FLIP-HOP

You’ve seen the moves – a man spinning on his head, a sweatsuit-clad kid with limbs flowing as rhythmically and gracefully as an ocean wave. And even if logic says it’s impossible, there’s something so awe-inspiring yet accessible about hip-hop dance that you just might feel the key to discovering your inner B-boy or B-girl is only a matter of time – even if you are out of shape, over the hill or don’t know the difference between a “pop” and a “lock.” (For help on that, see our glossary.)

Maybe you feel that way because the dancer you saw defying gravity was wearing the same shirt you had in your closet, or the routine was performed in someone’s basement – whether in early ’80s films such as “Flashdance” and the break-dance classic “Wild Style,” recent mainstream hits such as “You Got Served” and “High School Musical,” or reality TV shows such as Fox’s “So You Think You Can Dance?” or Bravo’s latest, “Step Up and Dance.”

But unlike previous dance trends embraced by pop culture (ahem, disco), hip-hop and its many styles have been integrated into dance academy curricula and studio schedules alongside ballet, jazz and tap. The “trend” is not only here to stay, but anyone can learn it.

These days, you can find a hip-hop class almost anywhere. Gyms, community centers and YMCAs offer a more laid-back atmosphere, if you want to approach it casually or just want a fun workout. Classes at dance studios are highly recommended if you want to be taught by a pro – or become one yourself.

“Find a teacher you’re comfortable with,” advises Shane Sparks, a choreographer for “So You Think You Can Dance?” and a judge on MTV’s “America’s Best Dance Crew.” “And if you want to make dance a career, take as many styles as you can.”

Sparks commands one of the more popular hip-hop classes at Millennium Dance Complex, a North Hollywood studio that Janet Jackson, Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears have turned to for their moves. His teaching style is fast-paced and diverse, featuring big jumps as well as subtle but quick shifts of the feet. He chooses not to incorporate the music until his students master a significant part of the routine. In short, you’d better learn quickly.

“In the dance world, your ability to pick up choreography is more important than how you dance,” says Sparks, a Cincinnati native who peppers his steps with expressions like “boom,” “pop” and “hit.” “I’m teaching them how to do it instead of just showing them.”

Sparks’ adult classes average 50 students, ranging widely by ethnicity, age and skill (he also teaches a kids class right before the adults). You can dress in gym clothes, but nothing stops people from strolling in wearing jeans, printed hoodies and fancy sneakers. Hip-hop is possibly the only genre of dance that doesn’t require specific gear.

As the packed room warms with body heat, the mood remains focused, yet candid and upbeat. Near the end of class, the students separate into two groups to perform the entire routine to Flo Rida’s song “Roll.” If you feel self-conscious, you don’t need to be. Dancers are usually focused on their own moves reflected in the mirror.

“The high energy is what keeps me coming every week. The routines are always different,” says Shawn Henry, 32, who has driven from Santa Barbara every Wednesday night for four years.

“It’s fun and lets you get your anger out,” says 14-year-old Caitlin Mulvey, who takes Sparks’ kids and adult classes. “You just dance it out and try to look your best.”

Hip-hop dance can be viewed within two categories: old school and new school. Old-school styles – break-dancing (or breaking), popping and locking – date back to 1970s funk and street dancing. They are considered the fundamentals of hip-hop dance.

The new-school styles – krumping, Crip walking, Harlem shaking, hyphy and bucking, among others – that emerged in the 1990s and early 2000s contain variations on footwork derived from breaking, as well as upper-body movements, or “isolations,” from popping and locking. The routines in videos, movies and studio classes combine those street styles with elements from jazz, modern dance and even ballet.

“Hip-hop is a language and a culture,” says choreographer and “Fame” star Debbie Allen. “It has united a whole generation of young people.”

When Allen opened her eponymous Culver City academy in 2000, hip-hop dance was as integral to the program as ballet or jazz. The academy conducts auditions for hip-hop dance scholarships in May and holds the weeklong Hip Hop Dance Intensive, featuring classes and concerts, June 22-28.

It was also one of the first studios in L.A. to offer krumping, a hard-hitting, rapidly moving hip-hop dance style that originated on the streets of South-Central.

“Krumping is like playing the Dozens in dance,” says Allen, referring to the quick-witted game of insults. “It’s physically signifying. It’s a battle.”

The hourlong class is taught by Shannon “Lil’ Tommy” Hall, a brother and protégé of Thomas “Tommy the Clown” Johnson, a main subject in David LaChapelle’s 2005 krump documentary “Rize.”

Sturdily built and easily approachable, Hall saunters into class every week wearing an airbrushed T-shirt bearing his moniker, with a cap and shoes in matching colors. Most of his students are in their teens or younger, and the majority are female. The first half of the class is dedicated to “krumpography,” a term Hall invented to describe his technique of mixing krumping basics – chest pops, arm swings and foot pivots – with turns, kicks and other moves.

“Krumping is all freestyle, so it’s not something that you can really teach,” says Hall, 24. “That’s why I came up with krumpography. It’s a way of presenting the krump in a routine manner.”

After teaching a routine set to a thumping rap song, Hall gathers his students for a freestyle session in which he encourages them to dance like no one’s watching. Hard to do for a beginner – but if a 7-year-old can pop her chest confidently, surely you can too.

“When people saw ‘Rize,’ it all looked intense,” says Hall. “But it’s not really like that. We don’t push or shove.”

Like krumping, break-dancing can also be difficult to teach in a conventional manner. Breaking’s three basic elements – the introductory “toprock,” the ground-based “downrock,” and the acrobatic stunts for which it is famous, the “power moves” – are learned mostly by watching others and mastered through trial and error.

“When you really learn how to [break-dance], you learn how to come out of your shell,” says instructor Bryan Pentecostes, 27. “During a battle, you don’t know what’s going to happen. The music is there with you, and you’re there with the music. You’re not trying to hit the beat; you are the beat.”

The students taking Pentecostes’ class at Jayvee Dance Performing Arts Center in Alhambra spend most of their time on the floor learning the intricate arm- and footwork in downrock or experimenting with a headstand. Bruises are guaranteed, but so is the sense of accomplishment when a move is done well.

As with all forms of dance, hip-hop instills dedication, discipline and passion in the dancers who choose to practice it, no matter what their skill level. “When I see somebody expressing themselves honestly and truly, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world,” says Sparks. “Nothing else in this world does that for me.”