In 1984, I briefly wore the mantle of ‘breakdancer’.
Those were the days when breakdancing (now called B-Boying) was the absolute coolest thing in the world. Michael Jackson had amazed the world in 1983 by doing the Moonwalk on live TV, a couple of movies about breakdancing were in theatres and it seemed to be everywhere on TV. Breakdancing dominated everyone’s thoughts and words. It had taken over the entire world.
Naturally, I had to ride this wave to popularity.
Somehow the 12-year-old me found out about ‘breakdancing classes’ being held somewhere Newcastle. Despite never ever being interested in any sort of extracurricular activity (such as a sport or musical instrument) I decided I needed to attend these classes and become a ‘breaker’. I convinced my parents of this need, and before I knew it was a ‘student’ at these courses.
I can remember it well: the dingy studio with the dirty walls and floor, and the ‘old’ instructors (probably not a day over 20) taking our two or three dollars (we paid per class) and stuffing them into an ice-cream container. There were two of them, both skinny and white, and both unapproachable and quite scary. I have no idea if this was any sort of ‘official’ class, or just some dudes that rented a dance studio for an hour on a Saturday afternoon. I didn’t care about any of this, as I stood there in a group of about 30 other kids my age (including a classmate or two) waiting to become Michael Jackson.
The lessons weren’t very instructive, and consisted of one of the guys doing a move and then asking us all to try it one at a time. There was very little warm up, almost no specific instruction on how to actually perform the moves, and little sympathy or coaching for those that couldn’t. It was just mimicry of a sort, and as I recall barely any of us could copy his moves. I certainly couldn’t.
He was good. I remember being a bit awed by him to be honest, especially when he did the headspin (as he always did), but only to tell us never to try it ourselves! He was particularly good at all the hand movements. I wished I were as good as him. I wasn’t.
My favourite move was the spin kick (or whatever it was called), where you get on your back and spin around like a demented long-legged turtle. I think it was my favourite because it was one of the few I could do. I remember doing it at a family gathering – in public – on a dancefloor. That must have been a site, with my short fat legs spinning around! I wanted my favorite move to be the moonwalk but I was utterly rubbish at it. I could do that thing where you link your fingers and move your arms like a wave, but so could anyone. Without lessons. Better than me, probably.
At school we’d practice and show off our moves. It got so hardcore that people used to bring cardboard into school – massive sheets of the stuff – to cover the ground so we could spin around and break-it-down without hurting ourselves on the concrete. Other kids would gather and watch, until the teachers would inevitably break us up. I never used to participate in this myself; knowing as I did that I was awful at it. But I’d still occasionally tell people about how I was taking lessons, since that gave me an air of authority they lacked. I may have even said I couldn’t perform without my crew.
After a couple of weeks of classes, I lost interest. This coincided with the loss of interest of most of my friends who had also attended. One of them had moved onto boxing; the other skateboards. I think I moved into AD&D myself. I never looked back.
But breakdancing didn’t die off at our school with us losing interest. Around that time another schoolyard clique started picking it up in earnest, and they were both more dedicated and much, much better than we were. Years later I would befriend one of them (AC), and frequently remind him of those days in which he wanted to be known at school by his ‘breakdancing name’: Electric Blue
He had a friend who was amazingly good. I recall this guy would change into a sort of dance uniform (blue and white tracksuit) and do performances in the schoolyard. He’d bring his beatbox in and had his own cardboard on which he had spray painted some graffiti. This was a 12 or 13-year-old! Everyone would watch him when he’d do his thing. He was a schoolyard breakdancing god.
And then he disappeared. The rumour was he’d been expelled for stealing milk money on the way to school. As with all artists, he walked a troubled path. With his departure, so too did breakdancing depart our schoolyard.
By christmas that year breakdancing was a memory. 1985 loomed large in my future, and newer and more exciting pastimes were mine to experience. When Breakdance 2: Electric Boogaloo came out early in ’85 I never even bothered to go and see it. I had left breakdancing – and the large world of dance in particular – behind me.
It’s safe to say that as far as my breakdancing career was concerned I shone only briefly, and to be honest hardly at all.
