Tiger Feet – The Dance That Never Fades
It was a Friday night in 1974, and the air smelled of Brylcreem, warm chips, and teenage rebellion. The dance hall lights flickered overhead, casting a golden haze on a sea of polyester flares and platform shoes. Then, like a bolt of lightning through the jukebox, it hit—“All right, all right!”—and the unmistakable stomp of Tiger Feet filled the room.
There was no time to think. Feet started moving before the brain caught up. You didn’t need lessons or rhythm—just guts, energy, and a pair of shoes that made you feel ten feet tall. And suddenly, you weren’t just some lanky kid or a shy girl in the corner. You were part of something. The floor shook with laughter and movement. We were all a bit ridiculous, and that was the point.
Back then, Mud wasn’t just another band. They were our band. While glam rock strutted in on silver boots and mascara, Mud brought the fun. They weren’t about mystique or moody stares. They were about joy. Pure, daft, wonderful joy. Tiger Feet didn’t ask you to be cool. It dared you to be silly—and in doing so, made you the coolest one in the room.
It’s funny how music sticks to memory better than photographs. You might forget names or lose track of old friends, but that beat? That “da-da-da-da-dum”? It’s still right there, somewhere in your bones. It lives in every wedding dance floor, every pub jukebox, every school disco where someone’s dad tries to show the kids how it was really done.
I still remember the way my mum laughed when it came on the radio, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder and doing a little shuffle by the sink. Or how Uncle Dave—who once claimed he invented the Tiger Feet dance—would demonstrate it with such wild abandon that his knees would crack like fireworks.
Time moves fast. The flares are long gone, and the dance halls have turned into flats or furniture stores. But every now and then, when the opening stomp of Tiger Feet kicks in, something magical happens. You’re back there again, just for a minute. Young, loud, free. Feet flying, heart full.
And that, I suppose, is the real power of a song like this. It doesn’t age. It doesn’t fade. It just waits—quietly, patiently—for the next time someone hits “play” and remembers what it felt like to dance like nobody was watching.
So here’s to Tiger Feet. To Mud. To the nights that turned into mornings, the songs that became soundtracks, and the silly dances that made us feel alive.
Go on—put it on. Turn it up. And don’t be surprised if your feet remember exactly what to do.
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