Percolated By A Dislocation Dance
NEW YORK-Dislocation Dance sit in a row, the very picture of exhaustion on this their second week in the U.S.A; like they're at a wake waiting for a banshee to raise their spirits. They watch the news on TV— the voice turned down—with an air of fatigued indifference, though what's being shown is the start of a skirmish between their country and the Argies.
Percolated By A Dislocation Dance
THE BEAT GOES ON
NEW YORK-Dislocation Dance sit in a row, the very picture of exhaustion on this their second week in the U.S.A; like they're at a wake waiting for a banshee to raise their spirits. They watch the news on TV— the voice turned down—with an air of fatigued indifference, though what's being shown is the start of a skirmish between their country and the Argies. They listen to WBLS, coming to life only when a particularly well-produced piece of disco funk catches an ear. A Dancer writes postcards to a mum and a lover, another Dancer answers my queries as to the current state of Manchester's night life with monosyllables "umm...yeah closed...uh huh." The dress code ranges from the all pressed slacks and Marks & Spencer's pullover look to quietly polite mock New Romanticism.