Audio•Files

Breaking new ground

Jumping, spinning and bouncing into b-boy culture

By Justin Rennolds
jrennold@mscd.edu

I've been an active participant in all elements of hip-hop culture since the 6th grade. I tried emceeing and failed miserably because I hate to speak my mind around strangers. I DJed for a while, but felt I was wasting money on vinyl singles when I could just buy the whole album. I dabbled in the graffiti scene for a long time too, but quit because I didn't want a felony record. Now, I've finally broken into b-boy culture. I'm at a fork in the road and three weeks into training for my break dancing career.

It's 6:30 on a chilly Tuesday night as I stand in the middle of a puddle of sweat that's collected on the scuffed-up linoleum floor in The Spot's break dancing room.

The Spot is a community outreach center located just north of downtown, on 21st and Stout. It's the place Denver's hip-hop heads congregate, a hip-hop college. Here, they can learn how to produce beats, write rhymes, develop graffiti-inspired artwork and learn how to break dance. That's the reason I'm here, to learn how to break.

After 10 minutes I'm out of breath, my legs ache and my shoulder is killing me. I'm out of shape and a bit discouraged by the whole thing. I should have stretched before I started. Hell, I need to start working out. I have no muscles, terrible endurance and I can barely muster any strength in my legs. I'm done before I even begin.

As bad as the aches and pains is the crowd of hecklers. As their snickers come more often I become nervous and transition into the Uprock, the one move I feel comfortable doing.

The Uprock is a basic skill, the dance used as a lead-in to the actual breaking. I'm actually pretty good at it. I have the hand-eye coordination down and my moves flow easily. Uprocking consists of quick diagonal footwork and a coordinated swinging of the arms while traversing the floor in an aggressive manner. It's a very stylized dance and each breaker has his own unique way of executing it. I've dubbed mine the "Stop Frontin', Yo!" As I perform it I feel like a hardheaded protestor harassing the frontlines of a police barricade. My b-boy morale increases and I feel empowered. I throw in long-stepping kicks, swing my arms at wide angles and move aggressively at a dizzying pace.

One of the heckling youngsters approaches the floor and starts clapping to the beat, giving me props. He likes my Uprock and my morale skyrockets. I'm inspired and more motivated than ever to keep breaking.

Finally, exhausted from 10 minutes of Uprocking, I wipe the sweat off my forehead and step off the linoleum floor. Now the real b-boys take over.

They converge upon the tight space like a team of Olympic gymnasts stepping onto the global stage. Their Uprocks are furious and astonishing. One breaker throws in leg twists as he drops to the floor with arms crossed. He twists his right leg around as he firmly plants his left hand on the floor. As he spins counter-clockwise, he kicks the air around him and throws a smirk towards one of his peers.

His buddy drops to the floor without an Uprock. With Mach 2 speed he plants his hands on the floor and aims his body skyward. He kicks his legs with ferocity then lifts up one of his hands and lays out horizontally. An awesome spectacle follows as he spins, leaps, and rolls on the now-slick floor. Bullets of sweat rain down on the ground as the lanky cat quickly wears himself out.

After five minutes of break-neck action he lifts his body up and fires a smile toward his friends, arms crossed across his chest.

The third and final dude steps up. This guy is the prototypical b-boy. He's wearing a trucker's cap with a colorful graffiti piece on it, red Pumas and a wife beater. Topping off the outfit is a huge, glimmering belt buckle inscribed with "Fate," his alias. He looks like a time traveler, plucked from New York City sometime in the '80s.

Fate kicks his set off with a bizarre Uprock. He incorporates the Robot (a mechanized movement of the limbs) into it, some criss-crossing footwork and flailing arm spins. After three minutes of that, he drops backwards to the floor. He lands on his hands and contorts his legs around his head like a rag doll. Then he does the impossible: with his legs still wrapped around his head, he lifts one hand and proceeds to spin. Applause and praise rain down and my mind blows up.

"What the heck? How'd he do that? Did I really just see that?" I ask Jordan, the burly kid next to me. He looks back at me and utters three simple, carefully chosen words.

"Fate's the best".

I'm in awe, speechless. This is my goal. I want to draw the crowds, get the unbelieving stares and the props. Am I fooling myself? No way! All I need to do is keep practicing.

Well, that and lose the "Freshman 15," triple my upper-body strength and pick up a few moves beyond the Uprock.