The studio that changed my mind about small-town dance
I'll be honest — when a friend dragged me to a lyrical class in Dyersville, I expected recital-practice energy and a ballet barre from 1987. What I got instead was a room full of people actually feeling something, moving like the music owed them money.
That first class was at the Dyersville Dance Academy, tucked into a strip mall I'd passed a hundred times without noticing. The instructor — a woman named Claire who'd danced with Hubbard Street for six years — stopped me mid-combination and said, "You're counting. Stop counting. Listen." Nobody had ever said that to me in a dance class. I'd been trained to hit counts like a machine. She wanted me to breathe.
I came back the next week. And the week after.
What Dyersville actually offers
Here's the thing about this town: it punches way above its weight for dance. Not in a "hidden gem" way that travel bloggers love to say. In a real, tangible way — there are multiple studios, each with a genuinely different personality, and you can actually afford to take class more than once a week.
Rhythm & Soul runs out of a converted warehouse on the east side. The floors creak. The mirrors have a chip in one corner. And the owner, Marcus, teaches contemporary lyrical like he's telling you a secret. His warm-ups alone have made me cry twice — not from pain, from the way he pairs breath with movement. They do informal showings every couple months where anyone can perform, no audition, no fee. The audience is mostly other students and whoever they dragged along. It's low-stakes in the best way.
The Lyrical Edge is the opposite vibe — polished, intense, serious. They bring in choreographers from Chicago and Minneapolis for weekend intensives. I took a three-hour workshop there with a woman who'd set work on Alvin Ailey, and my legs didn't work right for two days. If you're training for a company audition or a BFA program, this is where you go. They won't coddle you. But they'll make you better.
The places I didn't expect to love
Community Dance Collective meets in the basement of a church on Tuesday nights. No sign on the door. You just have to know. The age range in my class spanned from a 14-year-old competitive dancer to a retired postal worker named Doug who started dancing after his wife passed. The teacher, Simone, structures class around a theme each month — grief, joy, resistance, silliness — and lets the movement come from whoever's in the room. It's not technique-heavy. It's something else. Something I needed more than I realized.
Then there's The Lyrical Lab, which sounds like it would be pretentious but isn't. Run by a couple who both have MFAs in choreography, it's where they experiment. They'll teach a traditional lyrical combo one week and then deconstruct it the next, asking you to rebuild it using only your torso. Their Sunday "open lab" lets anyone bring music and improvise for an hour while others watch or join. No judgment, no corrections. Just space.
What I'd tell someone starting out
Don't pick a studio based on a website. Drop in. Take the trial class. Pay attention to how the teacher talks to the students — that tells you everything. Dyersville has enough options that you can afford to be picky. And if lyrical isn't your thing yet, give it one more class. The first time it clicks — the first time you stop thinking about your arms and start using them — you'll understand why people drive from three towns over for a Tuesday night class in a church basement.
I was one of those people. Still am.
