The Stomp by Larry
The true history of The Stomp has never been written, until now.
We have TCN 9’s Bandstand to thank for the banal easy to digest interpretation of this short-lived, violent and wholly male 1960’s Hypno-Trance Industrial Thrash Dance. Bandstand, perennially fronted by that obsequious little newsreader, would have us believe that the mediocre melodies of Col Joye and his Joyboys were able to provide the maximum guttural percussion and wolf-like vocals necessary to create the right conditions for this dance.
Sarah Knight of the ABC interviewed a couple of members of ‘ The Yeoman ‘ in 2005, and they were happy to provide her with what they though was a faithful demonstration of The Stomp (pictured here, and looking like complete idiots)
The Stomp was born out of the surfing era because in the sand the rock and roll and jive was pretty tricky. (Quote: Sarah Knight)
Now here was a professional woman, no doubt fully equipped with all the Arts degrees necessary to score a well paid lifetime job with the national broadcaster, giving out with this low level brain-dead hearsay tabloid bullshit about something she new nothing about, and no little thanks to the advice from the ‘ Yeomen ‘, whoever the flaming fuck they used to be.
The Stomp was never a dance; it was a stamping grinding deafening assault on the integrity of whatever building was, unwisely, hosting the event.
The Collaroy Surf Club had the best stomp floor in Sydney; being a second floor venue, and having been built in the shady days of the old Warringah Municipal Council, the one that was sacked for indulging in a little too much capitalistic opportunism and a little too little in overseeing the local building codes.
The floor of the timber Collaroy SLSC responded with an elastic complicity at those happy times when the 200 young men crowded into that darkened cavern managed to get The Stomp right – in other words, when every stamp by every foot was done at the same time, a thousand times, and a thousand times again. It didn’t even matter if the band was on a break, or had packed up and gone home, the Stomp was on. Music was purely incidental, girls were unable to make a contribution and fights boiled out everywhere, and above it all was the sound of this massive tribal and rhythmic foot percussion.
Dozens of youths milled outside the venue drinking beer and abusing anyone in authority and the local Police were always very busy somewhere else.
Nobody inside ever wanted to come out, and everybody outside wanted to get in, and everything got broken.
Those were the salad days.