For a lass on the autistic spectrum, I’m not one for embracing the vague. For me the plan is everything. And yet… And yet the dancefloor and its many adventures change everything I tell myself I need to get by. There is something about a skinful of love and possibilities of a night out out that banishes my timetabled addictions. Something about the nightclub with its focus on one sound, one sensory overload that makes my soul sing. Something about losing my overthinking default as the bassline kicks the fear and my Aspie wiring into touch. Something about the freedom of those four-to-the-floor accompanied adventures. Adventures reflected perfectly by The Street’s Weak Becomes Heroes and the goosebump generating Love Bug Remix by Ashley Beedle.
Like the clubbing scene in Spaced (you know, the one where the four to the floor breakdown becomes a talk amongst yourself tea break) Weak Become Heroes with its tales of cornfields swaying lazily, kids on wiz, darlings on Charlie, and dizzy new heights blinded by the lights encapsulates everything I’ve loved about the random joys of clubbing over the past three decades. Of disco dears and house heroes, flirting in dark corners, and random 6am chats, new friends and old lovers, Sami’s timeless “dance through it advice” and our made-up disco family that really do make you. All heroes I met along the way.
It’s a tune that has soundtracked way too many “we could be anywhere in the world” conversations and the occasional it’s not working confession (she said hands raised to the sky, head taken to stars above). It’s a tune that talks me back, way back, to motorway services and cards in phone boxes, muddy fields and speaker stacks, sleepless festivals and cheap cider thrills, shaved heads and outsized garms, Shoom and Cynthia Paine (don’t ask), those Brighton beach love-ins as we emerged freshly Zapped without a moment of Shame and that life-defining moment on the dancefloor when I fell for a cute conguero, Shameless Hussie that I was.
Weak Become Heroes is a tale of my (night)life, life still embracing the occasional 5am random moments of should know better bliss as strangers become dance partners forever and the social becomes all about the love, not the likes. Thirty-three years may have gone by but, to paraphrase a certain Mr Skinner, as long as that same piano loops over and over and over, I’ll keep dancing. Dancing my way through it too, on my way to many more random loved-up disco adventures. All smiles, all easy, all right.
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