In the back of The Harp, a sports bar across the street from North Station, a blonde woman in denim shorts and cowboy boots grabbed her friend’s arm. “This is it!,” she exclaimed, pulling her companion onto the dance floor. It was a Thursday at 10:30 p.m., and “Burn It Down” by Nickleback had just come on at full volume.
Under colorful flashing lights, about 30 young Bostonians stomped their boots in unison and did a high kick with a little clap. Some people sang along; one dancer with a long dark-brown ponytail, wearing a white miniskirt and sneakers, called out the steps for a couple of beginners stumbling along in front of her.
The soccer fans at the front of the bar watched the World Cup with a mass of Gen Z line dancers bobbing in the background.
Line dancing is back. Maybe it never left, but now it’s a hot, thriving community dance trend drawing younger people who are putting their own spin on the grapevine.
“Some people relate it to a cult, but it’s definitely the best kind of cult,” joked Sasha Yevsikov, a 28-year-old redhead in a burgundy ballet-core mini-dress with an “It’s My Birthday” sash and glow stick around her neck.
Boston has a robust social and participatory dance scene, especially for a city of its size. You can tango one day, go Balkan folk dancing the next, then swing dance over the weekend. But on that list is a perhaps surprisingly expansive and vibrant line dancing scene — you can line-dance seven nights a week if you wanted to. Each local venue and line-dancing organization has a slightly different vibe, but they all have a dedicated community of people who show up every week — often many times a week — to do the step-touch together.
The music is all over the map, which makes the experience more inclusive for all kinds of dancers, especially 20-somethings. JP Line Dance has people moving to Sabrina Carpenter, Eminem, and “TheFairly OddParents” theme song; Blackout Country sticks to the more twangy tunes by artists such as Shaboozey and Walker Hayes, while 603 Line Dance step-stomps to a live band covering “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Jolene.” Most events are free or have a cover of $5.
The Rhythm Riders teach soul line dancing in Mattapan and Hyde Park; Blundstones are welcome with the Line Dancing Queens at McCarthy’s in Porter Square; and between Gays for Patsy and 617 Country, Boston’s queer community has somewhere to line dance at any age.
Jason Peterson, of JP Line Dance (named for Jason’s initials, not the neighborhood), is 44 and has been teaching line dance in the Boston area for over a decade. He taught at Loretta’s Last Call near Fenway Park for nine years before moving to The Harp and Ned Devine’s Irish Pub downtown. Now, Kim and Kathleen from 603 Line Dance in New Hampshire — they only go by first names as instructors — teach the steps to the kitten-heeled 21st birthday parties, live music lovers, and devoted regulars at Loretta’s, while Peterson has settled in at bigger venues.
“We just outgrew the space,” said Peterson, who works full time in health care consulting and will be teaching six nights a week at multiple locations this summer.
Most line dances in the area are held at bars for people 21 and over. But just for the summer, JP Line Dance will teach lessons for all ages outdoors at The Lawn on D on Wednesday nights in the Seaport.
“A lot of people found [line dancing] on TikTok during the pandemic, and then it’s just really seen a resurgence,” said Peterson, “but I was filling Loretta’s before all of that even happened.”
Lyric Jackson, a 25-year-old in active military service from a small town in Florida, has been DJing country-music-forward dance nights as Blackout Country, since getting stationed in Boston three years ago.
“Right left right-2-3,” Jackson, a vision with long dark curls in jeans and a sparkly belt buckle, called out over the mic at West End Johnnie’s on a recent Saturday night. “This one’s easy, jump in!,” She encouraged the crowd as Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It for Me)” blasted through the venue.
She thinks Gen Z is into line dancing because no one dances at the clubs. They might not love country music, but it calls for dance in a way pop music hasn’t.
Jackson said, “There [are] a lot of people that are scared to look dumb, especially because nowadays everyone has their phones out,” but she thinks having choreography makes people comfortable.
In a way, it’s the perfect dance for 20-somethings; you can learn it on TikTok or YouTube on your phone, then go out and dance next to real people, already knowing the steps.
Some dancers also say that at this time in America, when the political divide feels cavernous, line dancing offers the opportunity for anyone to engage with culture from the South in a way that is community-oriented, celebratory, and maybe even a little healing.
A 22-year-old dancer at The Harp, who yelled over the music that her name is Celeste, admitted her bias as a born and bred New Englander, then said, “With line dancing it’s so open, and it seems like a really nice version of Americana that people want to access and are proud of.”
Celeste added that it’s nice that line dancing allows for mistakes. “If you mess up, it’s fine, because you’ll get it on the next eight counts.”
Sasha in the birthday sash explained that line dancing helps as “people are yearning for community, genuinely on every level.” After one Ned Devine’s dance night was over, people lingered outside around midnight, still talking.
Leah Blachman, a 30-year-old from Arlington, said she liked that line dancing is “community oriented, but a solo activity.” So if she didn’t feel like touching or talking to anyone that night, she could still connect.
Others in the crowd at Ned Devine’s echoed the draw of the welcoming, community feeling. A 24-year-old newbie named Elizabeth Holtz had come out dancing for the first time that night.
“I’m already obsessed,” She said, “This is gonna be my new church!”
Sarah Knight can be reached at sarahknightprojects@gmail.com.