White Men Dont.
As the good Dr J said, When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. And no life force was stronger than in Chelsea’s Cadogan Hall on Friday. Here played the Columbian super star Toto La Momposina. She may be 70 plus but with her band and backing singer/dancers she had them rocking in the aisles. They dress like Spaniards, move like West Indians, play like Aztecs and perform like Gods.
The audience of mainly Columbians were up and moving pretty quickly. The drums got faster so did the dancing in the seats and the aisles. Few remained seated as a sea of sensuality came into full tide.This was an audience who were going to be part of the show. Go with the flow. Toto led and they clapped in rhythm and provided the chorus. This white man doesn’t dance but Vivien was into it, flushed and excited as was her new best friend (in the next seat) May a Columbian who had lived in Britain 17 years and ran a flower shop in Wimbledon.
All around some very lively ladies were singing the song and dancing the dance. I was sitting at the end of the row and one long haired beauty was wiggling her hips in a way which meant sometimes her buttocks touched my face. Was this some kind of Indo-Caribbean come on? Would she be insulted if I did respond ,if I didn’t? What was the right response? To stand up and join in, to bite the closest cheek,to stroke,to kiss it? My ball room dancing lessons had never gone beyond the fox trot and the chachacha. Maybe there was no right answer. I sat paralysed with indecision and fantasy. Later my friends told me that a small nibble, taste it and see, was the right response.
The concert ended, the wiggling stopped, the Columbians fire crackers went back to their London boxes and once again the white man didn’t dance. The 22 bus took us back to Putney, Horlicks and safety.