8/29/2008

HipHopOGraphy

In an article, The Natti Ain't No Punk City: Emic Views of Hip Hop Cultures, that appeared in Callaloo (2006), H. Samy Alim offers a description of hiphopography. Alim draws from the words of James G. Spady in Nation Conscious Rap: The Hip Hop Vision (1991) to state:

“Hiphopography can be described as an approach to the study of Hip Hop culture that combines the methods of ethnography, biography, and social and oral history. Importantly, hiphopography is not traditional ethnography. Hierarchical divisions between the "researcher" and the "researched" are purposely kept to a minimum, even as they are interrogated. This requires the hiphopographer to engage the community on its own terms. Knowledge of the aesthetics, values, and history as well as the use of the language, culture, and means and modes of interaction of the Hip Hop Nation Speech Community is essential to the study of Hip Hop culture.”

SUBJECT OBJECTive

“A semiological analysis of dance necessarily regards the body as a location of human signifying practices; this removes the body from its status as a physical object and imbues it with the capacity for intelligence and passion.” (Foster 1986, 243)

The original jump-off for this post was to simply make reference to the above passage; but . . .

You know, sometimes you read something that simply blows your wig back. Well, when it comes to reading the works of the following three scholars, I run out of wigs. Admittedly, one reason is because they seem to have thunk the thoughts that I believed were all my own ingenious creation. Susan L. Foster manages to mellifluously finger paint theoretical musings on the page in the most fragrantly tasty way; Katrina Hazzard-Gordon’s investigations, without fail, lead us back to the core culture and the embodied ingenuity of the [Black]folk who form it (on the real to real, she keeps it gully) and; Alim’s thorough explorations via a hiphopographical approach give the language of the Hip Hop Nation more than a nominal scholarly shout out.

Although, Susan L. Foster’s, Reading Dancing: Bodies and Subjects in Contemporary American Dance (1986), primarily focuses on theater dance, I’m interested in looking at how the choreographic conventions explained in the second chapter can by applied to reading hood dances presented in cyber locations like YouTube. Mind you, Foster implicitly states that the rough sketch of strategies and techniques for “analysis pertains only to the Western concert dance tradition.” Nonetheless, I’m giving myself a “let’s see what happens” pass to play around with these strategies and techniques to analyze dance compositions connected to the Black vernacular dance tradition presented in a virtual context.

Foster, through a process of assimilation, synthesized various choreographic conventions into five broad categories:

(1) the frame--the way the dance sets itself apart as a unique event; 
(2) the mode of representation—the way the dance refers to the world; 
(3) the style—the way the dance achieves an individual identity in the world and in it’s genre; 
(4) the vocabulary—the basic units or “moves” from which the dance is made; and 
(5) the syntax—the rules governing the selection and combination of moves.

Given the social-political, real and virtual contexts that Black vernacular dance practices take place I began to contemplate integrating some of Katrina Hazzard-Gordon and H. Samy Alim’s input.

“For the Afro-American dancer, social dancing is a central and fundamental carrier of meaning. The dance is more than personal entertainment, fun and good exercise. The dance is imbued with individual, sociopsychological, cultural, and political meaning” (Gordon 1995, 441)


So, in addition to Foster’s categorical offerings I am including an examination of what Gordon claims to be the four meaning aspects of Black social dance practices—identity, cultural integrity, ingroup-outgroup, and political resistance. These meaning aspects compliment what Alim, drawing on the work of Geneva Smitherman, considers to be Hip Hop cultural modes of discourse and discursive practices. In Roc the Mic Right: The Language of Hip Hop Culture, Alim places these cultural modes in the following interrelated categories:

• call and response,
• multilayered totalizing expression,
• signifyin and bustin (bussin),
• tonal semantics and poetics,
• narrative sequencing and flow,
• entering the cipha and battlin

For those familiar with the dances and codes the conventional ideas familiar to ‘informal’ ‘round the way choreographic structures are plainly noticeable when watching Crank Dat Soulja Boy and culturally related video content on YouTube. These conventions “situate the dance in the world and among dances that have preceded it.” In Reading Dancing, Foster further asserts, “ By focusing on these conventions in a particular dance, the viewer comes to understand not only what that dance means but also how it creates its meaning”(Foster 1986, 59). The intention behind this scholastic mash-up is to thoroughly map out a schema to actively interpret, analyze and/or read Black vernacular dance compositions like the Soulja Boy, Crank Dat Yank, The K-Wang Wit It, The Go Hard or Go Home, and an extensive list of others. With that being said, I’m excited to see what happens.

8/28/2008

CORPOREAL STREET VENACULARity

It is important to connect the Crank Dat Soulja Boy to popular mainstream dances and dance trends that preceded it like the Charleston, the Lindy Hop, the Jitterbug, and the Twist. It is also important to note that The Soulja Boy is part of an immense genealogy of black dance trends that never realized, for numerous reasons, a point of mainstream appeal and/or participation. Presently, we’re witnessing the spawning of dances like the Chicken Noodle Soup, the Lean wit It/Rock wit It, the Toe Wop, the Wu Tang, Beat Your Feet, and a long list of other black influenced dance trends that surface from varying contexts and geographical regions. Trust me folk, this is a partial listing . . .

MEMPHIS - Buckin, Jookin’, Choppin’, Gangsta Walking

The Jump Off


It don’t make no sense how dude freaks the beat!




LOUISIANA – Jig/Jigga Juice/Get Jiggy/Jiggalate/Cupid Shuffle/Skate/Da Ratchet

The Ratchet


DALLAS – Dallas Boogie/My Dougie/Rack Daddy/Check Out My Lean/Da Boot/Durty Booty/Stanky Leg

My Dougie


Rack Daddy


Stanky Leg


OHIO (CLEVELAND/CINCINNATI/COLUMBUS) - The Down Tha Way/Sal Sal/Wacky Wood/Merk Out

Wacky Wood


Down Tha Way


ST. LOUIS – The Mono/Chicken Head/Pop, Lock’n’Drop It

The Chicken Head


ATLANTA – Lean Wit It/Walk It Out/Poole Palace/A-Town Stomp/Bankhead Bounce/Throw Dem Bows/Shoulder Lean/Heizman/Super Soaker/Whoop Rico . . .

Bankhead Bounce


Poole Palace


Whoop Rico




And . . . CRANK DAT (fill in the blank): Yank/Soulja Boy/Batman/Superman/Jump Rope/Sponge Bob/SpiderMan/Robo Cop/Michael Jackson/Billie Jean/Rambo/Sex Machine/Transformer/Charlie Brown/Peter Pan/Harry Potter/Jumpman/Lion King/Roosevelt . . . . . .

DETROIT – Jit . . .




WASHINGTON D.C. – Da Butt/Beat Ya Feet . . .

Da Butt


Beat Ya Feet


NYC – Harlem Shake/Tone Wop/Aunt Jackie/5000/Lite Feet/Chicken Noodle Soup/The Patty Duke/Biz Markie/The Steve Martin/The Reebok/The Cabbage Patch/The Fila/The Wop . . . .

Flava of the N-Y at it's grandest . . .


Lite Feet, Harlem Shake, Aunt Jackie, and then some . . .




CHICAGO – Perculator/Juke/Footwork/Sponge Bob/Chicago Steppin’ . . .

The Perculator


The Spongebob


A little Footwork action . . .


MIAMI/JACKSONVILLE (FLA) – Tootsie Roll/Throw That D/Peanut Butter Jelly . . .


THE YAY AREA (CA) – Thizzle Dance/The Bird/Turfin/The Humpty Hump . . .

Turfin


The Bird


LOS ANGELES/LONG BEACH/FRESNO (CA) – Krumpin’/Clownin’/C-Walk/Stripper Dance/The Skate/The Robocop/The Troop/The Smurf/Locking/Slauson Shuffle . . .

Krumpin'


PHILLY – Wu Tang Dance/Go Hard or Go Home/The Philly Dog/Philly Steppin’ . . .

Wu-Tang


Go Hard or Go Home

PREDICTABLY UNPRECEDENTED

For those folk competent enough to chew bubble gum and walk it is easy to see that these entries are, by no means, a fan flavored promotion of Soulja Boy. Nor am I tryin’ to hate. I’m merely investigating The Soulja Boy as a means to explore the value and importance of Black dances, movement vocabularies and the meaning[s] black dancing bodies’ produce. With this in mind, I’m equally interested in observing what happens to these elements when they are transferred and transmitted via a website like YouTube to a larger audience unfamiliar with the codes and context of the dance[s]. So, while most folks are expending a gang of energy targeting dude’s lyrical content, I, like others, sit back peepin' out my man's hustle; that, in many ways, seems to be an evolutionary leap from slangin’ product from the trunk of a whip. More importantly, in light of the simplistic lyrical content, phrasing and directives, I began to wonder what/where this song would be without the dance, and the way in which the dance/song is being virally promoted.

See, this ain’t new. For Hip Hop’s sake folks, please stop frontin’! Hip Hop been had these types of song/dances. What you forgot

Bankhead Bounce (Diamond feat. D-Roc)


Pee-Wee’s Dance (Joeski Love)


or The Tootsie Roll (69 Boyz)

or, one of my favorites, The Humpty Dance (Digital Underground)


and, my other favorite, The Thizzle Dance


On top of that, there’s been dances that are/were inextricably linked to popular recordings. For example, although The Running Man is said to have originated on the East Coast, if you put a Hammer joint on The Running Man is the first dance that comes to many a mind. Matter of fact, The Running Man became commonly referred to as The MC Hammer Dance or Hammer Dance. This physical reference to all things Hammer acts like a manifestation of memory re-called and animated through movement. When I talk to people both young and old about Crank Dat Soulja Boy, a large percentage of them bust out either a simple sketch or full-on execution of the dance moves associated with the song. Can we just peep that for a minute? Somewhere along the lines of time a copious number of ‘everyday folk’ have transitioned from a place of total un-familiarity to automatic performance of The Soulja Boy in less than a year. Whether a person favorably or mockingly uses their body to make reference to this song, in a phenomenological way, it becomes clear that Soulja Boy has successfully imprinted and transferred the essence of the dance. Essence, as Sondra Fraleigh wrote in A Vulnerable Glance: Seeing Dance Through Phenomenology (1999), means that “something is discerned which characterizes or typifies the dance, so that it is recognized as itself and not some other dance. The dance then becomes more than sense impressions of motion” (1999, 12). Furthermore, what’s also at play here is the level of exposure that Internet access and a website like YouTube offers. In the past, televised dance shows like Soul Train and American Bandstand were presented once a week. With the aid of a VCR material from shows like this could be recorded for further review but this pales in comparison to the access and availability to material offered on YouTube. Additionally, the viewing capabilities are on another level. With one click you can get to ‘the good part.’

Furthermore, songs that promoted popular dances ain’t new.

“ . . . we’ll make you do your dance,
we’ll make ya Patty Duke . . .” (Cameo, On the One)

“The Patty Duke, the wrench and then I bust the tango,
Got more rhymes than Jamaica got Mango Kangols (Beastie Boys, Shake Your Rump)

The Godfather told ya’ll ‘bout how Papa pulled the Monkey, Fly, Mashed Potato, and the Boom-A-Rang out his ‘brand new bag.’ Didn’t he also tell folk to get on the Good Foot and Make It Funky? Matter of fact, Soul Brother #1, took time out of his busy schedule to show you a groove or two.



In one of the hottest dialogues to ever be captured on Soul Train we heard James Brown declare that he’s got SOUL . . . not that we needed to be reminded . . . and we watched Damita Jo Freeman embody what’s Super Bad about being Soul-Full.



By no means is Crank Dat Soulja Boy a media creation. So, stop trippin’! We have to be clear about youth driven Black expressive culture, in this case music and dance, and it’s relationship to past (film/television) and current (film/televsion and Internet) mediation. On the real to real, it is imperative that any, and all, scrutiny of Crank Dat Soulja Boy include the historical and cultural context from which/where the dance derived. In spite of its cyber-spatial presence that seemingly strips it from any real world correlation; it has to be re-located. (Snap Dance)

See folks, to reduce the Soulja Boy to a dance craze or fad is lazy and irresponsible. As blasphemous as it may seem he is connected to James Brown, Chubby Checker, Joeski Love, Biz Markie, Kid’n’Play, Mac Dre, Cab Calloway and what’s “hep” or “hip”; The Nicholas Brothers, John Bogle, Cholly Atkins, Damita Jo Freeman, The Lockers, The Electric Boogaloos, New York City Breakers, The Rock Steady Crew, Scoob’n’Scrap, and Mop Tops; the jook, and clubs like The Cotton Club, The Roxy, The Savoy, Maverick Flats, The 9:30 Club, World On Wheels, The Poole Palace, The Monastery, and Shelter; The Buddy Deane Show, Future Shock, American Bandstand, Soul Train and what Black folks brought to the “hop” televised or not. Soulja Boy draws from every jive, boogie, shake, groove, jig, bounce and boogaloo that existed before him; and he remains indebted to each and everybody that gave/give them life.

WORD forWORD (boogie based body talk basics)

‘[t]he engaged voice must never be fixed and absolute but always changing, always evolving in dialogue with a world beyond itself’. (bell hooks 1994:11)

H. Samy Alim has produced scholarship focused on what is professed in the opening pages of his book, Roc the Mic Right: The Language of Hip Hop Culture, to be “the most pervasive yet least examined aspect of Hip Hop Culture”--- it’s language. His work springs forth from a solid foundation of past linguistic surveys by William Labov, Roger Abrahams, Claudia Mitchell-Kernan, Geneva Smitherman, and Marcyliena Morgan, to name a few, that emerged during the 60’s and following decades. I am particularly drawn to Alim’s unapologetic approach toward presenting the “Nation Language” of the glocal Hip Hop community as a valuable subject for investigation. Hip Hop Nation Language (HHNL), as described by Alim, “can be seen as the submerged area of Black Language that is used within the HHN.” (74); a language indebted to it’s cultural creators that primarily include members of the broader African American community. This sentiment could be equally transferable to the relationship between Black Vernacular dance and Hip Hop dance. Thusly, I find Alim’s assertion that the language of Hip Hop Culture is pervasive material ripe for scrutiny to be on point. Is it the least examined aspect of Hip Hop culture? Nope! I don’t think so.

To forefront mc’ing/rapping, the verbal practice/art of Hip Hop in a discussion about Hip Hop Culture is a common occurrence. These discussions might not entail the type of examination Alim might be alluding to but they do include some sort of analysis and/or examination. Alim’s book might possibly be directing this assertion toward the academy. Nonetheless, in either case, I have found the language practices produced by dancing bodies to be the ‘least examined.’ Fortunately, the work of afore mentioned linguistic scholars provide a potential outline for examining the language of Hip Hop dance.

In relationship to Alim’s work I aim to explore more than the lexicon of Streetdance, including the important issues surrounding it’s use. For example, as Hip Hop through a portal like YouTube mediates the adoption of Black Vernacular movement vocabulary by non-Black youth. It is through this process that the moves, movement vocabulary, complimentary movement phrases and all of the signs, codes, and signifiers therein become transformed. Nonetheless, it has been observed by linguistic anthropologist studying African American Vernacular English (AAVE) that in spite of the adoption, appropriation, borrowing and/or theft of African American English speech there is a great portion that remains secured within the immaterial domain of “private black vernacular lexicon.” The previous statement is not to declare that black dancers use the movement vocabulary exclusively because eventually certain physical expressions “filter into” mainstream/white lexicon of movement through a variety of cultural intermediaries. As a result numerous corporeal expressions are substituted or redefined, and in some cases abandoned, by black dancers while others carry on as common currency in both cultures.

Recently, I have found myself mapping out a schema to travel through the linguistic landscape of Hip Hop/Street/Black vernacular dance practices. What is frequently omitted from discussions about black dance trends is an analysis of the corporeal language and language use of this diverse group of movement practices and its practitioners. In particular, an examination of corporeal language use within the Black community especially in the socio-cultural context of the [neighbor]Hood or The Streets. This approach assumes the possibility of viewing and describing dance as a means of corporeal communication similar to oral language discourse.

In doing so I have chosen to use the work of Katrina Hazzard-Gordon, who’s research directly addresses the function, meaning and uses of black vernacular and social dance(s); and Susan L. Foster, who’s exhaustive scholarship approaches dancing, like writing, as a system of signs as a compliment to what I’m keying in on in Alim’s work. In addition, the work of academicians such as Brenda Dixon Gottschild, Jane C. Desmond, Thomas DeFrantz, coupled with the contemplated and practiced theoretical discoveries and developments conveyed to me by a vast list of practitioners in the local and global Hip Hop Streetdance communities. And, lastly, given my lifelong enrollment at Sidewalk University, I am inclined to draw upon my own experiences in a variety of social, cultural, geographical, and performance contexts as a dancer/choreographer/mc/producer/etc. in an enduring quest to be an effective Street Scholar.

STREET SCHOLAR SAMPLER

Official & Instructional Vidz


Okay, secure the Velcro on your wig piece. What’s about to happen here is a mash-up of sorts. No, let’s call it a Street Scholar Sampler. For this section, I’m gonna play a few samples from several different records. I got a Susan Foster lick, a little T. DeFrantz, and a nice groove from H. Samy Alim. This is where you get a taste, just a taste, of how I play with bits and pieces of scholarship in an attempt to craft something stimulating and funky for your dome piece. Now, I know some folk will try and front by deeming this improper scholarship because scholars methods of “sampling”, like that of musicians prior to rap, use the material to “accent” or “flesh out” a piece of writing, not build a new one. But don’t trip, this is Hip Hop, your peoples, Tricia Rose in her book Black Noise (1994), put it best, “Rap producers have inverted this logic, using samples as a point of reference, as a means by which the process of repetition and re-contextualization can be highlighted and privileged.”(73) Word! As for now, I’m simply laying out components. I’m exploring this material and feeding my sample library for a future composition.

What’s in a frame? Foster describes the frame as the way the dance sets itself apart as a unique event. Therefore, for Soulja Boy, YouTube becomes a digi-space to dooooooo it! Or, at least, demonstrate how it’s done. Yet, cyberspace is not the Hood and is way off the block. In a real social environment a great deal of African American dance takes place in the permissive protection of the circle or cipha. Furthermore, the circle/cipha is more than just a shape outlined by bodies creating a potential performative space to enclose one member of the surrounding collective. We are familiar with this distinct type of movement discourse. What’s often overlooked is how in a social space like a club, recreation center, a block party or yo’mama an’dems backyard bar-b-que, that the participating dancers become the circle. The formation of the circle is realized through the dance by the dancing bodies. Check out a 4-Wall Soul Line Dance, like the Loose Booty, the LR Shake or, just to take it back a bit, the Electric Slide. Still, the call and response mode of communication subsist. The DJ might make the initial call to the floor by playing a particular song that s/he knows will spark a collective movement response. An obvious example would be if s/he played Marcia Griffith’s song, The Electric Slide. Or, a non-verbal call could be made by someone on the dance floor who initiates a dance (for instance, a new trendy dance or line dance) that results in a group of folk, it doesn’t have to be everyone, following her/his lead. It is in or as the circle that various verbal and non-verbal cultural modes of discourse operate. Peep this.

All African diaspora dance, including black social dances, may be likened to verbal language most in its conspicuous employment of "call and response" with the body responding to and provoking the voice of the drum. (DeFrantz 2004)

It is through the call and response communicative strategy that the dance circle/cipha is experienced as a unified field of interaction. In the simplest of ways this mechanism clearly distinguishes a relationship between the leader (caller) and responsive listeners or audience that function as both observers and participants.

Everybody say, “Ho-oh!” . . . “Hooo-oh!”

The above is an example of how call and response is usually referenced. Missing is the complimentary and/or supplementary layers of communication or the “multiple levels of call and multiple levels of response, occurring simultaneously and synergistically.”(Alim 2006) Like when the roles are reversed and the audience, drummer/dj, music and/or spirit take the lead and make the call. Or, when beef comes into play and a circle forms from the tension between two dancers. Or, when Crank Dat Soulja Boy is played and the participants (dancers) response is mixed. Dancers may genuinely respond out of an affinity for the dance signaled by assertive, and quite possibly inventive, implementation of the steps. On the other hand, this genuine response might be marked by a dancer’s disgust, wherein the execution of the dance signifies an attitude of clownin’ or mockery quite possibly followed by a quick exodus off the dancefloor in an effort to send the DJ a message. In either case, with both groups, a certain level of play and/or enjoyment is experienced.

“This is a multilayered totalizing expression that completes the cipher (the process of constantly making things whole). We witness a call and response on the oral/aural, physical (body), and spiritual/metaphysical level.”(Alim 81)

So, given YouTube’s virtual environment is it accurate to assert that Soulja Boy is the circle. He, black body in motion, embodying the non-verbal narratives of African America, becomes a reference to the symbolic design, ideas and activities that shape the circle.

What’s in a shape? The frame. Crank Dat Soulja Boy is set, staged and captured in “real” environments in an effort to portray scenarios, spaces, places and kin-folk that fortify a particular cultural valence and relevance that speaks directly to Soulja Boy’s intentional or target audience(s). Gotta represent. Yet, in the virtual world what’s produced in both the official and instructional videos is a two-dimensional split cipha. The circle is cut into halves, the arcs are flattened into straight lines that are crossed, and their intersection becomes the point of connection on the world-wide-web, a URL (Uniform Resource Locator). The content of the circle is diffused. As presently commonplace as it may seem to post video content online this sort of cultural diffusion is unique, eventful and predictably unprecedented.

STREETdance[R]

What’s implied when someone claims to be a ‘street dancer’, or claims to ‘do’ street dance? For many this declaration is intended to indicate more than the preferred practice and/or performance space of street dance styles and forms. To assert that you are a street dancer, breaker, B-girl, B-boy, popper, locker, etc. means that you are intentionally ascertaining that your approach, style, flavor, vocabulary, training style, technical development and implementation draw from the streets. It means that you over-stand how to make use of, adapt to and transform space; public space, private space, secular space, sacred space, hallways, garages, street corners, alleyways, basketball courts, aerobic studios, hotel rooms, ballrooms and conference suites, driveways, and the list continues. It means that you’re listening, finger on the pulse, ear to the street. Listening to those folk around you, those folk in your personal cipher and the haters. Listening to the music that bleeds from your surrounding environment, your heart beat, soul and what’s comin’ out them speakers. You are listening with an enhanced ability to notice, I MEAN, feel change.

“Might snap my fingers.
              Might clap my hands.
                               Don’t get it twisted, Pimpin, this a hood dance.”
                                                                                                            ---- Sean Paul of the Youngbloodz

It means that depending on where you comin’ from you know what it means to ‘jit’, ‘juke’, ‘buck’, ‘percolate’, ‘sponge bob’, ‘get buck’, ‘get jiggy with it’, ‘crank dat’, ‘c-walk’, ‘poole palace’, ‘mono’, ‘chicken head’, ‘chicken noodle soup’, ‘lite feet’, ‘5000’, ‘wu tang’, ‘gangsta walk’, ‘harlem shake’, ‘wacky dip’, ‘tek weh yurself’, ‘beat ya feet’, ‘jook’, ‘heel toe’, ‘rack daddy’, and you know there’s thousands more yet to be “discovered.” It means that you do the damn thing at school, your cousin’s house party, the park, family reunion, in front of the bodega, front driveway, in your room, the kitchen (on the nice and slippery vinyl floor), backyard bar-b-q, community center, skating rink, aisle 7 at Piggly Wiggly, and countless other locations. Furthermore, in doing so, it means you reppin’ yo’ hood/crew/peoples/community/ancestors (known and unknown/acknowledged and un-acknowledged). Ashe! AND, in ‘doing so’ the invisible lifeline that connects you, the dancer, to a core cultural center becomes visible (to the observer) through the dance and experienced by, you, the dancer. Listening. Calling. Responding. Knowing. Experiencing. Questing & questioning: Where you comin’ from? So What’choo Sayin’? And, “How you sayin’ it?

It means that you, most likely, know beyond your ability to verbally articulate why this shit (insert your favorite dance) is so relevant. Why it is relevant to your person(a), your peoples, your hood, and the moment. Why folks over there just don’t get it. Why you lament when it goes mainstream, and why you get irritated by folks that do the dance (use the body language/vocabulary) and have no idea what they’re saying, and, flippantly don’t care. It is why folks that ‘do the dance’ to the wrong song, the wrong way, with the wrong groove, and/or at the wrong time, irritate you. You, of course, are simply asking for a little cultural sensitivity. You are simply offering a bit of ancient hood wisdom captured in one pronouncement: Get in where you fit in. I mean if a meaningful conversation is to be had we have to know more than the vocab. Word? Word!

STREETdance

“The street is the locus of the linguistic-cultural activity known as Hip Hop. Hip Hop Culture not only began in the streets of Black America, but the streets continue to be a driving force in contemporary Hip Hop Culture.” --- H. Samy Alim, Roc the Mic Right.

Streetdance is a term used to describe popular black vernacular dances, dance forms and practices. The word street also provides a meaningful reference word that describes the locus and/or community space where the shared ideological, social and discursive structures in both Hip Hop music and dance are organized. It’s in this community space where a constant current of individual and collective expression circulates. It is in this current that the flow persists and resists. 8. Build/Destroy.

In contrast, a dance studio, for example, provides an architectural confine wherein professional, amateur and recreational dancers (everyday people as well) follow and help maintain a different hierarchical structure than that of these everyday folk in everyday spaces and/or Streetdance communities. Subsequently, many Streetdancers find the studio confining because this architectural construction is an environment where the structured hierarchical ideologies are cemented into its foundation and the ghosts of these thought forms linger between the walls. The studio environment is perceived to be space to implement previously learned movement material that rarely, if ever, provide fertile ground for the type of cultural production that develops in the Streets.

The Streets, full of corrugated spaces, are watching, listening and storing the real and fantastic, tragic and triumphant social markings of its inhabitants. In the now, I’m curiously exploring how the ‘social’ in black social/vernacular/street dance functions in cyberspace. Additionally, it’s interesting to track if and/or how the cultural modes of discourse that Streetdancers demonstrate in ‘real’ environments are or are not transferred via video sharing. For example:



The above video got so much goin’ on in it. First of all, this social dance practice is happening in the streets, the neighborHood, ‘round the way. These cats are straight improv-sensationally exchanging a shared vocabulary of movement. This exchange is staged in the community for the community reps present. Simultaneously, this seemingly capricious event is recorded and then posted in an effort to share what was produced, in that moment, with an exponentially larger on-line community. So, now having created some shelf space in The People’s Archive, everyone that was physically there can re-view, and possibly re-live this moment in dance; while, simultaneously the dancers, the cipha participants and their hood, for that matter, are a simple search’n’click away for getting’ some shine.

Finally, there are several elements of show’n’prove operating in this clip. The total experience illustrates how the dancers, in particular, and the folk from this particular spot on the map get down. The multiple layers of call and response are ridiculous. The cipha/circle is composed of people functioning as an interactive audience; 360˚ of support not for an individual but for an experience created and captured in real time. The social inter-action is demonstrated through shouts and call-outs (“where you at”) that beckon individuals to enter the cipha for battle; whoops, ohs! and ahhs! functioning like audible exclamations punctuating a move, a combo or even a mis-hap; hand-claps and chanted lyrics, chok full of references to contemporary and old school popular songs (brrrrrrrrl stick’em! ha, ha, ha stick’em!) supply a musical/rhythmic soundtrack for the moment; and, if you listen/watch close, there’s plenty of oral and corporeal clownin’ and signifyin’ going on. Finally, in this cipha, each dancer maintains focus toward the gaze of the camera, and the shot is positioned in a way that places a YouTube viewer as seemingly part of the circle.

So, the question is: How is this type of event re-produced by a group of people unfamiliar with the particular cultural modes of discourse in operation here? Sure, the moves, dances, sounds, words, etc. can be duplicated and/or imitated, but what about the meaning? If you’ve participated in a cipha like that and you witness/experience a dance cipha that man-u-fractured and devoid of vital cultural nuances; how can you not grapple with notions of authenticity and/or realness? How do we de-scribe how imitators and/or appropriators in-scribe new/no meaning using the same text? I’m wondering how we can begin to measure the electrical charge of a moment when all the pre-scribed elements are at play. With Crank Dat Soulja Boy in mind, YouTube offers a wealth of material that allows us to follow the transfiguration of Soulja Boy’s body of choreographic work. 

SNAP!

“Don’t get it twisted, pimpin’, this a hood dance.”—Sean Paul of Young Bloodz

In an attempt to explain Snap music, and its body-based compliments, websites such as Rap Basement (rapbasement.com) have posted brief descriptions:

Snap is a new subgenre of Rap music that is emerging from Atlanta, Georgia. A close cousin to similar Dirty South style crunk, snap is characterized by its namesake finger-snapping, and its very primitive, stripped-down approach to hip-hop. Tracks commonly consist plainly of a hi-hat, bass, snapping, a main groove, and a vocal track. Invented for use at clubs, it is unusually languid for normal dance music, with a slow tempo. There is some debate over the true origin of snap, with both rap outfits Dem Franchize Boyz and D4L and leading producer Mr. Collipark claiming themselves the creators.

Dance.
There are four dances that can be done to snap music. They are The Poole Palace, The Westside Walk, Jocin', and the Snap Dance. The snap dance is a very simple dance done to snap music. Different artists have different ways of instructing it, from Lil' Jon's "Snap ya Fingaz, Do ya Step" description to Dem Franchize Boyz "Lean wit it, Rock wit it" instruction. Basically, the dance is the movement of the torso and arms with little (if any) feet movement, followed by snapping and leaning back in time with the music.

The first paragraph, which was probably jacked from Wikipedia or vice versa, points out that the “primitive” characteristic of Snap music centers around the finger-snap. I also came across a website that offered a “how to” step-by-step instructional text. In this case, the dance is reduced to four easy steps. So, “When you're concerned about "sweating up" your expensive outfit, or just want to look cool on the dance floor, there's a dance that's got your name all over it. It's easy, and the best part is once you've got the basic moves down, the sky's the limit.” What’s crazy is how this notion gets transferred to the dance. The dance is all about the snap. Really?

But, check it. The “dance” features finger snaps as bookends to the “dancing” that happens in-between. Even the featured fingersnap of the dance functions as an opportunity to exhibit individual style. How you gon’ snap? Don’t just snap. It’s not about keeping time. Snap!

For example, dude in this clip adds, with his body, a variety of polyrhythmic phrases on top of the “primitive” and “unusually languid” music.



In this clip, the punctuation of the snaps is noticeable but not predictable. The use of the finger snap functions as a means to support the overall aesthetic strategy. He’s not just keeping time. This embodied act of stylistic time-keeping seems to recall, in some way, the jazz aesthetics of the “swinging twenties” often exemplified by toe-tapping and finger-snapping. It recalls an image of Harlem’s bouncy head-noddin’, toe-tappin’, and finger snappin’ hepsters; an image that has been embedded as an embodied visual representation of a moment in jazz. In the same way, this dance will mark a moment in hip-hopstory and it’s geographical (Atlanta, Georgia) and ideological (The Streets) region of origin. Dance captured on video, re-formatted and uploaded dance is one language that turns YouTube into an accessible space. It potentially becomes a space clear of oral language borders. It is assumed that the audio-visual content of a dance clip permits the viewer

Lastly, for the record, there are more than four dances that can be done to snap music. Folks aren’t restricted to the fore mentioned dances when a snap jam comes on.




BLACK VERNACULAR DANCE

“I-I-I-I-I am everyday people” – Sly & The Family Stone

Vernacular. This term, condensed by sociolinguists like William Labov, defines vernacular varieties as casual varieties used spontaneously rather than self-consciously. Vernacular dance (movement)*. African American vernacular dance references the social dances that exist, thrive, and are recycled, repurposed, nourished and developed in ‘everyday’ spaces by ‘everyday’ people contrasting environments akin to dance studios wherein, historically, ideologies of dance creation, participation, and development are strikingly different. In everyday spaces everyday people dance through many seasons for many reasons; although they may not classify themselves or be classified by others a dancer. What rings true in the moment is that they’re dancing; participating in a corporeal speech act/exchange/discourse with and in the community/communities present. It is from these communities that Streetdance and Streetdancers are born.

*I have placed movement along side of dance to include codified non-verbal gestures used in African American vernacular communicative practices. Movements like ‘poppin’ your collar’ are transferred from vernacular speech acts to corporeal exchanges on the dancefloor. Often dancers ‘pop they collar’ to signify where they’re from (the Yay Area in this case) or simply to embellish the dance movements being produced.

THE PEOPLE'S ARCHIVE

Drawing off of Diana Taylor’s descriptions of the archive and the repertoire, I’m attempting to see how, if at all, these descriptions connect with my own conception that a website, like YouTube, can be considered The People’s Archive. ‘People’, in this case, is intended to match the democratic notion and tone put forth in the United States Constitution. You know, the ‘we, the people’ people.

What is The People’s Archive? It’s where we post, upload what we deem as valuable and it’s stored on a server somewhere out/in there; you know, in cyberspace. Taylor describes the archive as a storehouse of enduring material objects. The repertoire is depicted as the ephemeral ‘immaterial’ experience. The People’s Archive exists in a synthetic binary that operates in an immaterial world of 0’s and 1’s. This archival object, a video clip, (in this case, any clip specifically related to Crank Dat Soulja boy) is an intentionally constructed representation. Consequently, given an archival location like YouTube, it (the video clip/content) is here (available on the website) today, and quite possibly here forever; as long as there’s enough server space. Or, it is here one day and quite possibly gone the next.

“we’re sorry, this video is no longer available.”

Nonetheless, the idea of permanence has shifted. YouTube users often assume that it(the desired video) is there. The next assumption is that if it’s not there (on YouTube), right now, it’s somewhere (in cyberspace). Furthermore, if it’s not anywhere, it will show up again. This assumption is based on a user’s casual theoretic notion or hope or fantasy that somewhere in the collective mind field there is somebody like them that wants to see/share what s/he is searching for. This notion has taken (thought) form in the consciousness of most current Internet users who have become accustomed to searching for information expecting a rapid find. In some cases, the potential user becomes an information provider when s/he digitizes, uploads and posts what s/he was searching for in the cyber digi-sphere. Another common scenario finds the user clicking her/his way toward another search topic that will yield results in the now. This level of expectation is indicative of how digital quantity and time are perceived and is governed in Web 2.0. Frankly, the fluidity of Web 2.0 has bred a new species of impatience but that’s a topic for another time. Let’s get back to The People’s Archive.

"There are several myths attending the archive. One is that it is unmediated . . . Another myth is that the archive resists change, corruptibility, and political manipulation."—Diana Taylor from The Archive and the Repertoire, Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas

The suggestion behind the slogan The People’s Archive is directed toward the intrinsic gap between the hierarchical structures of permanent institutions and the seemingly more democratic preferences available within the sphere of cyberspace. Open source archiving on YouTube involves a communal curatorial practice. The website boasts a vast and highly accessible video database. The content that spills out of this cornucopia of audio and visual media is “user-generated” content. Which means, the previously posted and proverbial ‘people’ are the archivists.

The traditional role of archivists is to maintain information and manage its life cycle. Numerous duties like acquiring; assessing and appraising materials, arranging records, as well as, retaining control over and providing access to information are performed. Archivist, and the organizations and institutions they serve, wish to ensure long-term preservation of various forms of media that have ‘enduring’ value. Now, with the digital revolution in full swing individuals are able to bypass traditional routes from creation to archiving and preservation. Thousands of people who, most likely, do not consider themselves to be archivists are fulfilling the role. Their contributions reflect more than their personal interests but also what they, not an institution painting a fresh coat of formaldehyde on a particular canon, deem to be valuable.

“WHAT MAKES AN OBJECT ARCHIVAL IS THE PROCESS WHEREBY IT IS SELECTED, CLASSIFIED AND PRESENTED FOR ANALYSIS.” (TAYLOR, 19)

The quote above tickles me. I mean it’s funny to imagine Soulja Boy composing, choreographing, staging, and then recording ‘creative’ product specifically and strategically packaged for the YouTube audience(s). All the while, consciously intending to present his product for analysis. Okay, maybe it’s not that funny. Matter of fact, that’s exactly what he was doing. Right? He was producing a ‘postable’ object for mass consumption. Is consumption a form of analysis?

Middle English, from Middle French or Latin; Middle French consumer, from Latin consumere, from com- + sumere to take up, take, from sub- up + emere to take
Date: 14th century (www.merriam-webster.com)

If the song lyrically invites the listener/audience to participate in a choreographed dance, and the accompanying video demonstrates the said dance, isn’t that also an invitation of participatory investigation? Call me crazy but Soulja Boy, in the original and the instructional Crank Dat Soulja Boy videos, takes on the role of dance instructor. Therefore, he is casting himself in the role of pedagogical performer. YouTube becomes the virtual information dissemination station wherein the audience(students/participants) are provided an opportunity to critically engage with the physical, political, social, and cultural dimensions of embodied knowledge connected to Hip Hop, in general, and Black dance, in particular. Through Soulja Boy’s commonplace yet cyber-spatial exercise of performative pedagogy students/participants/viewers/users are afforded the opportunity to address his/the performance textually or visually or both. The participatory experience is then re-staged, and at times, re-choreographed, and recorded to then be up-loaded and posted as an in/direct response or video comment by certain students/participants/viewers/users. Additionally, this type of discourse continues mapping a path that removes Soulja Boy from the central role that he once occupied. As a result the students/participants/viewers/users feedback, textual or video comment, speak to and/or through performance as imitation, representation, identity politics and embodied knowledge to name a few.