It’s Friday night in a church gymnasium in Cordova, and about 25 dancers, each partnered off, are all moving in sync.
As folksy rhythms fill the space, Russell Johnson, wearing a hands-free microphone, instructs them to “balance the ring.” It prompts pods of four to grab hands in a circle, take a step towards each other and back out.
This is contra dancing, a group-oriented social dance performed in long lines to live folk music. Interchanging partners take their cues from a “caller.” Similar to square dancing, it’s Johnson’s job as the caller to announce the next move or pattern, guiding the group through the choreography.
He assures newcomers in a quick lesson before the real dancing gets underway that “there’s no fancy footwork.”
“They’re walking steps,” he says. “Everything is done to a count of eight beats in the music. And you got to know your left from your right, and that’s about all you got to know.”
It’s that simple, agrees Pamela Sylvestre, a physician who temporarily moved away from Memphis but travels back for the group’s monthly meetup.
“Everyone messes up [sometimes], and we just kind of catch up on pace,” she says.
While contra dancing’s roots are centuries-old, it’s been organized in Memphis for about three decades. The group has shifted venues over years, typically relying on churches to host them, although there’s no religious affiliation. At one point, the collective held dances multiple times a month.
Only recently did they start again after a pandemic hiatus, but crowds are still on the lighter side.
Contra and square dancing share some moves, such as the do-si-do, but Sylvestre says contra has different tunes and more elegant routines.
“It reminds me of the kind of dancing that you see when you watch those Jane Austen movies where you’ve got people lined up with partners," she says. "They’re dancing in a line or across the line.”
While sequences are done in pairs, it’s not necessary to bring a plus-one. The steps are designed so people consistently switch companions as they progress up or down the line in moves like “new neighbors.”
“Since you’re dancing with everyone in the room, you just have this energy flowing through each other,” says Jason Sullivan, a 30-something who helps organize the group.
He’s been participating since he was a teenager. Contra attracts folks of all ages, he says and despite some of the traditional calls using gender terms such as “ladies” and “gents,” he wants all to feel welcome.
“As far as, are we happy with people dancing whatever role? Oh you bet,” he says.
Ron McDonald and Susan Penn, both in their 70s, are contra enthusiasts dating back to 1999. They often travel to other cities to check out different local contra communities.
Penn says the dance floor is a good place to restore some of those human connections that may have suffered the last few years, free from divisions like political affiliation.
“You have to give and take, and you have to learn how to relate to people this close up that you don’t know,” she says.
McDonald adds there’s always room for newbies.
“There are no wrong moves in contra—just creative ones,” he says.
That also means no one starts on the wrong foot.
