Have you seen this documentary by celebrated photog David La Chapelle called RIZE?
It’s a stunning piece of cultural investigation that is at once comprehensive, visually impressive (on oh so many levels), establishes emotional rapport on both a micro-storytelling and character development and socio-political macro level and is just all around wasak na wasak.
The first time I watched it I was mesmerized, then, at the end, I was shaking in my chair, a blubbery mess of indignation and wrath, astounded at the execution and crescendo of the narrative that nigh attains an apotheosis of all that’s great about this verite medium. I mean, there was nary a voice-over through out the two-hours plus running time. How’s that for organic storytelling? Wish I had the time and enough funds to do something like this.
Anyway, RIZE chronicles how the aggressive hip-hop dance now known as Krumping (or Krunking) came out of Southern Central LA’s inner city streets (that’s “ghetto” for you, bub) that’s plagued by gangs, violence, drugs and a history of catastrophic riots (remember the response to the 1992 Rodney King beating?).
Strangely enough the whole thing evolved from an upbeat, positive and decidedly comedic form of dance performed by party clowns known as, well, Clowning. I kid you not. Clowning was such a welcome alternative to gang banging and drug hustling that kids took to it with abandon. Eventually, the kids got bored and branched into their own style, naming it Krump.
If you’ve ever seen a Krump routine then you’ll see why having the muscular black physique is definitely an advantage in performing. The speed, aggression and fury of the dance reminds me of the But’oh (I think the Japanese call it the “dance of darkness”) and the film also posits that it bears resemblance to African tribal duels, ritual dancing and shamanic ceremonies that involve the community. But it is gaddam fast. There's even a caveat at the start that flashes: "The images in this film have not been sped up in any way."
Whatever. In RIZE you can see how it’s become not only the dance de jour but also an intrinsic form of spiritual communion as well as a way of life. This thing has saved them from selling cocaine. This thing has saved them from getting dragged into the Crips or the Bloods. That it's a lifesaver is an understatement when you contrast it against the background of gang-controlled neighborhoods.
While I saw this docu a second time with Tanya a month back I only thought to write about this now because, today, I saw L’il C (one of the docu’s characters) in a replay of So You Think You Can Dance? teaching one of the contestant pairs how to bust Krump moves. Krump has become such a phenomenon it's crawling out of the ghetto and getting legit. Well, I guess a variation of the Krump stripper dance being done by Beyonce was a sign.
That and a week ago the filtered water delivery guy (with offices next door, as in literally the next house) got shot in broad daylight by a guy on a bike a block from the shop. The shooter rode away clean. Plus, there have been long lines for the government discounted rice for weeks now. Plus, four days ago the street got woken up by the neighborhood tambays catching a thief in the act of burgling a house from a rooftop ingress. Yes, I live in the ghetto. No, the thief did not get caught but the tambays chased him away. It was 11PM.
“What we are is oppressed” says L’il C in one of the docu’s cutaways. Because oppression tastes the same in any language or country. Because you can taste the desperation in the air clear as fizz in a soda. Because a method of catharsis is a lifesaver whether it's horror or krump or heavy metal.
If you listen to the Youtube clip’s lyrics there are lines by Red Ronin that go: “You ever get so deep in poverty’s dirt the grid on your navigation won’t work?”
I remember eating nothing but fish balls for weeks in college because I couldn’t afford a decent rice meal `til my OFW mom sent us our monthly chunk of cash.
“What you know about rappin’ just to keep sane and selling coke or keep from killin’ you man?”
I remember writing scenes of violence and gore and darkness on a battered typewriter as a way out of the consuming hatred and loathing I felt at the world back then. See: http://www.theminimag.com/feb04/karl_de_mesa/karl_de_mesa.html. I remember feeling horror at my own ability and total knowledge to say: yes, yes I could.
“I send a message to the distressed adolescent barely made it out of the hood on the wing of prayer and blessing.”
Watch the docu. We shall fucking rise.
