Childhood Dreams of the Dance Floor

Dave Ball of Soft Cell at Danceteria in New York City, photo by Waring Abbott

“I know a place where you can get away

It's called a dance floor, and here's what it's for…”

For many of us, the dance floor is a sacred space. Growing up in the early 1980s, so many songs preached about the dance floor as the ultimate destination, the gateway to glamour, pleasure, and cool. It was absolutely the place to be, and the fact that it was beyond the reach of a child made it all the more desirable, forbidden, and urgent. 

Before I had ever properly visited one, I could hear the tales of salvation, redemption, and transformation in the music that was ubiquitous when I was a child. I knew the dance floor was this magical place, a mythical space, where life transcended from the mundane to the majestic. I knew I needed to get there as soon as possible.  

Music television offered visual glimpses of what the dance floor looked like, with beautiful people in stylish clothes who were having the time of their lives. Dancing was something I knew and understood—I had been enrolled in dance classes around age 3 and we danced to the bouncy, synthy hits of the early 80s. At these lessons, I could see how my moves copied the Solid Gold dancers, and how our lycra-clad and leg-warmer aesthetic fit perfectly with the fashion trends of the time, but the wooden floors of the church hall where I had lessons did not unleash the mystery of the dance floor. The music was correct, but the setting was not.  

I would have to wait many more years before I encountered a real dance floor, but I knew back then with complete certainty that it was the destination I was searching for, waiting for, preparing for:  when the time came, I would be ready.