I must’ve been five or six, hand clasped in the palm of my father, when we meandered through the colossal intestines of New York City. We heard the drums before we saw them, rhythmic percussion that diffused itself through the stupendous zing of train brakes, liberating itself between the fricative crunch of metal on metal, accompanied by a whooshing wind which alleviated, for a brief moment, the unforgivable summer heat.
Familiar with the city’s belches, I would routinely cover my ears to protect myself from the piercing eructation that emanated from the depths of the lower metropolis. This time however, the banging rhythm prickled my senses enough to perk up my ears and get me to try to listen through the commotion. Each movement onwards continued my quest for its origin, each step scored by the rhythmic drum that continued with evermore power as we trudged, as if through the sewers, against the current of oncoming subway traffic. Tugging ever-so-slightly at the oar which guided me, the hand of my father, a squeeze told me everything I needed to know. We continued to wade through the dark pipes, me, shielding myself behind the giant that moiled ahead, as echoing drums cascaded against the walls like rubber balls with no fatigue.
Then, turning a corner, we saw them.
Between the zigzagging bodies I glimpsed a checkered floor, a sturdy boom-box, loose fitting clothes, and the smiles and sweat of gliding dancers whose uncanny swagger exuded a level of ‘cool’ I never knew existed. Kids not much older than me, pop-n-locking, arching into one armed handstands, arms then legs, legs then arms; windmills, turning with miraculous precision on each fourth beat, and a palpable pounding punch that erupted from the very centre of that harlequin floor. An energy which every soul in that underground tunnel felt, even if briefly, on their way to and from wherever the world’s current was leading them. My father, looking down at me, his head almost scraping against the upper ceiling of the grimy pipe noticed my awe and moved towards them.
‘Breakdancers’ my father said with a smile, referring to the entourage that encircled a singular breaker who cut shapes above the slippery floor. The confidence in every dance-step seemed to slice the air in front of me; flamboyancy so loud in its pow that envious passerby’s could do nothing but glint their eyes in brief amazement at the flossy posse. The energy was touchable, physical in its pounding, alive in its dynamism.
I had never seen anything like it.
Each strike thwacked an accent with precision on the tip of every musical note with a garishness grace. Crew members bobbed their heads, yowling encouragement and propelling wind like a storm into the sails of the central dancer. I stood there in awe, claw suspended in the hand of my father, eyes searching between the bodies as if by looking alone I could detect the invisible energy which impelled those dancers forward. It had to be something in the air, I thought, as I watched a current of energy zip between every dancer that stepped up to the centre floor.
Googly-eyed I watched those breakers hustle— I watched them cross step and corkscrew, buttslide and twist up, air-flare and parachute drop, backflip and starwalk, tombstone and turtle, I watched them stop-mid motion in a side-hollow-back-air-freeze and felt the breeze which whooshed itself onto me, lifting my hair like a curling wave off of my forehead.
One of the dancers came around the small audience that had gathered in the urban underbelly of those snaking tunnels, holding out his flat-topped hat as people flung rogue dollar bills into its depths. My father pressed a dollar or two into my hand as I stepped up to the man. A smile and a glint in his eye flickered in my own for a split-second as I lowered the cash into his 59-Fifty flat cap, before a voice from above lead me away from the magic, boarding some train to some new place.
And its only now, when I consider seriously the impact of moments like that, that I realise how the experience pivoted my soul into the direction of my current life. Hiphop has without a doubt, changed the way I live my life. The intangible excitement which builds from within me when a great hiphop song comes on, is reduced as soon as I begin to describe it. Yet I think a part of me longs for the associated freedom I glimpsed in that underground subway so long ago.
Listening to Hiphop (especially in my younger youth) meant an unapologetic flaunting of identity, it meant owning yourself. My final university film1 was a portrait on a hiphop dancer, centring around identity expressed through dance. In peculiar personal ways, every film begins as a series of questions portrayed towards the world yet always becomes an investigation into the secret mysteries of my own spirit. I took breakdance classes, I attended cyphers and battles and became friends with dancers who lived the life I aimed to explore. The dancers I met through the experience became the subject of the documentary, yet the intangible feeling of freedom which my heart longed for remained locked within me, as if a part of me never left that subway station.
I wonder sometimes if we can choose the stories we tell, or if by some deterministic quality, the stories choose us. Perhaps it is not our role to question the experiences that move us, and rather, to trust them for what they are. The boy that remains wandering deeper into the underworld of the New York City subway system symbolises an undying curiosity for the visceral experiences in life. The hand of my father (in the true story) can just as well signify the intuition which urges me onward, suggesting I check to see what can be found around the next corner, encouraging the greater questions that lay undiscovered at the centre of the percussive drum of my own inner intrigue.
Those tunnels which as a young child appeared dangerously dark and intimidating, like the veins of the city, provide depths which lead further and further into myself. To create an honest form of expression is much like that, internal and external at the same time, creating something that is both from you and separate to you. And so I continue to follow that boy through those snaking tunnels, faithful that each and every corner may provide a thread of string that leads always to the next great idea.
Hey World,
Thanks as always for reading this far. If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
If you’d like to check out the trailer to the film I made, check it out here. It’s called — ‘i, Butterfly’ and was made with a group of amazing people.
Sometimes these pieces flow out of me like an untamed fire-hydrant whose current weakens only after its expelled enough words across the page, this was one of those lucky experiences.
I am forever surprised at the variety of topics which flow out of me when I sit down to write these Bluezone’s each week. If there is any piece you’ve enjoyed more than others, let me know.
If you can, leave a like and share this post with a friend. If you want to support the work that I do here, the best way to do so is by getting me a coffee, and of course by subscribing below.
Till next time,
IL.
If you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy:
Bluezone.
Check out the Trailer in the clickable link.
Once again you manage to move me! I love the stories you tell!
I love hearing this story after seeing your incredible mini documentary! Xx
Keep it up
Beautiful 🙂 Dance has been a part of me all my life...
"Dance is the fastest, most direct route to the truth, Gabrielle Roth says — not some big truth that belongs to everybody, but the get down and personal kind, the what’s-happening-in-me-right-now kind of truth.
We dance to reclaim our brilliant ability to disappear in something bigger, something safe, a space without a critic or a judge or an analyst.
We dance to fall in love with the spirit in all things, to wipe out memory or transform it into moves that nobody else can make because they didn’t live it.
We dance to hook up to the true genius lurking behind all the bullshit — to seek refuge in our originality and our power to reinvent ourselves; to shed the past, forget the future and fall into the moment feet first."