Root Magazine

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Sabar in Senegal: Part II

Part II of Sophie Schouwenaar's journey into the world of Sabar.

(Part I link here)

One time when I climbed on stage to dance during Viviane Ndour’s concert, I was noticed my somebody know in his turn informed one of Senegal’s best dancers: Papa Ndiaye Thiou. He called me and we would meet at Yengoulène (Center of African Culture in Senegal, a home for dancing, singing, for music and all other traditional African arts in Dakar) where Alioune Mbaye Nder was to perform that evening. I had seen him in practically all video clips back in Holland and I had even secretly told myself that if I was to meet him, one of my dreams would come true.

 

I arrived in a taxi wearing impossible Senegalese high heels and a new combination of the few clothes a took with me to Senegal. As elegant as possible I tried to approach the group of boys standing on the other side of Yengoulène (probably not to be seen since Pape Ndiaye’s presence evokes screaming masses). Seeing someone in a video clip is definitely very different. On top of that, Pape Ndiaye cut his dreadlocks. Thank God I guessed right when one of them asked me to point Pape Ndiaye. I figured he would be the one with the biggest chain around his neck and the most expensive jeans from Europe. I was right. When we went in, we were immediately accompanied to the VIP room, up the stairs.

Everybody was looking up since rumours spread that Pape Ndiaye would be there. Alioune called forward his friend and Pape Ndiaye took the mike after making some spectacular dance steps with his one best dancer Pape Ndiaye Gambie (named after Pape Ndiaye and from Gambian origin). Writing this down, I can still feel the adrenaline when Pape Ndiaye would call me forward. This was my audition, was I to mess it up, then I would never dance with Pape Ndiaye and his group. But everything went well, everybody told me that “toigna fi!” (more or less meaning you were the best, you broke it down). That it how it happened that I rehearsed with Pape Ndiaye and his group every day.

I would wake up (bathing in sweat), exercise on the roof terrace, take my shower, walk over the beach to my family in law, eat thieboudien for lunch, take two car rapides to Pikine, rehearse till about 8 pm, chat afterwards having a Fanta cocktail and one or two cigarettes, go back with another two car rapides to Yoff. Eat, if there was something left, otherwise write down my field notes from the day, maybe go out if Pape Ndiaye would come to pick me up. Go to sleep between 2 and 6 in the morning. And that for a period of four months. I would feel very guilty at first because I thought I was messing up my research because I was only dancing. But later on I told myself that my research was about festivities, so it was very logical that my time in Dakar had plenty of festivities!

In between rehearsals, performances, and the making of our two video clips, I would get to know a lot about these dancers, their problems, family ties, thoughts and feelings and the role dancing plays in their lives. Not to speak of the immense experience I had from being in Senegal for four months surrounded by only Senegalese. My basic research questions were founded upon my general thesis which poses the question of how, in relation to modernization and globalization, gender relations are being challenged and changed and how these processes are clearly visible in the scene of sabar events. Basically that meant talking to a whole range of people about the way they perceive sabar, and the degree of acception of a the phenomenon of sabar. It also meant talking to dancers about the problems they have concerning their reputation, the choices they sometimes have to make between religion and dancing and the (non)acceptation of their profession.

Me, as a female sabar dancer, had some of the same problems I spoke about with my informants. For example, where I lived in Yoff, my landlady and the others living in and around the house, posed lots of questions around me going out at all given hours a day, with about seven male dancers who’d pick me up in a big car. What kind of married woman would do that? I explained to them that for my ‘work’ I had to know everything about sabar. After a while they got used to it and the rumours of me going out with Pape Ndiaye slipped to the background. Other things to gossip about became more interesting and important, apparently.

Also, since the western concept of privacy was not very well applicable in Senegalese society, I could hardly close my door behind me. My housemates would ask me whether I was ill or sad. So every time I needed some privacy, I would take my laptop and make a show it of in the living room so that everybody would know I would be working.

Besides the lack of privacy, I had a lot of problems making appointments and actually getting to see people. For example: rehearsal would take place at 3 pm. During the four months I spent in Senegal, we never started rehearsing before 5 or even 6 pm. Also, since Pape Ndiaye is a celebrity in Senegal, he would come as he pleased. I don’t mean this in a bad way, because he would also arrange everything from ghetto blasters for our rehearsals to contracts for performances on stage or in video clips. But it did mean hours of waiting for me and his dancers. In general, there was a lot of waiting in Senegal. Waiting for electricity to come back so I could write on my laptop, waiting for the thieboudien to be ready, waiting for the rehearsal to take place and most of all waiting for nothing. I developed a great sense of patience in Senegal. I learned not to pose too many questions, but just to be there. I developed the same kind of passiveness in waiting as I saw Senegalese do. In fact I became kind of Senegalese. I adjusted the same kind of walk I’d always envy from Senegalese women. I didn’t hurry anymore, I thought of today only and I discovered that the only way to experience anything was just to be out there. Not to wait at home for something to happen. In Senegal, according to me, there is an energy law: if you reach out, it’s a party every single night. So despite all earthy inconveniences (heat, thirst, crowdedness, smog) I was out there.

 

Right now, I am back in Holland. I wrote my thesis in incredible speed and graduated in January of this year. I have now started my own dance course and I am trying to find a job in which I can do something with my expertise. I still keep in touch with Pape Ndiaye and his dancers. Inshallah (God willing), I will go back this summer to make some nice performances!

I thank all the people who helped me during my research and beyond.

Ba bènen joon! (see you next time!)

 

Sophie Schouwenaar.

Sophie Schouwenaar is a 24 year old Netherlands native.  She started dancing sabar three years ago, after being a salsa dance instructor and a djembe dancer. She has traveled all over the world to dance.  Her experiences finally came together during her research period in Dakar, where she spent 4 months researching sabar. She is now a master in anthropology and graduated from the Universiteit van Amsterdam in January 2007.

You may reach Sophie via email: sophieschouwenaar@hotmail.com

Sabar in Senegal: Part I

Rhythm & Culture in Dakar

By Sophie Schouwenaar

 

The first time I went to Senegal, I didn’t know anything about sabar dancing nor drumming. So when my teacher in the second week of our dance workshop proposed we dance sabar, I was not very enthusiastic. A typical Dutch saying is what the farmer doesn’t know, he doesn’t like. I remember quite well the drummers who started playing and my teacher telling me to ‘just respond to your inner dance impulse’. I didn’t know how to dance on these rhythms. The only thing I heard was a lot of uncoordinated noise. Later on that week we were invited to a baptème (a baptism ceremony). I was dressed up by my teacher’s wife in an yellow grand boubou in which I felt incredibly uncomfortable. The other Dutch lady who participated in the workshop felt much more at ease. I was stuck to my chair, intimidated and amazed by the women who seemed so passive would jump up out of their chairs and give an amazing, acrobatic performance. Everyone would start to scream and giggle when the other Dutch lady would jump in as well, apparently very much at ease in the setting. Another reason why I clung to my chair and during the whole baptème I wouldn’t get off it.

 

About two years later, after having danced in Mali and Burkina Faso where I would always miss the sabar drums and the explosiveness of its dances, I went back to Senegal. This time fully equipped with a lot of experience in sabar-dancing. During my stay in Toubab Dialaw (on the coast just south of Dakar) where I took classes with one of Africa’s most renounced choreographers Germaine Acogny, I got to know her dancers very well. At the same time I entered my master’s phase in which I would have to make decisions concerning my research. I already wrote my bachelor’s thesis on dance, but in a very theoretical way. Now I decided that this would be my year, in which everything would come together. So on the third of May 2006,  almost a year later, I went to Senegal to do my master’s research on sabar dancing after preparing my research proposal for months. Arriving at the airport, inhaling Senegal’s air, being surrounded my Wolof speaking people… The first thing that went through my mind was: home!

I stayed in Yoff, kind of a suburb on which Dakar is in fact founded, where I rented a small room with a tiny window with only a mattress. Only months later I bought myself an air conditioner. I still don’t understand why I let myself suffer by waking up every day bathing in sweat. I chose Yoff because my family in law lives there. I thought that at the same time as my research, I might as well take the opportunity of really getting to know these lovely people. Also, Yoff is a relatively quiet place (compared to Pikine for example) and I knew it already from last year’s visit when I met this family. My eventual plan of doing my research in Toubab Dialaw changed completely. I figured that I already knew the people and the village, and that it would be an interesting place since it is a fishermen’s village where traditional gender-patterns are clearly observable. But I discovered while being there that first of all there were no sabar events taking place in Toubab Dialaw. Second, nothing happened, except for preparing thieboudien (Senegal's national dish - a rice & fish stew) every single day. Bottom end is that I got very homesick (that is to Dakar) and I couldn’t wait to go back there in the weekends to dance in the tanebeers (nightly sabar events) and nightclubs. Plans are made to change I was told during my preparation courses on the University of Amsterdam.

.... Stay tuned next week for Part II.....

 

About the author:

Sophie Schouwenaar is a 24 year old Netherlands native.  She started dancing sabar three years ago, after being a salsa dance instructor and a djembe dancer. She has traveled all over the world to dance.  Her experiences finally came together during her research period in Dakar, where she spent 4 months researching sabar. She is now a master in anthropology and graduated from the Universiteit van Amsterdam in January 2007.
Her documentary about Sabar can be viewed by following this link in Root:  Sabar Dancing
You may reach Sophie via email: sophieschouwenaar@hotmail.com

Portrait of Germaine Agogny by Antoine Tempé

Images courtesy of L'Ecole des Sables & Sophie Schouwenaar

 

Xtra Dance of the Month: Sabar

Inspired by Francoise's recent essay, Sabar is the dance in Root's spotlight.

While searching for Sabar videos on YouTube, I came across a short documentary film by Dutch researcher and dancer, Sophie Schouwenaar.  Shot in Dakar, Senegal as part of her master's thesis, Sophie explores the cultural meanings of Sabar.  She searches for the answers to questions like how such a provacative dance can be accepted within a Muslim community, why more men are participating, and how women express their sexuality through movement.

Take 10 minutes out of your day to learn about the world of Sabar.

Sabar Dancing in Senegal

Craig Ferguson Stomps the Yard

The Late Late Show's Craig Ferguson attempts Step Dancing and admits its just not his style.  We respect his hilarious personal interpretation... click the pics and expand the browser window for the video.

At about 3min 20sec. into his monologue:

and part two as his dance progresses to this:

Stomp the Yard

We reported back in October about Step Dancing.  Now, the biggest movie in America is all about it.

Mary Houlihan of the Chicago Sun-Times writes:

A nod must be given to choreographer Dave Scott, who skillfully blends the dance styles into an explosive whole. Seeing Stomp the Yard for these bits alone is well worth it.
Read the full review

View the trailer here: Stomp the Yard

Tango Con*Fusion

Personally, I am a terrible partner to dance with.  I am a woman who does not like taking direction.  When being taught how to salsa, Carrie, my closest friend of 20 years, yelled out in exasperation "Fine, you want to lead? LEAD!"

So imagine my excitement to find I am not alone.  Case in point, Tango Con*Fusion, an all-female tango dance troupe as reviewed in the San Francisco Chronicle:

"I love being a follower, but being able to lead, you're choreographing in the moment," Voulkos says.

"We're not trying to exclude men," Coté quickly offers. "But we want the creativity of the leader side."

They weren't alone in their desire for power and control in an intimate but machismo-dominated form. In 1996, a group of women from Berlin and New York began performing together as Tango Mujer, winning rave reviews from skeptical audiences. (Mujer, pronounced moo-HAIR, is Spanish for woman.) Two years ago, inspired by Tango Mujer's example, Debbie Goodwin decided she wanted to start a West Coast all-women tango troupe of her own. She called her favorite female tango dancers in town, looking for women with modern dance and ballet backgrounds that they could bring to a collaborative creative process. Then she brought out Tango Mujer star Brigitta Winkler to teach a private workshop, and Tango Con*Fusion was born.

Read the full article here: The leading ladies of tango...

Watch the video here: Tango Con*Fusion

Photo: Debbie Goodwin (left) pairs off with Chelsea Eng, and Christy Coté and Pier Voulkos tango during their rehearsal. Chronicle photo by Katy Raddatz    
     

Step Videos on YouTube

Here are some fantastic videos of stepping found on YouTube:

Step Team

Step - Two young girls practice their moves

Another Excellent Step Team Performance

Alpha Phi Alpha Perform at Cal Poly Pomona Greek Council 2006

Delta Sigma Theta of Meharry Medical College Perform 2006

Stepping in America

root's new focus will be taking you home to Africa!  We'll be talking all about West African and Sub-Saharan dance and music; the energy, traditions, and rising popularity.

In anticipation of this feature we bring you the Xtra Dance this month:

Step!

A unique and energetic African American form of dance....  the group StepAfrika from Washington, D.C. states:

Stepping is a unique dance tradition created by African American college students. In stepping, the body is used as an instrument to create intricate rhythms and sounds through a combination of footsteps, claps and spoken word. The tradition grew out of the song and dance rituals practiced by historically African American fraternities and sororities in the early 1900s. Stepping comes from a long and rich tradition in African-based communities that use movement, words and sounds to communicate allegiance to a group.

A review by Michael Sutton of the book Soulstepping: African American Step Shows by Elizabeth Fine states:

Contrary to popular opinion, the contemporary method of stepping is really a hybrid of both African and African American music and dance. Such an amalgam occurred as a result of African and African American dancers exchanging dance movements.  While the author clearly implies that some stepping patterns may have been conscious adoptions of African dance patterns, it is more likely that the first immigrants and slaves modified them upon their arrival in the United States. ......the percussive dominance where the stepper throws down a sharply percussive rhythm with the feet while the hands beat out a counter rhythm and the head enunciates another beat is one obvious characteristic present during step shows. ....... Such a routine has its origins in northern Zaire, Sudan, Zambia and Mozambique while the familiar "get down" position commonly observed when steppers often begin and end a step by bending deeply from the waist can be traced to many Central and West African cultures.

read the full article here.

Listen to the sounds of Stepping from NPR online...

Rize

DRIVE-BY CLOWNING

By J. Camp

 

I am struck by RIZE like a car window hit by a brick.

The 2005 dance documentary, produced and directed by David LaChappelle, brings to my mind a proverb that involves a young and successful executive speeding down a street in the ‘hood in his new Jaguar, when a brick suddenly smashes into his window.

Slamming on the brakes, the angry driver jumps out of the car, grabs the nearest kid and shouts, "Why the hell do you do that?”

The young boy apologizes. "I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do." The kid’s brother has tumbled out of his wheelchair into the gutter. In the proverb, throwing the brick was to way to get the driver’s notice. The executive helps the kid and his brother and the message is: Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention or kill you trying.

Perhaps a proverb of sappy poignancy, it reminds me that many of us are like the driver. Oblivious to the plight of many people around the globe, we go through our comfortable lives in rarefied environments, deciding between soy or rice milk for our lattes, without ever checking-in with the daily suffering and poverty occurring throughout the country contemporaneously with our lives of self-indulgence. Taking a look occasionally keeps me grounded, compassionate and appreciative.

RIZE, the proverbial brick in question, opens with stock footage of the Watts riot, which occurred in 1965. I am surprised, believing I am about to see a documentary about dance and instead, I am seeing citizens beaten, cars on fire, and hearing sirens wailing after civilian silhouettes running through the smoke, an oddly familiar sight.

The film then moves to footage from the 1992 Rodney King Riots. I witnessed the 1992 riots in South Central Los Angeles following the Rodney King verdict personally from the relative safety of a tall, downtown Los Angeles office building. Behind thick, tinted bulletproof windows, I, along with several wealthy attorneys, watched in horror as plumes of smoke rose from South Central, the scene below resembling a jungle-less Apocalypse Now. As I stood terrified, leaning forward with such intensity that I smeared the glass with my forehead, I heard the evacuation alarm sound. The alarm was due to a bomb threat and I suddenly found myself navigating my way down thirty-eight flights of stairs behind some rather large legal secretaries, one still holding a slice of foamy, overly-iced white birthday cake in one of her thick hands. Once outside, a policeman suggested I beware of snipers as I exited the building. Apparently that afternoon, my potential choices were to be blown up or shot.

For me, it was a horrifying ordeal that lasted a few hours. For the children in South Central Los Angeles, that feeling of fear and the arrival of random death at any moment is the standard under which they exist. On that day in 1992, the proverbial brick smashed the window of my psyche, and once again while watching RIZE. At first confusing to me, it became clear quickly that LaChappelle’s choice of opening the film with these scenes of horror expertly sets the vibe of the pressure cooker from which the dancers in the film ascend and provides the contrast that makes the dancing in this war zone so intensely beautiful.

Dancing in the Streets

The first dance scene involves four young women. One woman has bowed forward face down within inches of the hood of a car, in a pose reminiscent of numerous televised arrest scenes on reality cop shows or moments captured on clandestine home videos, which show the bigotry still existing in law enforcement. In these images, the suspects, hands cuffed behind their backs, faces pressed against the hood, are searched by the cops or worse, beaten. In the dance version in
RIZE, the four women portray this familiar sight in their neighborhood, miming punches as if they are beating the woman, prone on the hood, in an eerie combination of violence and art. The faces of the passersby at this moment in the film are curiously forming the same expressions I have seen on the witnesses in videos of actual police beatings, a hybrid look of curiosity, disbelief, horror and sorrow. I know that my face has that same expression as I watch the film.

I watch this interpretive dance of oppression, performed in the street where the real scene occurs, a creative act-out of their pain and fear in a disturbing yet beautiful fashion, when I realize that these women are creating movements that will weave into the fabric of the history of African-Americans in this nation. It is this tradition of historical choreography that records the struggle of a people.

We are then introduced to a young man named Dragon and my ears struggle to hear what he is saying, as I am so transfixed by his sudden appearance. The words “warrior,” “Krumping,” and “Nigger,” leap from his lips. He delivers his words with an intense stare from behind a face painted with an amazing pattern. Small children listen intently from behind a chain-link fence to Dragon’s opinions, tiny knuckles and fingers glowing in a scene filmed too “hot.” Dragon looks up as a low-flying jumbo jet rips open the membrane of community and forces itself into the scene with its deafening sound, which reminds me that this neighborhood is unfortunately also under a main approach corridor to LAX.

Next, what looks like a neighborhood group, gathers in a circle. The attendees are in movement, jumping, singing, arms in the air, surrounding those in the center who are performing an amazing dance. A disclaimer at the beginning of the film makes it clear that the speed of the footage in the film has not been artificially increased. The reason for this disclaimer becomes clear in the moment I see this group in action. The arm, leg and body movements are hyper-extended and accelerated to the point that a viewer might doubt the ability of anyone’s body to move at this high velocity. The movements are mesmerizing, improvised, and if viewed from the right angle, suggest street fighting.

Clown School

Suddenly, a hand-held camera walks us through the neighborhood, passed stained stucco, lots of cement, heavy iron bars on windows and porches that really belong on a fortress, all enveloped in the stagnating and oppressive heat of South Central Los Angeles. Set in these surroundings, the sudden appearance of Tommy the Hip Hop Clown, wearing a bright rainbow-colored wig and a cheerily painted face fills me with both some relief and some judgment; clowns have always bothered me. I find the color scheme and strange faces of clowns irritating and startling. However, I am not so arrogant as to believe that I can understand what seeing Tommy the Hip Hop Clown is like for the children of this neighborhood. Still, in my own small way, I am able to connect with the understanding that this walking, talking, and dancing color spectrum is desperately needed in the dangerous reality of the neighborhood.

Tommy is a Hip Hop clown. Hip Hop is both a musical and political movement that has developed predominantly over the last quarter-century. Budding in New York City in the seventies, Hip Hop has grown to encompass not just music and dance, but an entire lifestyle that integrates the diverse elements of customs, technology and a description of the urban experience.

Tommy provides his entertainment, consisting of Hip Hop dancing and standard clown tricks and games, at children’s birthday parties and has opened his own dance academy. Seeing a clown move to the rhythm of Hip Hop and Rap music is amazingly eye-catching. I am bored enough by clowns performing tricks to classic circus music that seeing a clown, dancing to Hip Hop, sliding his chin through the air, moving his hips and jiggling his big rainbow Fro (the best part) is at once hilarious, compelling and fresh. I find myself reeling from his slickness and laughing out loud at the same time. Tommy is one cool clown.

A former drug dealer turned clown, I am relieved to see him spread happiness in his neighborhood. The first smiles seen in the film are all around Tommy, and rightly so. As one woman so aptly puts it, Tommy is welcomed and necessary for the kids growing up in “Hollywatts.”

Now, because of Tommy, there is an alternative to joining a gang, a choice that could and will probably kill the gangster. There is a local man named Austin who owns the casket shop down at the strip mall next to Dunkin’ Donuts. If a gangster isn’t careful, he could end-up in the big, satin and lace lined bubble-gum pink casket proudly displayed in
Austin’s store; this alone should be a deterrent.

According to the filmmakers, and an appreciate mother of a clown, you’re either in a gang or you’re with the clowns. Gangs vs. Clowns – a description one might apply to our current geopolitical situation around the globe.

Better Living Through Clowning

I’m relieved to know that the neighborhood supports this positive, creative outlet. After all, not everyone in the ‘hood is in a gang. First seemingly out of place, there’s something perfect about the clowns being in this neighborhood. What better antidote to the brutality of the streets than a dancing clown, injecting the light full throttle into the darkness? In fact, one of the fifteen-year old dancers enrolled in Tommy’s Academy was gunned down, an innocent girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although a loving community has formed, the violence in the neighborhood is real and an ever-present threat.

This Hip Hop clowning community is very inclusive. Young to old, thin to large, gender unimportant, everyone is invited to join, jump, jive and wail. An extremely large young man, Cereal, is just as coordinated and quick with his moves as his counterparts and in fact, his big body mass, swaying and shaking, adds a special flavor to his dancing style. As the saying goes, “it’s all good.”

It is also inspiring to see an Asian clown troupe in the film. Speaking with them, a simple truth is revealed and the beauty of the clown movement becomes clear: we’re all equal under a painted face. Integration through clowning is a beautiful thing.

In a favorite scene, the obligatory older white couple stands, watching from their driveway, mouths agape, in reaction to the performance happening in their street. Three of the younger dancers approach them, standing within two feet of the couple, dancing at highest velocity, fiercely and kinetically throwing imaginary punches, barely missing the faces of their captive audience. If this same moment were to occur in an unfamiliar setting, late at night, without the clown make-up (or with, depending on the make-up), this couple might flee in terror. Instead, they applaud and yell thank you as the dancers leave to execute another drive-by clowning elsewhere.

The Ancestors

It is beautiful watching this gathering of neighbors, out in the center of the street, dancing together. As I watch, my imagination takes over and the suburban homes begin to fade in the background and become tribal structures. The street becomes the village center and the dancers become the shaman, with their faces painted in otherworldly styles, serving as gateways to other dimensions. I am suddenly filled with relief when I realize that, as human beings, our need for community, for coming together and for describing our experience through movement, art and sound is deep and philosophical. You cannot take away the need for this energy to move – it’s in us, ingrained within our psyches, and when we come together in this way, it feels good because it is healing. Drop human beings into any community situation, add a soupçon of oppression, a dash of cultural isolation and it is my belief that they will most likely come together to talk, dance, sing, wail and heal each other in the streets.

Tommy the Hip Hop Clown has, in fact, inadvertently started a movement and after all, the best movements in my opinion start this way. His love for clowning, for children and for dance has inspired many young people in his community. In addition to Tommy and his posse, now there is House of Clown, True Clowns, Worldwide Clowns, YK Clowns, and Race Track Clowns, just to name a few of the fifty or so clown groups Tommy has inspired. The Clown groups are like families; more than a dance troupe, they’re sharing their ghetto experience on a daily basis.

All of these groups of jumping and grinding clowns make me realize something deeply profound: I want to have a party and invite them all. I think we all could forget our troubles surrounded by hundreds of Hip Hop dancing clowns or at least, be unnerved enough to lose track for a bit and get out of our heads. I know I’d be dancing with them in no time, given the opportunity.

Truth is, some of the painted faces do not really resemble clowns. There are dancers with faces painted in intricate designs, some of which are evocative of the style of Tagging, the graffiti-style art form. It is these painted faces that interest me the most; I am at once able to see the mask and the person behind the mask, at the same time. Behind a mask, or partially revealed by one, a dancer can move and emote with a sense of anonymity and therefore, dance with incredible freedom. It is the opposite of what one might expect: a mask does not hide the self but alternatively, allows the self to materialize. Safely held within the comfort of the mask of his or her choosing, each dancer feels secure enough to reveal their true nature in movement. Tribal communities knew this, and seeing it born again in the masked faces of these dancers comforts me as if the ancestors are whispering in my ear the message that we may not be so far removed from our natural condition, as we may believe.

Get Krump

As I watch the film, I notice that many of the moves are seductive. It’s difficult to witness these shiny, muscled bodies grinding their pelvises in the camera without having a sexual thought or two or perhaps that’s just me. I am relieved to hear that in fact, the dance du jour is called the Stripper Dance, so my minimal lustful thoughts are justified. The Stripper Dance has everything in it; with arms, hips, pelvis, legs, face, and torso in movement, it resembles a high-powered lap dance sans the lap.

A young girl, perhaps six or seven, is performing the Stripper Dance. Seeing a child this young dance this way removes the sexual component for me. Through her, I see the dance for what it is: a series of thoughtfully executed moves that seem to incorporate all dancing disciplines. According to a young man who is watching, she is merely “Popping her booty.” He continues that a few of the parents become uncomfortable when they see their children dancing this way. The young man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. As he says, “They’re just Popping. What’s wrong with Popping?” Nothing.

Not only has Tommy the Hip Hop Clown been the inspiration of many clown groups, a new style of dance has been borne of the Hip-Hop style. Edgier and rooted deeply within the feelings of oppression, Krumping is like raw emotion sizzling on an open fire. Apparently, the trick is to dive into the fathoms of anger, fear, happiness – whatever the dancer is feeling – and transmute and sometimes transmogrify those emotions into an improvised series of movements, most described in a blur of high-speed body arrangements. To me it seems this is not just a revolution in the ‘hood; it is the legitimate evolution of dance. Removing the need for choreography, the raw Krump is akin to watching the best of all dance disciplines come together. At times seemingly violent, as dancers will often grab each other, tear clothing, or shove one another while dancing, “Getting Krump,” is not only beautiful but may even ease what ails you. It’s contemporary art, still images captured in the fleeting moments of movement in a dancer’s body. Had I Got Krump earlier I may have saved thousands of dollars in therapy.

Another outlet offered to these ghetto children is Sports. Like money-circling vultures, the representatives from high-profile sports franchises watch inner-city school athletic programs for signs of the next up-and-coming superstar professional sports player. These opportunistic and exploitive attitudes towards this neighborhood are further fodder for the rage and frustration for those growing up in the ‘hood. Scholastically ignored, these young United   States Citizens are farmed for their potential athletic prowess.

Fortunately, thanks to Tommy the Hip Hop Clown, they may have something of their own. A Krumping movement has hit the streets and the style changes every day. If a dancer hasn’t Got Krump for two days, the other dancers will detect it. Krumping is more than a dance – it is an ever-changing language of its own, and a healthy way to move difficult energy. Welcome to the Ghetto Ballet, a frame of mind and soul being expressed in a continuously mutating dance.

Dig Deep: Find Your Style

Most of the dancers’ movement motivations are cultivated from a deep and tender place. One young dancer, Lil’ C, speaks candidly and rather nonchalantly about having to take his Mother to a rehabilitation clinic for her crack addiction. Still, more painful, this young Hip Hop Clown’s Father committed suicide several years ago. This tale is delivered as a voiceover as we watch Lil’ C Krumping on the beach next to the Santa Monica Pier. Through Krumping, he expels the painful, hidden chapters of his life. Watching Lil’ C dance on the beach by the Santa Monica Pier, it is clear that the pain and suffering of his childhood are fueling his movements.

As a further tribute to the human spirit, this life of occasional horror and constant oppression has become home. Another incredible Krumper and dancer, Miss Prissy, discusses her feelings of not feeling safe outside of her neighborhood. She is often asked how she is able to live in South Central, a comment on the infamous danger of the neighborhood. Miss Prissy, wise beyond her years, responds, “It’s not dangerous – it’s life!” In fact, she finds it scary to go to places such as Hollywood, where she finds everything much more intimidating. Miss Prissy demonstrates the nose-in-the-air position miming the attitude in places like Beverly   Hills. Sweet and relaxed, disarmingly unpretentious, she stretches her arms out and says, “and here we are; we’re just some ghetto kids.”

 

LaChappelle ingeniously treats viewers of his film to visual bites of dancing indigenous tribe folk interwoven with images of the Krumpers. The painted faces are also compared, getting the point across quickly. Although this could be viewed as driving the point too far as filmmakers, it is amazing to see how much the Krumping movements recall the dancing of the tribes. It is clear that even with improvisation, bodies in motion replicate each other with startling regularity. I hope someday we discover that certain movements relate directly to certain feelings, and by performing these movements in a particular order, one can shift these emotions, channeling them out of the body, and thus heal the soul without a uttering a word. This to me would seem to be far more effective that sitting in a chair speaking with a therapist for an hour or two.

Battle Zone

With all of these troupes of Clowns and Krumpers dancing in the streets, it is inevitable that a competitive atmosphere would develop. Apparently, the Krumpers, many of whom are former Clown Academ dancers, feel that Krumping is a rightful evolution and improvement upon the style that the clown groups perform. The Clowns hold true to their style and beliefs and enthusiastically mimic the Krumpers, suggesting the Krump style really just looks like a seizure of some kind. To move this conflict out of the streets and into an appropriate forum, Tommy has started the “Battlezone,” where these Hip-Hop Gladiators will explode with dance and face one another in competition. It’s time to show the contrasts; different face paint, different moves, different attitudes.

 

The battles begin to a screaming crowd. Each side does it’s best to look bored as their competitors dance with looks of incredible hubris, hurling moves at each other like bricks. At first, I am enjoying myself, but then I feel ripped off. The moves seem to become less and less about dance and more angry, with competitors in the sidelines slamming chairs on the stage when their teammate loses. I am suddenly worried, a sense of dread comes over me; will these dancers be able to really forego their neighborhood programming and keep this competition safe and within the confines of good sportsmanship?

Lil’ Mamma, a seven-year-old dancer is dressed as a baseball player, swings a bat, while I ponder what would happen if the bat slipped. A Krumper is slamming chains on the stage. I’m beginning to doubt a statement earlier in the film by a Krumper who said, “The last thing on our minds is violence.”

In the end, the clowns win the contest, winners picked by audience reaction extending the Clown’s painted smiles with real ones. Tommy is dancing with the Battlezone Title Belt around his waist. The Krumpers don’t look so happy. Stranger still, audience members (obviously Krumping fans) look downright violently pissed-off. The Krumpers suspect they’ve been cheated. One is shown screaming her complaints. I lose the chain and I don’t understand how they could have been cheated with scoring based on the hollering of the audience? I’m confused and I find the Krumpers’ anger surprising and repulsive. Then I remember they’re just young, having not learned yet how to lose gracefully.

Last Thing On Their Minds

LaChappelle then shows Tommy getting ready to leave the stadium after the competition. Tommy is cleaning up when suddenly...he gets a call on his cell phone – then he’s crying – while Tommy and his Academy we’re competing, his home was being robbed and ransacked. Violence related to the dancing, denied throughout the film, apparently and suddenly is being expressed. Here are the real tears of a clown, stinging my cheeks along with Tommy’s. There’s no indication in the film who is responsible for the crime, but based on the reaction of the Krumpers and their fans to their loss at the Battlezone, I sure I am not alone in my suspicions that the break-in is related somehow.

Looking directly at its merits as a film, I found RIZE, although well crafted, ultimately heavy-handed and even preachy in places. However, there is a deeper understanding of human nature present in the film as I watch these young Krumpers and Clowns redefine themselves in a neighborhood that provides, and often insists upon a prefabricated identity of drugs, crime and death, should they choose or be coerced into the gangster costume. For me, the clown-like style of baggy clothes (for the concealment of weapons), the colors and symbolism of the Gangster in the end become the trappings of a much deadlier form of clowning-around.

It is important to note that there is still a choice in this place, and for all of us, no matter how grim or dangerous our surrounding environment. I believe that the key is feeling our lives: the hurt, the pain, the frustration, the anguish and most important, the joy.

In the pressure cooker culture of South Central Los Angeles, these feelings must be focused somewhere and the Clowns and Krumpers have found their out through learning to access the resultant feelings in a healthy, creative and productive way. To me, this is why their dance is so important. The rawness, the connection and the passion of their movements transcend all differences that might exist between my life and theirs. The Clowns and Krumpers describe their experience to me in a way that a gangster never could. Told to me through the movement of their bodies, the message is received loud and clear in a language I understand: these children are not heathen nor thugs; they’re just oppressed and when all else fails, DANCE.