously shock and titillate, but I can completely relate to her mission to kick down the doors so younger women won't have to deal with ageism. Unlike Madonna, I'm not going to lift my skirt to show my fishnet-covered bottom, but I'm part of the sisterhood that believes that if I wanted to, I have as much right as a 22-year old to do so.

Madge and I, we're in the trenches together.

Except that she performs for thousands and I walk around Jackson Ward, taking advantage of what's happening in the 'hood. Tonight's later start could be attributed to all kinds of things - my father's first kidney stone, two cats taking up residence on the roof outside my balcony, and last minute news that I've got a guest coming for the weekend - but by the time I did get away, age was not a factor in my plans.

Gallery 5's chalkboard announced that it was game night -"Chess or whatever else you are into!" (doubtful) - as I strolled over to Saison Market for some cultural observation and a bite before the show. Minimal reward on the former: one mute couple, both on their laptops, and three people playing cards with the two guys still teaching the girl the game loudly.

And why weren't they at game night a block away?

I took the little two-top in the center near the (hipster alert) vermouth selection, taking in the reliably interesting soundtrack as I enjoyed a $5 glass of wine (Domaine Guion Bourgueil Cuvee) with brightly-colored and artistically-plated lamb belly with cantaloupe soubise, curried granola, fennel and shallot.

And by belly, I mean thick strips of lamb bacon to die for. When the server tried to take my plate when I still had one perfect bite left - belly, shallot, cantaloupe, granola - I shook my head like I meant it. "Oops, sorry, I should've realized," he apologized, smiling, hands over his head as if he were being held up.

From there, I walked down to Black Iris because if Olivia Neutron-John was giving an unbridled performance three blocks from home, I needed to be part of that.

I walked in as opener Louie, Louie from Philly finished their soundcheck and announced that the show was beginning. With age comes wisdom to know just when to show up to catch the opening band.

Good for me 'cause their all-girl reverb-heavy garage/psych/pop was right up my alley, catchy, guitar-driven and with that distinctive "music from a cave" sound I adore. Already happy shaking my non fishnet-covered booty to their energetic sound, my night was made with the one-two (covers) punch of the BeeGees' "To Love Somebody" followed by an extended take on Tommy James' classic,"Crimson and Clover," effects-laden guitar making for orgasmic ears.

It was during that medley that the dance party king spotted me and came over to share his enthusiasm for the band. "If Quentin Tarantino had a band, this is what it would sound like," he hypothesized. Yes, and there would be dancing, so we'd both be happy.

I was intrigued to hear about a recent dinner party he'd attended, its purpose being to bring people together to have more than quick, superficial conversations, the kind so common in bars and at shows. I lament that occasions must be created specifically to ensure such discourse, but I'd rather that than to think it didn't happen at all.

Explaining to the dance enthusiast that there was a time when conversations easily went deeper because no one was lost in their device, I saw a look of regret cross his face. Clearly that's a world he barely recalls.

What we share in common, though, is a love of availing ourselves of whatever the city has going on. Not for us the lifestyles of the cocooning couples and buried-up-to-their-eyeballs parents who rarely go out. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

"This is what I want to be doing on a Wednesday night," he said decidedly. "I don't want to be at home watching TV." Preach it, brother.

In no time, Anna Nasty of Chain and the Gang took the stage to deliver what should rightfully be called performance art. All synths, drumbeats and flying black hair, she crafted a sound that was secondary to the visuals and lighting effects.

On some songs, she whipped her hair side to side in one head-jerking motion while on others she did a proper up and down head-banging. Would her set have been as compelling without the hair? Chances are, no.

A gallerist friend walked by pushing ear plugs in his ears and asking if I needed some, not realizing it wasn't my first rodeo. I don't leave the house without a pair in my bag...just in case. Rarely used, but there if absolutely necessary, like Maxwell Smart's shoe phone (aged cultural reference #1).

It took me only a few minutes of the fast and furious set before I pulled out my plugs in a half-hearted attempt to be kinder to my ears.

Tonight's room was testament to the return of VCU students, with lots of fresh-scrubbed (and artfully dirty) faces in the crowd. That said, there was a small but confused subset of people who left after the first 15 minutes, not willing to take a chance on something they hadn't expected.

What they were missing was that it was loud, almost hypnotic plus she was selling it 100% so where else would you want to be on this Wednesday night?

Then came aged cultural reference #2. "If the computer Hal from "2001" had a band, this would be it," my friend concluded and I could laugh, but not disagree.

Madonna's gone on record - Instagram, even - as saying age won't slow her down.

Shut up, jealous bitches! I hope you are as fun-loving and adventurous as me when you're my age!!!! Hahahhaha let's see!"

I don't even need to see. Time makes you bolder, even children get older and I'm getting older, too. Let's see how you feel about age when it's you. Looking forward to hearing, "Oops, sorry, should've realized."

Raising hands over head not required.