Lindy Fest - Newcomer Mix and Match
I’ve spoken to a bunch of people about how one continues to grow as a Lindy Hopper. The first few years of dance, the leaning curve is steep. There is a clear path of progress through a set of sequential courses. Once one reaches the end of that sequence, there is a plateau. This pattern appears in almost any domain. The introduction to a new thing feels like it has a dramatic effect. It feels exhilarating. In dance, this initial effect resonates through the body, as one learns new ways to express emotion physically. Then in the plateau, the body and mind starts having more trouble finding new inputs. Things become less fresh. There are less epiphanies. Relatively, I have found that the dance plateaus are less discouraging than other things. In origami, for example, some plateaus have felt like dead-ends. I think the difference is in the social community. Whereas origami is often solitary, dance is almost always social. Participating in a hobby that shares physical space with other people means new inputs are always available, if you know how to look for them.
When I have conversations with dancers who have been doing it for a long time, they say going to out of town conferences is key. Having done a bunch now, I agree. After going to one, such as LindyFest, the way I dance changes. Why this is the case, however, is not obvious.
The first reason for this might just be volume. At a conference, one dances all day. At LindyFest 2025, classes started at 11, and late-late night dances went until 4 in the morning or so. I generally don’t make it that late. I get to about midway through the late-night before I poop out. So just sheer number of hours practicing has a transformative effect.
The second reason is exposure to new dancers. One experiences new styles. One sees how the passion for dance is expressed in different ways, and how that expression takes on geographical characteristics. These dancers are also people who have decided to spend considerable time and money on swing dancing, so they are a subset of the community who are exceptionally exuberant about it. When you dance locally, things start to consolidate. This is not a bad thing. One develops close relationships to a local community, which is incredibly valuable. But it also puts on blinders. One can become overconfident. One can become set in one’s ways. The out-of-town conference breaks down habits and assumptions.
Then there are competitions. These have a definite effect, but I feel like they have to be treated carefully. They can be invigorating, demoralizing, encouraging, humbling in a bad way, and humbling in a good way. They can feel like a critical part of Lindy Hop, or a distortion of its spirit.
I competed in the LindyFest Newcomer Mix and Match. I felt a bit unclear as to whether I am a newcomer or not, given I have been dancing for over two years, but I seemed to fit the criteria: I don’t teach and I have never placed in a draw competition. I have competed in 3 contests before, so I am on the edge of being new to competing. Having competed in this, I won’t participate in Newcomers anymore.
The prelims were on held the second day of LindyFest. Each dancer gets a number. Leads are paired randomly with follows. The pairs dance a song, then rotate, for a total of 3 songs. I felt pretty good in the prelims. It was exciting. I felt confident in the dancing.
After the Newcomer, there was the intermediate draw. I could have competed in the intermediate, and not felt out of my league. I think that competing in the Newcomer was right for me in this instance for the following reason. I have sort of become accustomed to feeling like I have no chance of advancing to the next round in these things. A lot of times, these draws are not stratified, so relatively new dancers are competing with phenomenally polished Lindy Hoppers dancers. In my head, when competing in those, I know there is no way I can compete. I generally am ok with this, and like thinking I’m sharing a small slice of competitive space with them. I have also thought that this mindset is a little unhealthy. There is a part of me that thinks that if you are competing, some part of you should believe there is a chance of winning. But then, isn’t prioritizing winning exactly what dance is opposed to? Dance is about expression of emotion, and at its best, connecting with another person in shared expression. The trick is, I think, that the fundamental minimum for advancing in these competitions is that the pair of dancers create a shared visual celebration of the emotional core of the song.
I advanced to the finals of the Newcomer Mix and Match, which happened on Sunday night, during the last night of LindyFest. I had a unique, personal experience here, which I have been unpacking ever since. I was paired with a St. Louis dancer who I had actually paired with before at Dayton. She is a wonderful dancer. We shared the floor with another St. Louis couple for a spot light dance. During the song, I felt good. I felt like I was connecting with my partner. I felt connected to the music. I had a little goal to incorporate some switches, because they always seem to be a crowd pleaser. I got some in. The song ended, and I felt like we did well. I thought we would have a chance to win. Just having that feeling somewhat validated the choice to do the Newcomer. I’ve never had the feeling of hoping to win a dance competition.
After the dance, they announced the winners. We did not place. I was disappointed. Later, I looked at the scoring, and we did not score very well at all. This left me with something important to think about. Why was my conception of the dance, essentially a self-scoring, so different from what the judges felt? I suppose I could have asked the judges their rational, but I didn’t. Instead, I have tried to puzzle it out for myself. I had this objective piece of evidence which humbled me. I had a lot of feelings about not placing. I have tried to use those feelings as a learning tool. My best guess as to what happened was that I thought I was really listening to the music, but I was only sort of doing so. In the aftermath, I have felt there is no choice but to really open my ears. This translates into hearing the structure of the music. Swing Era jazz has a fairly consistent structure, which is generally A-A-B-A. In each section, there is an emotional arc. There is a beginning, a climax, and a resolution. This arc also exists across the entire phrase, from first A to last A. It also exists across the entire song. My lesson from the Newcomer was to start reacting more to these arcs. This seems a little academic. Basically, I’m saying that the lesson I learned from the Newcomer final is that I don’t listen to the music as carefully as I think I do. That is one major area of growth. I can’t say that is really the reason why my self-conception mismatched with the judges, but not attaching a lesson to the emotional response would probably just be discouraging.