Watching b-boys sharpen their skills: A sure-fire cure for the expat blues.
By Some Nordic Based Guy
3 October 2007
Despite having relocated to Europe well over five years ago now, there are moments when I still intensely miss American culture. Sometimes this manifests itself in the quixotic hunt for some particularly over-processed junk food (think Fritos or Wise Onion Garlic potato chips) that fellow expats have seen on some supermarket shelf three very long tram rides away.
Other times it takes the form of the search for the stereotypical American experience. Earlier this summer, I thought I had one of those experiences all plotted out and good to go. Here on the Swedish west coast, American football is going through something of a renaissance, and I was willing to bet that watching some Swedes work their magic on the gridiron would cure what ailed me. Just as important, I thought it would yield some interesting photos.
Long story short: great game, but nothing much in the interesting photo department. Not all that surprising given that I had only carried a 50mm lens with me, especially given the distance between me in the stands and the players on the field. Clearly, shooting stadium sports was not in my future.
But, as I headed away from the stadium after the game, in full-fledge moping mode, things suddenly broke my way far better than I could have ever expected.
Coming from down an alley, I heard the thump of some serious b-boy tunes. Followed the music and stumbled across a group of guys working hard and fast on their moves. I stood there for almost an hour, shooting frame after frame of drops, freezes and spins. There was serious effort being put into getting each move just right, and while they weren't mugging for the camera overtly, I definitely got the feeling they were willing to hold the poses just a bit longer so I could try and snap that extra frame.
Each was impressive in his own right, but the one that stood out in terms of presence and intensity had his name tattooed on each forearm. Ernesto Romero Escobar has been dancing for over five years, is in Style Warriors Crew, and performed at the Swedish hip-hop awards in 2003. There were moments where I just wanted to put the camera down and be further amazed by all they could do, but that fear of letting at least one great moment go uncaptured kept me snapping.
At some point though, it became odd to think of this scene as 2007 in Sweden. The music and the moves felt distinctly older, reminding me of my own youth in the Bronx during the early 1970s, where hip-hop culture was born. But these breakers clearly weren't just about faithfully preserving the classics. Each was putting a modern and individual spin on a style of dance that had its roots in a distant era and place. For a brief few moments, borders between distinct times and places were happily erased, and I was back on the stoop in my Bronx neighborhood decades ago. Expat blues were the furthest thing from my mind.
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