Let me present a clip or three of the unconventional thoughts therein. Here’s one about teaching dancesport:

“The strange thing about the dancing world is that it is the only world I know where the customer is always wrong … Don’t do this, don’t do that, you’ve to do this, you’ve have to do that… the customer is always wrong. Because when the customer is right, you have nothing else to say, your business is finished.”

Relating that to an earlier quote in the same video, I get the impression that Burns is stressing something that many trainers (the lecture was meant for them), in their alacrity to achieve perfection in their couples, often forget:

The mind of the athlete. The need to nurture it.

Perhaps I am leaping to a conclusion here, but anecdotal evidence from a number of dancers I have spoken to about this suggests that the mental makeup of the trainee is not something most trainers see as a priority. Some time ago, on the eve of a big competition, I happen to speak to a professional couple who had just finished their final lessons. What the lady had to say illustrates my point:

“We had a rubbish day today. Our teachers were not happy. They say we are not dancing like champions.”

Some food for thought there for dancers and trainers alike, I think. If there is no positive frame of mind, there is no athlete.

Burns speaks more about the relationship between the trainer and the dancers – rather, the contribution of the trainer to the competitive success of a couple:

“No teacher is capable of telling the dancer enough information to win. I think that most people who win, it is 10, 20, maybe 40, maybe even 50 or 60 per cent is what they hear from the teacher in a lesson. And the rest is their own input. I don’t think teachers make champions, actually.”

What a teacher can do, Burns says, is contribute, help the couple along:

“I think some [teachers] are good at guiding people through the water, to avoid the rocks … I think most of the creativity is within that person. And the best I offer anybody is their own style.”

Towards the end, he returns to the power-of-the-mind theme, with a burst about imagery:

“I think the most important thing for a dancer and the couple is to visualise … have a fantasy about how they are going to dance that competition – all five dances. Now that is not something you teach really.”

Let me leave you with that. If you would like to pick up the commentary, the comment box is yours – enjoy.

THIS BIT IS OBVIOUS: the quality of communication depends to a large extent on the ability of the communicators involved. Essentially, on their clarity of thought, information processing and analytical capabilities, strength of articulation, listening skills, respect for communication cues such as turn-taking, etc. We all know people who are a ‘pleasure to talk to’ and people we struggle to hold a half-decent conversation with – also, those we think of as ‘difficult’, ‘argumentative’, ‘confrontational’.

Whether ‘good’ or ‘bad’ communication takes place depends to a large extent, thus, on the participants. And their awareness of their own strengths and weaknesses as communicators, their self-reflexiveness about their verbal and non-verbal contributions, is a fundamental step in facilitating better interaction.

The relation is also kind of cyclical: productive communication produces a supportive climate where meaningful and problem-orientated exchanges can take place, and sets the stage for more of the same. Ditto, negative communication. It encourages a defensive climate, leading to more of counterproductive communication and conflict.

Tips for the athlete? Five actionable points stand out.

One, try to be more aware of your ‘communicative self’.  Analyse own weaknesses, strengths. Ask others. And ask your partner. When does s/he ‘get’ you? When not? A self-awareness of this sort will serve as a ‘mind the gap’ in difficult situations.

Two, think before you speak. What you are about to say, is that significant enough to communicate? Is it actionable? That is, will it serve a positive purpose? Remember, you do not have to voice every thought, every feeling you have on the floor. ‘Information overload’ is tough on your partner, so pick and choose sensibly. You don’t want to be the boy/girl who cried ‘wolf’. You want to be listened to seriously every time you speak.

Three, think how you will speak. What we need to remind ourselves here is that communication occurs at the ‘content’ (the factual information, the ‘what’ of the message) and ‘relationship’ (the emotional info, the ‘how’ of the message) levels. The latter links to the delivery of the former; it is the dressing, the presentation, and can distract from – and corrupt – the real substance of the message. So right, that feather step was terrible. But perhaps you can get that point across without quite saying, “You are rushing me through, you dunderhead! You are not giving me time to lower.” Conventional wisdom advocates us to avoid the finger-pointing ‘you’ in such situations (I would modify that and say, reserve the ‘you statements’ for special occasions, but even there take the bite out of it with a smile, a softer tone). Bring in the ‘I’, instead. Rather than assign blame for what went wrong, describe the problem. Say what you felt, what could be done differently. “I feel quite rushed there and need more time to lower” is a lot less damaging than the first version.

Four, reserve definitive statements for definitive occasions (this is in a way an amplification of the point above, mind). The danger here is that cut-and-dry statements often ascribe blame and come across as quite aggressive. “That didn’t work because you were in the wrong position” constrains productive communication. For one, it is most likely to put your partner on the defensive, which is never a good start. Also, you may be setting yourself up for a knock down. There is a good chance your analysis is only partially correct, or even incorrect; there could easily be factors you have overlooked (perhaps your partner was in the wrong position because you had overturned – whatever). So hold your horses, repeat the figure a few times before you arrive at a conclusion. And even then, leave yourself elbow room – else, if challenged, you risk loss of face (and the consequential negative emotional responses, which could end with a ‘lash out’ to regain ‘face’).

Five, listen. Honestly listen. To be a good communicator, you need to be a good listener. Theorists call it active listening, which they differentiate from superficial (where you tune out as soon as you think you have enough information to decipher the speaker’s meaning) and arrogant listening (simply put, where you listen for pauses so you can say what you want to say). Active listening is about dedicating your attention – as complete of it as possible – to the speaker, to the factual and emotional substance of the message. It goes beyond allowing the speaker to finish his/her say (which is always a good start, mind). It is about proactively setting up what I would call a listening ground, creating a communicative space for your partner to fill (verbal silence could be a good tool; there can only be so much space for ‘talk’ on the floor, so if you keep a steady stream of statements, you would have little to listen to), aiding the transmission of the message (‘minimal encouragers’ such as ‘Mmm’, ‘Okay’, nods, eye contact), questioning to clarify (“So you would like me to angle it a bit more?”), and verbal (‘Let’s try that then’) or non-verbal responses (dancing out the change your partner requested, for instance) that will make the listener feel listened to. Not an easy skill, but it could save your partnership a lot of trouble.

Continuing reading this article: Why we should mind the non-verbals

Read part 1 of this article

For the project ‘Communication in Dancesport’, we are looking to interview/share ideas with dancesport athletes, trainers and enthusiasts. If you would like to be involved, please leave a note. More contact details here.

Image: kind courtesy www.paulabecker.com

ONE OF THE burning regrets in my life is that I do not speak fluent Venusian. The nuances of the language have eluded me despite my best efforts, and I am slowly beginning to accept that I will never fully comprehend it.

I have also realised the average Venusian has little knowledge of the language of Mars – for the length of this intro, let’s take John Gray’s sweeping generalisation founded on the gender differences hypothesis without the mandatory sack of salt – and absorbs a lot less of her partner’s communication than is ideal.

Which can be a recipe for disaster in competitive ballroom.

The extreme interdependency in dancesport – after marriage, it is the highest form of contact sport, I believe – produces a different kind of team dynamics, requiring a more sensitive and demanding communicative chemistry. My own research into this – mostly by way of proactive eavesdropping on the practice floor – stresses the need for better verbal and non-verbal interaction, particularly during the extended practice sessions most competitive couples tend to put in. Just count the number of times you have seen malevolent stares and rolling eyes on the floor this week, and heard “You are dragging me!”, “What are you trying to do?” and “You are too high!”, and you begin to get the picture.

Fortunately, ‘good’ partnerships manage to work through this somehow. The high levels of intrinsic motivation – the degree to which a participant’s engagement in the sport is driven by his/her inherent interest in it – and task orientation – the pleasure s/he derives from acquiring the ability to perform the activity in question effectively – that most successful athletes seem to have arguably help them tide over it, and partners evolve their own ways of negotiating the situation.

That is great. But counterproductive athlete-athlete communication – and I use it as an umbrella term to include non- and mis-communication as well – is still limiting. At best, it is a frustrating irritant; at worst, a major drag on the performance resources of the partnership.

Again, as many scholars would agree, so long as there is continuing communication, there is bound to be miscommunication; perfect communication is as much a rarity as the perfect dance (and that, as we know, happens only on Strictly). Still, there is plenty dancers can do to bridge the communication gap and encourage better performance.

Which brings us to this column. The idea is to present some broad thoughts that competitive dancers might find useful. This comes very early in a research project that sports psychologist Amanda Wilding and I are engaged in at the Bournemouth University, into a need gap we have identified – surprising how little academic attention dancesport has received despite its popularity – and is in no way exhaustive, but, hopefully, it is a beginning, some food for thought…

Recognise the centrality of communication

Communication is the glue that holds together a partnership (for that matter, any group, big or small), yet it is not something we consciously focus on or work at improving. An excellent piece of indicative evidence is the space most sports texts fail to dedicate to this crucial aspect. By and large, sports psychologists and coaches write about concepts supported by communication (motivation, goal-setting, leadership, teambuilding, that sort of thing), relegating communication itself to the backyard, a small section tucked away somewhere deep inside.

In the practical sphere, elite athletes seem to comprehend the significance of communication. But this comprehension, I get the feeling, is rather peripheral, leading to not much concrete action on it. Most dancers reflect on the positives and negatives of a training session, but how many actually analyse his/her communication and think, “Shucks, I shouldn’t have put it that way when I fed back on that running weave. Next time I will phrase it differently!”

A more awakened recognition of the centrality of communication is needed if dancers are to proactively work on improving it. Think of communication the same way you think of maintaining a strong ‘centre’ while dancing. Imagine letting your core muscles go as you begin your routine. Will you survive? Not. Soon everything collapses – your frame, your posture, your connection, your footwork. Communication serves the same central purpose in a partnership, and needs to be recognised – and worked on – as much.

Expect to misunderstand – and be misunderstood

Also known as ‘Be prepared to clarify – and listen to clarification’. Osmo Wiio, a Finnish communications scholar, has an interesting take on this, which can be summarised thus: if communication can fail, it will. Now that may be an overtly pessimistic view – Wiio has come up with the equivalent of Murphy’s law for communications, a set of seven-plus statements, every single one as discouraging as its fellows (read a commentary on it here) – but it is telling on the issues we face in our interpersonal interactions.

Fact is, communication is never simple. The thought we ‘encode’ (formulate our message into words) and ‘transmit’ (speak or write or telephone or email that message) to the listener is rarely received and ‘decoded’ (reconstructed into a message from the words received) the way we meant it to be.

There is too much ‘noise’ – anything that distracts, interferes – going on as we encode, as we transmit, as we decode (articulation or language issues, bias and preconceptions, personality, attention span, whether your boss yelled at you that day; besides of course ‘external’ interferences such as someone calling for your attention, your partner’s verbal or non-verbal cues, bad ‘turn-taking’, loud music, etc, etc), too many variables to wrestle with. Proof? Just think of the times you hear “No, that’s not what I meant!” or “You are twisting my words!” as you go about your business.

So, in essence, expect to be misunderstood – and be prepared to remedy that misunderstanding, to rearticulate your message in a different way. Equally important, expect to misunderstand. Be aware of the danger, and – this is crucial – cultivate the patience to hear the partner out when s/he says the magic words (or the equivalent thereof), “Let me clarify that…” Take it at face value, then reanalyse, modify your own earlier response. Not much purpose will be served if you stick to your guns and go, “No, that’s not what you just said!”

Continue reading this article: Message from Mars 2

Image: Kind courtesy clipart.com

I guess it is a combination of factors: the sheer expansiveness of the floor set in durbar hall-like surroundings, leading up to a glorious podium (appropriated for the evening and most of the next day by a wise-cracking gentleman in formal wear); the elegant, slightly-arching galleries on both sides (packed with video-graphing parents excited like schoolchildren) reaching some three-quarters to the high, chandeliered ceiling; and, more than anything else, the realisation this is the ‘best’ ballroom in the world (at least that’s what most performers tell the audience between dances, while their partners hastily jump into yet another magnificent gown).

But like with all things, the effect begins to wear off. This year it didn’t look that grand. Don’t get me wrong; it still is magnificent. But it didn’t send me into the gape-mouthed, parch-throated, oh-my-god-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here state like before.

More than anything else, what makes the long drive to Blackpool for the ISTD Grand Finals worth is the cabaret the evening before. You get to see one of the top couples in the world dance.
My personal favourites are last year’s performers, the World Professional Latin No 3, if I remember right, European, though for the life of me I can’t recall their names. They were big, physically, and appeared even bigger when they danced. They made the floor look small.

In contrast, this year’s Italian couple Domenico Soale and Gioia Cerasoli are diminutive, though that didn’t stop them from dominating the floor. I guess they didn’t make the World Professional Ballroom finals on their first try, or claim the World Amateur Ballroom Championships for three or four years running, by being coy.

Their best offer, for me, was the Tango. Suddenly ‘clarity of steps’, ‘sharpness’, ‘use your head’, etc – stuff all trainers yell at you all the time — began to make sense. Also, an earlier comment from the Pale English Woman, a former British Open Professional Ballroom champion: “Dancing is not about moving alone, it is about stopping too.”

I do have a complaint against Soale and Cerasoli, though. They cheated; they didn’t do the Viennese Waltz. Next time I see them, I will ask for my money back.
Announcement in the midst of the ‘solos’ competition:

“Instructors, some of you are dancing your students off-time. Could you keep on time, please?”
Speaking of instructors, I have a bone to pick with a few.

You are the professionals, right? The ones who lead, the ones who have better floor-craft than us struggling men competitors? So how about ensuring you don’t cut across with your pretty girl and ‘blank out’ some poor devil? How about ensuring you don’t run on to the floor at the last minute into someone’s preparatory step?

Leave the panicking to people like me. We are good at it.

Ever heard of the ‘organ man’ of Blackpool? He is the one the organisers send in when they want to clear the floor.

He normally makes his appearance just before the cabaret. At that point, the floor is crowded like a carnival ground. So the organ man pops in, calmly turns his back to the audience (his backside isn’t particularly pretty, so wonder why he does that), and begins to play – and, hey presto, the floor clears.

It worked wonderfully well this year too.

Striptease is something you don’t quite expect to see in the middle of a ballroom. But it does happen every year in Blackpool, believe me.

Blame it on the sequence dance competition. The way it works is, you have two Standard dances, something wonderfully elegant but funnily-named such as Glenroy Foxtrot or Tango El Cid or Bournemouth Three-Step, plus a Latin: Jubilee Jive or Paso Espano or Samba Simon (okay, I made up one or two of those names).

Since they go immediately into the Latin, the women dance with their Latin gear under their Standard gowns. And as soon as the first two dances finish, they hurriedly step out of their gowns, kick them to one side, and run back to the formation, baring fake-tanned legs and more.

Personally I am a fan of good legs. But the inelegance of this particular revelation is a matter of serious concern. I mean, one minute they are simply magnificent, prancing around wonderously proud, so charming in their stiff, old-fashioned grace; the next they are stripping and kicking their clothes around! Ouch.
Of legs etc, another comment, this one by a male competitor to a friend, when she revealed herself in a Latin dress that would have given the Basic Instinct people something to think of:

“Go away! I need to go on the floor shortly – and I am wearing a very tight costume.”

The friend looked pleased. She went on to win the Rumba.

I can’t wait to turn 35. I think I would love it in the Over-35 category.

It is bloody unfair that everyone between 16 and 35 are pitted against each other. That’s teenagers competing against people who — if a wee bit precocious in a certain department — are old enough to be their parents! Honestly, I think we need another category: the 16-26.

On second thoughts, I can cope with the teenagers. What I can’t is the sheer number of times I have to cope with them before I get somewhere.

Whereas in the Over-35 you normally have a straight semi (thank god when you get older, you prefer the fireplace and a warm blanket) and a final, the Under-35 end up with more rounds.

So you dance, and you wait. For the recall. You dance again, and wait. And again. Till the finals –- or the time they don’t call your number.

I guess competing is not about dancing alone. It’s about consistency, and nerves. Can you get it right all the time? How well do you cope with the agony of waiting? And how well do you keep it all under control on the floor?
Now for the last word, on a topic that might interest all Blackpool visitors.

Check out the Westdean Hotel, 59 Dean Street, FY4 1JB (00 44 1253 342904). The rooms are cosy and clean and cheap (£20 for single, with breakfast), it’s only £5-something by taxi to the Tower, and, better still, you don’t have to put up with the snotty attitude that some places on the promenade specialise in.

Give it a go, folks. The people here are real nice.

“You want me to switch from right-to-left and left-to-right and god-knows-what-else every two seconds!” said a frustrated bloke to Ms Hitler, his trainer. “Could’ve coped with two hands, but between my partner and me, we have four hands, do you realise?” 

“That’s correct,” said Ms Hitler. “Four hands and one brain – hers.”

The said bloke wasn’t me. Honest.