January 11–18, 1996

second season|dance

dance

The Lockers

Rennie Harris takes hip-hop dance to the next phase.

By a.d. amorosi

"You're jiggling, baby. No doubt."

That particular phraseology may not be what most dance aficionados are used to. But with the approaching storm of Rennie Harris & Friends at the Annenberg's Next Move dance festival, they damn well better get used to it.

The scene: I'm standing alone, getting called Steven Seagal, at Club Fever, the all-evening, all-ages hip-hop heaven, on a Friday night. Well, not entirely alone; for surrounding me are hundreds of young black teens, average age 16. Here, in the back room, you could have your picture taken in front of a purple Mercedes-Benz parked in front of the Capitol dome or watch the blenders spin non-alchoholic pina coladas, whirring and gyrating like the dancers in front of me.

Standing, bouncing in the long length of mirror, these kids remind me of what this space once was: the New Wave haven of the East Side Club. These mirrors that once gave heed to preening Flock of Seagull fans and spitting punks now give way to kids dressed in regal but sporty style: Tommy Hilfiger gear, wool caps, ski jackets and basketball jerseys.

While the kids may very well be out for their usual Friday night dose of reddish-blonde-dreadlocked DJ Storm's powerful blend of hip-hop, hard rap and reggae, tonight has brought out more than a few unusual freaks. Tonight, choreographer Rennie Harris is looking for a few good men and women to help populate his next big project: a hip-hop history lesson from the '70s to the present in which his company — Pure Movement along with some friends — have finally been invited by Dance Affiliates and its managing director Randy Swartz to perform in this year's 9th annual Next Move Dance Celebration, "Archetypes," for which Swartz acts as artistic director. (The concert's already a hot ticket: The three originally scheduled performances on March 8-10 have already sold out, and Dance Affiliates had to add two 11 p.m. shows on Mar. 8 and 9.)

The men and ladies Harris is looking for must be able to dance an old school mess around. These contests, a star search of sorts, are being promoted by DJ's and participating clubs like Fever, MilkBar and Nile They must have a sense of history and knowledge of the present. Most of all, they must be able to feel the future, to help Harris take hip-hop movement to the next level.

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For North Philadelphia native Harris, the next level has always been the most important one.

"I'm a new kid on the block in terms of local dance theater," said the 32-year-old Harris from his home, but this hardly makes him a newcomer. Coming from a deeply rooted commercial background, Harris made a name for himself dancing as hip-hop rose in prominence and sales. He spent time in NYC performing in videos for rap acts like Whodini and went on to touring with them, Kurtis Blow, Run DMC and Fat Boys in 1984: "The real old school stuff."

He was a Swatch Watch Breaker, breakdancing during TV ads and live demos around the time the Swatch first came out, and did benefits with the likes of Harry Belafonte, Bill Cosby and Rosie Perez as well as forming dance teams like the Scanner Boys.

Upon coming back to Philly in 1987, he returned to the local TV show he had once been a part of, Dancing On Air, when they were going national as Dance Party USA. Here, he would floor-manage, direct and choreograph. After a few years of this, they gave him his own show, One House Street.

"It came on after Soul Train on Saturdays," said Harris about the show, a Channel 57 program, that ended in a hail of political complications, reruns and ill-decided time changes. "They wanted me to cut my hair," he laughs about the long dreadlocks that he had to hide with a hat. "It was a pretty big deal for management."

Around the time the show ended, he did a commissioned work for Mike Pedretti in the early days of Movement Theatre International and founded his own company, transforming hip-hop for the theater.

"Hip-hop is the only vocabulary I know. I don't see it as that easily categorized. The name Pure Movement came from the idea of seeing a movement and using it, so my style therefore is relatively naturalistic. Hip-hop dance is so diverse that there is no universal movement. In choreographing I can go from using my moves to those that my dancers might be picking up on. My dancers can do my choreography, but they do not look like me doing it."

Most integral to his choreography, though, is what the music expresses. "Hip-hop and its stories are about life. Not unlike traditional African dance and its tales, we deal with lifestyle, the expression of the time. The way that rappers talk, I dance — about life — but dance allows you to imagine it more. Life shapes me as an artist."

—---

Life figures most prominently during the dance contest at Fever — it's the night of the arrest of local rappers Steady B and Cool C for the murder of police office Lauretha Vaird. Kids are talking about it, how wack it is, how wrong the cops are, how fucked up the situation is. The place is a mob scene, kids gathered in circles gazing, admiring and plotting as they watch their brethren dancers.

"There's been a lot of people calling the office. We're gonna wing this. I mean look at them, there's a lot of good dancers out here. This reminds me of the old school hip-hop thing. Organized chaos. That's true hip-hop," says Harris as his company partner Brian Mengini expresses himself about Fever's temperature. "It's hot as a motherfucker in here."

As a young guy in a red hood is rapping at me, the contest is ready to begin. Phil the announcer, an imposingly large man with a DKNY hooded jersey, takes the floor.

"I need you either on the floor or on the side of the floor." He gets louder. "C'mon. Back UP. STEP TO THE CARPET. I don't want no mistakes. I'm tired and I ain't talkin' no BULLSHIT!" He leans into the microphone and gets ahold of Storm, who's been spinning "I Takes Two" by Rob Base.

"Yo, Storm. It's fucked up what they did today." The throng cheers. "It's fucked up. So let's make THIS thing happen. There's a man from City Paper takin' notes. Let's make sure THIS shit happens!"

Rennie has told me, "One style doesn't outweigh another. I'm a popper by right. It's creating an illusion, which is the opposite of pantomime. These kids are gonna use it all."

He's right. Some are reluctant to start. They stretch, they scratch in preparation. Once Daron, a gangly 24-year-old guy in baggy light blue jeans and white t-shirt, kicks it, it's all over. His arms are flapping, his legs kicking.

Another kid teams up with Daron and hits the floor, legs spinning and knees jerking. A third and fourth enter the arena in full winter jacket and hat gear. They're spinning and kicking Russian style. This is Dr. Zhivago. A fifth guy, Shelton, enters alone, only to mesmerize with a Broadway shuffle, a buck n' wing, a twirl and a bow.

These motherfuckers are getting way dramatic as negotiations are being made, partners decided upon. Rennie looks stunned, happy on the sideline. Daron enters again with an impressive head spin. Phil yells, "Back the fuck up!"

Shelton comes back and he and Daron are dosi-do-ing. It's a barnyard. It's Vegas. Shelton picks up a brush and starts combing his hair. Shan-tay, the only girl dressed coolly in overalls, is performing pliable kneebending miracles, fuckin' Gumby stuff. She does a cartwheel and a split. My legs hurt for her.

A heavy-set kid with a blue bandanna does a lovely and subtle boxing movement. DJ Storm kicks into Cool C and Steady B's one big hit, "The Glamorous Life." At first I don't recognize it, until its melody break and sly lyrical content —"We gotta use what we got to get what we want" — kicks in. With this the throng moves forward.

As another kid hits the floor, he begins high-steppin' to the ceiling, so much so he knocks down and breaks one of the club's flashy neon lights. The contest ends abruptly but peacefully with Shan-tay, Daron and Shelton as our winners. Rennie, who yells "I'm tired," will do this at Nile next week, then onto Milk Bar until he's got his lot.

Ultimately, all Rennie wants to do is see dynamic motion that mirrors an incredible, perhaps a glamorous life.

"I look at this [the performance at the Annenberg, March 8-10] as educational. We'll be using video, projections, old photos — it's gonna be like a live documentary. Most people don't know the difference, say, between hip-hop dance, a lower form like street dancing, or even a jazzier form like house dancing which is a fusion of all of them. There was guys out there Friday popping, using jazz moves, locking, breaking, hoofing, stepping, tapping. That's the learning process."

As I leave Fever, a cop car has stopped three black youths speeding in their car on their way to the club. "We got to get to Fever!" one says, hunched over the side of the deep blue car as an officer pokes around him.

Where is that glamorous life?

Rennie Harris/ Pure Movement at NextMove Festival, Harold Prince Theater, Annenberg Center, 3680 Walnut, Mar. 8-9, 11 p.m., 898-6791.

Harris' company will also perform this season at the Painted Bride Thurs.-Sat. Jan. 25-27. Call 925-9914 for info.