Remember the Nazgul from the Lord of the Rings movies? The creepy black undead figures who rode undead horses and dragon creatures to chase down Elijah Hobbit and his boys? If for some reason you don’t, check out this disturbingly detailed web-site http://www.tuckborough.net/witchking.html.
More importantly, remember the noise they made? The high screeching whines that made everybody cover their ears? The ones that caused your spine to curve until you were a puddle of yourself in the fetal position? I didn’t remember this noise until last night when I attended a Justin Timberlake concert. However, I am now convinced that we are missing out on our greatest form of man-made energy – the screeching woman. Mariah Carey had nothing on the collective 2 hour squeal that may have very well been responsible for a tsunami on the other side of the world.
Even more importantly was not the fact that I was a 25 year old man at a Justin Timberlake concert (25 year-old man enough to say he was good live), or that I referenced the Lord of the Rings to start this entry. No, more importantly was that I was able to engage in one of my favorite, yet most painful pastimes during the concert. That’s right – White People Dancing.
WPD is actually a syndrome which affects approximately 67% of the Caucasian population, with approximately 88% of those affected being of the female persuasion with a typical age range of 12-30. Its onset is usually hidden until puberty, but its symptoms may be detected earlier depending on the carrier’s exposure to certain kinds of music. For instance, last night even before JT took the stage I viewed what, at least to that point in my life, was the best example of WPD I had ever seen. It is common practice for a random play-list of various popular songs to entertain a crowd in between acts at concerts. Last night was no different.
A few thumps of a base drum and a bad riff on a synthesizer worked the mostly Caucasian crowd into a frenzy. Meaningful lyrics such as what follows helped to introduce me to what would become my appetizer to a stunning main course of WPD:
Meet me in the trap its goin down
More importantly, remember the noise they made? The high screeching whines that made everybody cover their ears? The ones that caused your spine to curve until you were a puddle of yourself in the fetal position? I didn’t remember this noise until last night when I attended a Justin Timberlake concert. However, I am now convinced that we are missing out on our greatest form of man-made energy – the screeching woman. Mariah Carey had nothing on the collective 2 hour squeal that may have very well been responsible for a tsunami on the other side of the world.
Even more importantly was not the fact that I was a 25 year old man at a Justin Timberlake concert (25 year-old man enough to say he was good live), or that I referenced the Lord of the Rings to start this entry. No, more importantly was that I was able to engage in one of my favorite, yet most painful pastimes during the concert. That’s right – White People Dancing.
WPD is actually a syndrome which affects approximately 67% of the Caucasian population, with approximately 88% of those affected being of the female persuasion with a typical age range of 12-30. Its onset is usually hidden until puberty, but its symptoms may be detected earlier depending on the carrier’s exposure to certain kinds of music. For instance, last night even before JT took the stage I viewed what, at least to that point in my life, was the best example of WPD I had ever seen. It is common practice for a random play-list of various popular songs to entertain a crowd in between acts at concerts. Last night was no different.
A few thumps of a base drum and a bad riff on a synthesizer worked the mostly Caucasian crowd into a frenzy. Meaningful lyrics such as what follows helped to introduce me to what would become my appetizer to a stunning main course of WPD:
Meet me in the trap its goin down
Meet me in the mall its goin down
Meet me in the club its goin downA
ny where ya meet me guaranteed to go down
This caused a scene the MTV TRL people would have died to see. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RivhqwOo61Q Pay particular attention to the time between 1:37 and 1:45 of the video which is the move where Young Joc is able to simulate riding a funky motorcycle to either side. This is what approximately 12,000 people did simultaneously for 4 minutes, causing me a near fatal seizure. Some gyrated more violently than others, but the age range was perfect for WPD researchers. In fact, a group of 12-15 year olds in front of my executed this move so brilliantly, I myself was almost drawn into meeting in the trap.
Then, it was time. Time for JT. Time for a former boy-bander to … if you answered, “Do a shot of tequila,” you are right on target. I, for one, was caught of guard by this. So was everybody else. The youngsters were clueless, the teenagers in awe, the twenty-somethings shocked, and the parents appalled. It was his version of Britney Spears’ “I’m not that innocent,” line. He grew up, wore some tight clothes, and took a man’s shot. And in case there were any questions left about Justin’s boy-band beginnings, he left any ambiguity in the dust with the simulated mounting of a female dancer. From behind. This caused at least 7 people’s heads to completely leave there bodies.
But entertaining as he was, JT could not compete with what was the surf and turf of WPD. From the outset, my view of the stage was impeded by a green shirt (tied in the back), big hair, and what turned out to be the worst dancing performance since, well take your pick: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpbXl5Sp-Wc&mode=related&search=.
Fast beat or slow, the dance was the same. One hand in the air, pointer finger extended for the “number 1” celebration, other arm flailing haphazardly to the side with unfailing wrist action and inadvertent neighbor slap, head (by way of the neck) moving side to side and finally, hip rolling. Constant hip rolling. Hip rolling that would make Shakira pass out. It is important to note that a good variation on the “number 1” sign is the wagging of the “1” finger. It is precious. And it was everywhere. I chose to concentrate on the quartet in front of me, mostly because they were blocking my view of the good dancing happening on the stage, but it was the same in every section of the entire arena: flailing arms and junior cases of whiplash coupled with off beat hip rolling.
A typical side affect of WPD is what is called Yell Singing, or YS. Yell Singing often accompanies bad dancing and usually drowns out the voice of the person performing. Again we are looking at the 12-30 year-old age group, but some exceptions are made when alcohol is involved. And again, I did not have to go far to witness YS. Part of the quartet in front of me was a diminutive girl who apparently knew she lacked rhythm (and left the dancing to the green shirt girl) but thought she had a big league voice. She did, if you enjoy listening to a violinist warm up into a boom microphone attached to your earmuff headphones. It completely drowned out at least 2 songs and made drastic alterations to many others.
As quickly as it had started, the dancing subsided. The culprit? A beat-less song. Something seemingly impossible to dance to. The YS remained, terrible monotone notes banging my eardrums at alarmingly high decibel levels, but the dancing, for the moment was gone. For the first time since he came on stage, I saw JT. And then it happened. The tied green shirt girl rose from the musical ashes of a slow song, resurrecting WPD in one terrifying moment. Clutching her hair with both hands, arms bent to diamond shape in the attempt to be sexy pose, she came out of her chair – hips rolling to a beat that never was. Her hands slid down her face as her hair fell back towards the gravitational pull of her shoulders. The hands continued toward her waist, at one point stopping to make it look as if she were making out with someone, doing the hug-yourself thing with hips rolling all the while. They continued farther south, eventually reaching her knees when … she tootsie rolled. I saw it. I don’t need anyone else to believe me, but the girl sitting in front of me with the tied green shirt, crazy hair and sickening inability to catch a beat, tootsie rolled. The hands started on the knees, bringing left and right knee together. Just as the insides glanced off each other, jean leg on jean leg, her hands came off, arms bent at the elbows into “v’s”, followed by the knees bowing out again away from each other. Somehow, she managed to keep her hips rolling during this time. Lather, rinse, repeat. She did it again. I saw it again. Keep in mind, there was no beat at this point. In fact, as far as she knew there was no music. I don’t remember anything else from this point of the concert on. I came to about halfway to the car and, although a little groggy, pretty sure of what I had seen. I confirmed this with my girlfriend as we drove home. I have no visual evidence, but I am pretty sure it looked like this:
This caused a scene the MTV TRL people would have died to see. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RivhqwOo61Q Pay particular attention to the time between 1:37 and 1:45 of the video which is the move where Young Joc is able to simulate riding a funky motorcycle to either side. This is what approximately 12,000 people did simultaneously for 4 minutes, causing me a near fatal seizure. Some gyrated more violently than others, but the age range was perfect for WPD researchers. In fact, a group of 12-15 year olds in front of my executed this move so brilliantly, I myself was almost drawn into meeting in the trap.
Then, it was time. Time for JT. Time for a former boy-bander to … if you answered, “Do a shot of tequila,” you are right on target. I, for one, was caught of guard by this. So was everybody else. The youngsters were clueless, the teenagers in awe, the twenty-somethings shocked, and the parents appalled. It was his version of Britney Spears’ “I’m not that innocent,” line. He grew up, wore some tight clothes, and took a man’s shot. And in case there were any questions left about Justin’s boy-band beginnings, he left any ambiguity in the dust with the simulated mounting of a female dancer. From behind. This caused at least 7 people’s heads to completely leave there bodies.
But entertaining as he was, JT could not compete with what was the surf and turf of WPD. From the outset, my view of the stage was impeded by a green shirt (tied in the back), big hair, and what turned out to be the worst dancing performance since, well take your pick: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpbXl5Sp-Wc&mode=related&search=.
Fast beat or slow, the dance was the same. One hand in the air, pointer finger extended for the “number 1” celebration, other arm flailing haphazardly to the side with unfailing wrist action and inadvertent neighbor slap, head (by way of the neck) moving side to side and finally, hip rolling. Constant hip rolling. Hip rolling that would make Shakira pass out. It is important to note that a good variation on the “number 1” sign is the wagging of the “1” finger. It is precious. And it was everywhere. I chose to concentrate on the quartet in front of me, mostly because they were blocking my view of the good dancing happening on the stage, but it was the same in every section of the entire arena: flailing arms and junior cases of whiplash coupled with off beat hip rolling.
A typical side affect of WPD is what is called Yell Singing, or YS. Yell Singing often accompanies bad dancing and usually drowns out the voice of the person performing. Again we are looking at the 12-30 year-old age group, but some exceptions are made when alcohol is involved. And again, I did not have to go far to witness YS. Part of the quartet in front of me was a diminutive girl who apparently knew she lacked rhythm (and left the dancing to the green shirt girl) but thought she had a big league voice. She did, if you enjoy listening to a violinist warm up into a boom microphone attached to your earmuff headphones. It completely drowned out at least 2 songs and made drastic alterations to many others.
As quickly as it had started, the dancing subsided. The culprit? A beat-less song. Something seemingly impossible to dance to. The YS remained, terrible monotone notes banging my eardrums at alarmingly high decibel levels, but the dancing, for the moment was gone. For the first time since he came on stage, I saw JT. And then it happened. The tied green shirt girl rose from the musical ashes of a slow song, resurrecting WPD in one terrifying moment. Clutching her hair with both hands, arms bent to diamond shape in the attempt to be sexy pose, she came out of her chair – hips rolling to a beat that never was. Her hands slid down her face as her hair fell back towards the gravitational pull of her shoulders. The hands continued toward her waist, at one point stopping to make it look as if she were making out with someone, doing the hug-yourself thing with hips rolling all the while. They continued farther south, eventually reaching her knees when … she tootsie rolled. I saw it. I don’t need anyone else to believe me, but the girl sitting in front of me with the tied green shirt, crazy hair and sickening inability to catch a beat, tootsie rolled. The hands started on the knees, bringing left and right knee together. Just as the insides glanced off each other, jean leg on jean leg, her hands came off, arms bent at the elbows into “v’s”, followed by the knees bowing out again away from each other. Somehow, she managed to keep her hips rolling during this time. Lather, rinse, repeat. She did it again. I saw it again. Keep in mind, there was no beat at this point. In fact, as far as she knew there was no music. I don’t remember anything else from this point of the concert on. I came to about halfway to the car and, although a little groggy, pretty sure of what I had seen. I confirmed this with my girlfriend as we drove home. I have no visual evidence, but I am pretty sure it looked like this:
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