Lotus in the Mud: How Dark Fusion Dance Transforms Us
I grew up a child of the 80s and 90s, so lived through the era of peak Satanic Panic, D.A.R.E, and Parental Advisory warnings. If the media (and sometimes our parents) were to be believed, being a kid meant running a neverending gauntlet of neighborhood drug dealers, unmarked vans advertising free candy, and befouling our ears and brains with gangster rap or, god forbid, heavy metal or grunge music.
Shockingly, I escaped those decades un-kidnapped, drug free, and only partially warped by the music I consumed. I managed to thwart Tipper Gore by bootlegging Metallica and Nirvana cassettes and hiding them in Amy Grant or Debbie Gibson cases, and I reveled in the few moments of independence and catharsis I had listening to dark, angry, and badass music alone in my headphones. Shockingly, instead of the depression and murderous rage the parental advisory committee guaranteed would overtake me, I felt relief and validation. It was okay to be sad, okay to be angry, and okay to to embrace the darkness as part of a journey of self-discovery and transformatoin. All of those big, scary, forbidden albums weren’t ruining me; they were helping me figure out who I was and how I felt about the world
Daewen performs "Snuff" at 2019's Tribal Revolution. This piece was an emotional story and release of a very tough time for her.
20 years later, I took my first step into a bellydance studio. I was freshly divorced after a disastrous first marriage and eager to make friends and try something new. The first classes I took were cabaret-style dance classes, and while I had so much adoration for my talented teacher and how she made middle eastern music come alive, I didn’t resonate with the flirtiness and hyperfemininity as a performer. (I think the only time I’ve ever worn sequins in public was as a bridesmaid, and as soon as the “I Dos” were exchanged I slipped a hoodie over that mess). For several years, I bounced around between group improv, flamenco, and hip-hop fusion dance classes, never quite finding my niche or the vibe that I was home. During the height of the pandemic I had the opportunity to attend a dark fusion online show and the Klaxon bells of “THIS IS IT!!” started ringing in my head. These performers, while just as talented and captivating as my previous teachers and dance friends, were also not afraid to face tough subjects. Ugly things like trauma, anger, betrayal, disease, and death were just as prominent in the show as bravery, joy, and beauty. With each of those performances, the audience chat praise would light up: “I’m crying so hard rn!” “This is INCREDIBLE!” “You’re making me feel all the feels!” And just like those secret contraband tapes from the 90s, the effect of taking in dark fusion wasn’t a matter of passing on negative emotions to others; it was working with–and ultimately through–those tough things to come out on the other side healed and grateful.
As a current practitioner and teacher of dark fusion, I can say with certainty that giving myself a creative outlet that embraces the darkness of life along with the “good” parts has made me a more confident and balanced dancer. Thanks to finding the dark fusion community, I dance for the purposes of challenging myself and doing better, sure. But I also dance to feel feelings I might otherwise not express. I dance to honor the parts of me that are messy and not always ready for prime time. I dance to face my fears and trauma head on and to release them when the song is over.
Dark fusion dance, just like the forbidden music of the 90s, and even the terrifyingly Satanic and dangerous D&D of the 80s doesn’t overwhelm us with darkness; it allows us to confront the darkness and come out the other side with our lights shining.
Are you ready to take a deep dive into the world of dark fusion? Our Stygian Collective membership welcomes you into an amazing crew of dark fusion performers and enthusiasts, a place where you truly belong and can be supported by fellow weirdos.
