I’m living in Bologna, Italy—about hafway between Venice and Florence. Last night I wanted to do some dancing, so I called the number for a dance school called “Cotton Club.” They guy who answered didn’t speak much English and my Italian skills aren’t any better, but I heard himsay something about boogie woogie, his teacher from Sweden being in town, and dancing tonight.

Right on!, I think—some Swedish boogie woogie teachers are in town and they’re having a dance party after the lesson—hey, maybe I even know these guys! So I get ready,m pack my dancing shoes, throw a few cds in my bag just in case, and head out.

When I get to the club, I talk to the guy at the door (same one from the phone).and find out that it isn’tactually a dance studio that night—rather, a Swedish boogie woogie piano player (Micke M-something)! So I hang out outside for a while to see if any dancer-looking people show up, before I pay ten euros to get in. I finally decide to go in anyway-- because who can pass up a Swedish musician playing American rock and roll in Italy---and the opening band starts.

The opening band is an Italian ‘50s rock and roll/rockabilly act. Fun band, good musicians, mix of people young and old, but NO ONE IS DANCING! Now, this event was supposed to have been organized or connected to the local dance studio, so what’s the problem? Everyone’s sittin’ down and watching! Where are the dancers?

That’s one of the worst feelings—hearing great music, on one hand, but also having no one to dance with. About 30 minutes go by, still no one is dancing. Finally, the Swedish guy gets up to the piano and starts playing—awesome…

At one points he makes a comment about “how nice it is to see everyone sitting down, unlike Sweden where they want to stand up and act all crazy.” Swedish humor being dry as it is, I still don’t know if he was joking or not.

He plays “Great Balls of Fire” by request, and after the next song, a few people in the audience—I’m keeping a careful eye on the crowd here—and one older guy nods at them gets up himself, [i]and they start dancing![/i]

And damn it, they’re doing boogie woogie! Within minutes the floor is [i]packed.[/i]

And they’re pretty damn good, too! Several of them are really hitting the breaks and playing with the music. Others are obviously newer, others still are are a bit jive-ish, and although I don’t see any swing-outs happening, they’re swinging!

And I always thought that the average Italian’s clothes were too tight for swing (I mean, even the “carpenter”-style jeans here are a slim, tapered fit! Who can move in those?… :-)

So within 5 minutes the audience has transformed itself from an incredibly dull sit-down group to a mad, swinging crowd. What the hell where they waiting for? I mean, I almost left early I was so disappointed by the apparent lack of dancers…

I work my way up to the dance floor (a tile floor) and start asking people to dance; now, the average Italian’s knowledge of English is almost as minimal as my knowledge (if you can call it that) of Italian. Someone tells me that they are students and teachers from a few different dance schools in the area. I dance for about another 30 minutes, until the Swedish piano player comes back and [i]everyone sits down.[/i] The dancing has stopped completely. Is it considered rude to dance to live music? Do they not want to block the view of people sitting down? Is it more enjoyable for them to watch, rather than dance? Were my Italian better, I would have asked. Instead, I watch for a few minutes, then leave to catch my bus.

And that was my Italian swing adventure.
For more on swing in Italy see http://www.oldwoogies.com All in Italian, but there’s pics and stuff to look at.

So swing [i]does[/i] exist in Italy, though in a slightly different (and more streamlined, better-dressed) form. There’s a dance on Monday night I’m going to check out…

Update: swing on Monday night was not a dance, but a dance lesson. And beginning level at that. Perhaps there was dancing afterwards, but I didn’t want long enough to find out. I was feeling sick, anyway.