Words by Christopher Kevin Au
Their reasons for this may be varied, but we’re betting that a lot of people believe that they are simply too uncoordinated, not swaggy enough or scared of looking downright lame. That’s where Groove Therapy jumps in – a dance class with the aim of proving that all people can be dancers, inviting them to weekly classes in Sydney where they can sweat and get silly in an open and friendly environment. Moreover, Groove Therapy holds classes for the elderly, refugees and other minority groups who can benefit from the universal language of dance, despite any language or social barriers.
We chatted to Groove Therapy’s own leading lady Vanessa Marian about the establishment of the company, how it’s offering something different to dance and the humanitarian aspects of her foot-tappin’ mission. Read what she had to say below and find out more about Groove Therapy’s classes right here:
Groove Therapy is my response to all those peeps who are like “I wish I could dance but I’m too unco/white/old/lame.” You haven’t missed the boat on mastering a few key moves that you can pull out on the d-floor. Very important life skill, guys. There’s a serious lack of dance culture in Australia. We drink until we’re shit-faced enough to obnoxiously fall onto each other’s mouths. It’s abrasive and only fun 20% of the time. Imagine you’re at a party and you can bust out a faaaa-reshhhhh running man, charleston, doo-wop or ATL stomp. Imagine if you knew enough dance to even understand that previous sentence.
So yeah, that’s why I started Groove Therapy. For the people who have always wanted to dance but have never had the guts to go to a ‘dance class.’ So we hold class in a warehouse space with no mirrors, dim lights and a loud sound system.
It was nothing particularly profound really, I just got bored. Our generation is so self-obsessed. It’s all about being famous on the Gram and I was sure there was more to life than that. So I started teaching dance to all the people we forget about – the old peeps in nursing homes, the Indigenous grommies out in the desert of Australia, young refugee girls and everyone in between. When I saw how stoked it made them, I just kept doing it. In the end, I learn more about life and how insignificant I am in the scheme of it all through them.
Only a dancer knows. When I teach beginners, I get reminded every single week of how it feels to have your mind-blown at how good a dance class feels. The impact? Where I do begin? You’ll have your regulars pull you aside and tell you insane stories, like how this weekly class has healed them from depression, a shitty ex or body issues. Then there’s also the lighter stuff, like a dude who ran into me at a party and told me that a mega babe asked for his number after class once – I’m the hip-hop cupid guys.
It makes you fit, too. Yes, you will burn the calories and all that stuff, but I just don’t really emphasise it. I’m scared it will make class sound like Zumba and suddenly I’m running a fitness franchise with no street-cred and I’m crying into my pillow every night.
This class is called Groove Rising and it was launched by Groove Therapy in collaboration with Auburn Diversity Services. It’s for boss women of multi-cultural backgrounds, some of whom are refugees. We focus on confidence skills, conversational English and generally helping these youths transition into Australian life.
This is part where everyone is like “OMG Vanessa, you’re such an amazing person” and so on. Please stop. Here’s why: They’re just people like us. Their favourite food ranges from kebabs to pizza. Their favourite artists range from Rihanna to Drake – wait, there’s no range there. Their favourite hobbies range from saving animals to annoying their older brothers. Can we all please stop being so scared of them because some of them wear Hijabs? And once we get over that part, can we stop feeling so sorry for them for wearing Hijabs? I feel like Australians are so new to it all that we’re either scared of refugees or we feel so sorry for them and get overly PC. I teach class and they’re just kids. They like to dab, whip and nay nay. They like Instagram, Snapchat and Facebook. They’re legends. I wish more people could see that.
It’s a weekly community where people can make friends, practice their English, have a go at performing to a tiny audience of peers, forget about a tough day they’ve had and build their confidence. They also each get a set of moves that they can take home and practice over the week in their rooms while singing into their hairbrush. Don’t act like you don’t do it.
ADSI runs this thing called the Western Sydney Youth Transition Program, which does pretty much what the title suggests. So when I insisted on teaching hip-hop they asked how this would benefit refugees in a real and practical way, and that’s how this confidence and conversational English hybrid class was born. It’s so fun though. It’s really just me teaching a dance class but I have an excuse this time as to why I need to talk so much.
AHA. Trick question. It’s D) Michael Jackson.
I don’t force the fence-sitters, but they always regret not trying it sooner once they come.
More classes, expansion in Melbourne and a global take-over. Also, FKA Twigs: if you’re reading this my schedule is free from June onwards, so let’s collab.