Back off, world. Australia is a nation of dancers, and we don’t take too kindly to snide remarks and international side-eye when our best and brightest strut their stuff on the Olympic stage. Keep this up and don’t be surprised if we issue an invitation to meet us behind the shelter shed at which point we will administer some rough justice. To borrow the words of a former Prime Minister: fair suck of the sauce bottle. Granted, that may not make a lot of sense to you. It probably doesn’t make sense to anyone, but as best I understand, it’s a general appeal to decency, albeit one expressed in condiment form. I speak, of course, of Raygun.
Let me declare at the outset – I am Team Raygun. It takes a lot of nerve to dance on the world stage. But to throw out moves so deeply unorthodox with the entire planet watching takes oodles of moxy. It’s hard not to be impressed. Bewildered, but impressed all the same. And whilst the world sees fit to be unkind, there’s something about the whole debacle that appeals to me greatly.
I have something a conflict of interest. Not just because I took annual leave at the same time as the Olympics and claimed in my out of office that I was off to Paris as coach of the national breakdancing team, but because I have a deep and abiding affinity for breaking and hip-hop culture in general. (Incidentally, on my return from annual leave, nobody said anything about my out of office, which means either that no-one read it, or it was so inherently plausible that people accepted it at face value).
I never took lessons, as such. But my brother did, signing up for instruction from a local named ‘Maggot’ (possibly not his real name) at the Tyabb Town Hall. When he returned from the lesson, he seemed wiser and more at ease. Upon arriving home, he flattened a cardboard box and set about trying to perfect the back spin but succeeding only in knocking a pot plant off the coffee table. But he now had the dancing bug.
This country has natural advantages when it comes to dancing. Blue Light Discos have long been the perfect ‘feeder’ for promising youngsters, who could then be diverted into the dance training program best suited to their talents. It was quite common for future champions to emerge after an especially vigorous blast of ‘Rain’ by Dragon or ‘Pressure Down’ by John Farnham. Dancing at these events was no delicate thing. It wasn’t so much a case of tripping the light fantastic as it was falling over it and face planting in the nearest hydrangea bush. It was an all or nothing business.
Raygun, I feel, could hold her own at even the most elite Blue Light Disco. The fact that she wasn’t afraid to innovate by pretending to be a kangaroo (and, finally, putting the ‘hop’ into ‘hip hop’) isn’t something to be mocked, it’s something to be celebrated. Personally, I’d have liked to have seen her do ‘the Wombat’ and simply hunker down on stage for two minutes without moving at all – in a breaking equivalent to John Cage’s avant-garde masterpiece, ‘4:33’.
Not only did Raygun push the envelope until it fell off the kitchen table by unleashing ‘the kangaroo’, she also gave respect to the classics by including a bit of ‘the sprinkler’. We’ve all done it at some point in our lives. Let he who is without sprinkler cast the first stone I say. By invoking such a well known and revered dance move, Raygun provided a moment of complete relatability that is otherwise missing when you’re watching what is essentially a bunch of superhumans do what they do best.
That said, conditions were not ideal. As I understand, the breaking competition was conducted with the assistance of a DJ. I’ve all the respect in the world for those who spin the wheels of steel but, in Australia at least, that’s not how things are done. If Raygun had been allowed to choose her own music, the world may have formed an entirely different impression. The ‘kangaroo’ might seem cute and novel when there’s a DJ cranking out a beat, but it’s a visceral, terrifying, gold medal-worthy experience when performed to the sound of ‘Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again’ by The Angels.
It’s easy to be snide. But those who wish to take issue with Raygun’s performance shouldn’t be signing some lame on-line petition – those things are exclusively for cowards. These are differences that should be settled in the traditional manner – a dance off. I’m willing to volunteer myself to be part of Team Raygun. Besides, since when have people been so invested in breaking? The outcry is baffling.
I don’t care if some people thought it looked awkward, or if scoring a string of donuts was embarrassing. I don’t even care if some of the moves looked like they were borrowed from Kath and Kel the time they River-danced themselves into history. In fact, I like the fact that Raygun was dressed as though she was attending a school sports day. I like that there was an element of dagginess about her performance that, in the truest sense, represented all of us perfectly. But, most of all, I like the fact that she went out and gave her all.
History is full of heroic tales of people risking everything for great reward and emerging triumphant. But not every risk pays off. Sometimes taking a risk will backfire spectacularly and all that’s left is to pick yourself up and move on. We all fall short sometimes. My hope is that, when we fail, we can do so with as much style, energy and commitment as Raygun.