Masterbag magazine, late 1982
by Mick Mercer

From, Barnsley they came, in their rag-tailed masses, dubious wonders to perform. All manner of extravagant 'performances' around the land leaving shocked imbecilic expressions on people's faces, and the adventure currently culminating in a quick two week covenant in swarthy London to produce an object called 'Seduction'. This is their Waterloo.

It's been a long time since their initial get-together, when they lived in isolation and no means to make raiding soirees on neighbouring territories. From Y? to Dance Crazy, to an amalgamation with Lips-X into deadly Danse Society. It's taken a few years and we needn't bother with all that, 'tis hardly important.

On their own they released a single called 'Clock', on Society Records. Seek hard and you might still find it. Then Pax Records said a cheery, "come on boys and sample the delights that I have to offer", and they fell for it.

A shining twelve inch amulet known as "No Shame In Death" was forged and followed by the storming 'Woman's Own', both stern but welcoming delights. The names got around town, and the Danse Society increased.

Steve Rawlings, a man who sings, and Paul Gilmartin, a man who hits things are just preparing themselves for the day ahead when I swoop upon Lambeth and start asking boring questions.

Only days before an NME reporter had held court. Steve, to this day, remains puzzled by his questioning. "He said did we think there should be more African music around? We don't know about African music. What do you think?"

No idea.

"Then he said, 'Have you ever thought of starting a youth movement that will challenge the government?'"

"No, we haven't," adds Paul with a bewildered shake of the head.

A few days after the interview, the Dansers would be in Holland on part of the promotion for the brilliant 'Seduction'. When asked how they felt they would go down, Steve replied, 'Haven't got a fucking clue", but Paul thinks it should be okay as they've had fanmail from over there and some friends in Barnsley have met Dutch Dansers, as Steve now recalls.

"Yeah! Friends who have been on holiday in Spain met people who are Danse Society fans!"

More bemused expressions.

In fact with all the enraptured receptions coming their way, the only blot on their horizons is the current attitude of the dole office. Even though they've yet to make any money, their status is shaky. If what Steve says is true however, the people obviously don't care.

"When we go in the dole it's, "Oh look, here's Steve Rawlings of Danse Society'!"

"One time," adds Paul, "a bird I knew behind the desk shouted, 'hello, what are you doing back, I thought you'd gone to Japan?""

Do they envisage being booted off?

"Hope not until October," groans Steve, "cos I'm having my teeth done and it's gonna cost £60 if I'm not on the dole."

The Dansers have a pessimistic view of London now that they've experienced it a bit more, realising that it's a flash biz world with little more than surface gloss.

"No ninepence bus rides here," whispers Steve.

So, they'll be rooted in Barnsley and make the trips down, whereas only a few weeks before they'd considered a move down proper. Barnsley it seems is also far from perfect with bad feeling extended towards them from other bands. Bands, it seems, that lack the worldwide lustings of D.S.

"They don't want to be in a band," explains Steve, "they just want to be ace faces in Barnsley, recognised in town. There's some resentment towards us 'cos we're not fucking bothered at all about Barnsley. We just wanna get away from it."

But where will we go?

Upward, ever upward.