The Kids Had It All Along – A Reflection On ‘not for glory’

There’s probably few people that see bagpipes and go, ‘oooooo yey’ in the same way I do. But also, I was one of those kids who kinda fitted in in my own eccentric way, but grew up being the arty one in the 1990’s, and no matter what, I was always competing and gravitating towards dance, musicals, sport, jackass and whatever sport my mum sent me to to get some energy out of me.

Riverdance. The King and I. The Sound of Music and later, when MTV was invited into my house…well. I chose them the way children choose: purely, innocently, and with ambitions that I would become whatever that was when I was older. So when I got into London Contemporary Dance School for my degree in 2008, I couldn’t understand why that pure wanting to dance was a little frowned upon, as though I needed to contextualize, or find deeper meaning and be more serious, more future-facing. It was too commercial. And so we did MANY hours of floorwork, and Cunningham and improvisation instead, which was also nice, but I left wondering if there maybe was a way I could connect back to what I’d always really loved.

Turns out, I’m not the only one. Sitting in Cecil Sharp House for the London premier of not for glory, Jack Anderson’s final solo and monologue encompassed a lot of that, but this time, explained in the form of traditional Irish Dance. Together with Charlotte Mclean and Malin Lewis, they collectively grew up competing hard in Irish dance, Highland dance and bag piping. Many of us have been there – young hopefuls, with dance moms, acro dads, tennis uncles and musical aunties. Primed, posed and ready to compete in ambiguously smelling gyms, country fairs or dance halls, with questionably inappropriate outfits, and often extraordinary amounts of glitter. But whatever. We were 8 and we were absolutely going to destroy this room full strangers with our incredible skills.

Reading the directors’ notes reflecting on their youth; they found power in precision and discipline, then later questioned what those traditions had taught them about belonging and their own bodies. The show undoes the competition rules and holds the door open to something more inclusive. What struck me most was not the undoing – but actually something a bit more valuable – it seemed the ambitious child was back. After all this time.

The piece has a workshop-like, fringe quality — stretched, explanatory, still finding its shape. It feels like research in public rather than a finished product. It’s informal, and you arrive to the sound of ‘Queer Folk’, a two piece playing traditional music. It’s chilled and inviting, which is a great way to set the scene. Now, since my time at contemporary dance school, I knew that I was still one of ‘those’ kids, who tried to be part of the team but innately didn’t quite get it. And somehow, not for gloryidentifies something really strongly for me; no matter how you contemporise dance, create ‘new’ and snuff commercial, traditional, or trashy entertainment, there’s a child in you saying, ‘but why can’t it just be a bit more trashy / commercial / traditional / beautiful?’. ‘I like it’. ‘What’s the problem?’.  When the performers reconnect with the traditional material — Malin’s bagpiping that holds scenes with real force, the Irish dancing that revives Jack’s decades-old muscle memory, and Charlottes explanation of Highland steps — the room locks in. The pieces more abstract contemporary moments feel flatter by comparison; the traditional forms carry a grounded clarity and cultural pride that the newer language sometimes dilutes, and bizarrely, I’m seeing almost ‘traditional contemporary’ techniques here which maybe aren’t surviving the test of time.

Watching them return to the trad roots is where the work becomes most alive. What the piece understands, and what I needed to hear, is that childhood choices made out of pure desire are not naïve. They are foundational. There is an innocence in simply wanting to do the thing — to compete, to win, to belong to the music and the steps — that adulthood often tries to rationalise or discard. The show does not romanticise the competition culture, it uses it to frame the idea. But all the artists mention that when they were younger, they didn’t know that. Or care. Competing was worth it at the time. That joy was real. But like most kids made to wake up at unholy hours, travel, glitter up, and the parents who finally realised that financially there were probably just better things to spend money on, they let it go. And it’s only now, they’re looking back with a curiosity and thinking, actually, there’s some serious cultural identity there and also an inner child who would love to be told, ‘good job’.

not for glory is not a polished statement. Some sections lose me; others pull me back in with nostalgia, while I think of 8 year old me. I think the best thing – other than the bagpipes – is to value innocence, to reconnect with the heritage and the child who chose it. It is worth seeing. It’s fun, you may even get a bit of shortbread, or win the raffle. I am curious to watch how this conversation continues. I think it really has some interesting ideas, and humour. I think it inadvertently pokes at the school who commissioned it. I have a whole load of other views on how this compares to EU work and where this sits right now in the grasp for cultural understanding in the UK…but that is a HUGE discussion. I’m interested in how the work might deepen its research, how it might influence other artists who also landed in contemporary training . The child who just wanted to dance deserves that – an honorary award for turning up – in this case, a free Irn Bru.

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