The Impact of Krump and Religious Freedom

I was talking on a friend’s podcast recently, and somehow, we ended up watching a short video of Krump dancers. This spontaneous, wild movement was something my friend didn’t understand. In a way, I can see how the style seems chaotic and unfamiliar compared to other genres of dance. I had the opportunity to explain a little bit about Krump and why it’s so controversial.

Krump dancing is known for its raw energy, expressive movements, and deeply personal storytelling. To the casual observer, Krump looks strangely aggressive. But once you get deeper into its origins, you start to understand the spiritual nature of what the movement can do.

I’ve always said that young people who grow up in religious families end up in one of two places: the clubs or the churches. The combination of Christianity and Hip-Hop has a rocky origin story. I can remember when the elders in my own church wouldn’t even allow us to have a drum set because they felt it was too “worldly.” As a young person who deeply believed in Jesus, I could not understand why my Christian faith had no room for self-expression through drums, dance, or music that didn’t come from a hymnal.

When I became a club kid, I didn’t see any connection between spirituality and Hip-Hop. The two entities couldn’t have been farther apart in my opinion. I loved Jesus, but I also loved the beat, the dance, and the rap. I felt convicted that I would have to choose, and I chose Hip-Hop. The church I once attended made me feel like I couldn’t exist in both spaces. I wanted to dance and rap way more than I wanted to sit in a pew.

I found a unique self-expression and freedom in Hip-Hop culture. There were opportunities to share my personal story and exchange ideas with like-minded friends without the shame of dogma. Many years later, the church began to accept some forms of dance, but still not Hip-Hop.

In the early 2000s, I witnessed “Clowning” come into existence on the West Coast. Clowning is a form of dance that allows inner-city kids to express their frustration, joy, and skills in a safe way as an artistic performance. Krump came from Clowning. Credited to dancers known as Tight Eyez and Mijo, it is essentially a subgenre of a subgenre, with the name standing for Kingdom Radically Uplifted Mighty Praise.

Among the most recognized and influential Krump dancers today is Konkrete, whose talent and dedication have made waves in the dance community. His appearance in the documentary Dancing with the Devil offers audiences a compelling look into the world of Krump and the struggles faced by those who use dance as a form of self-expression—especially within the strictures of a religious system.

After watching the movie, I felt as uneasy as I did in the days when I used to sneak off to the club instead of going to church. I didn’t leave my church family just because I wanted to dance and rap; I left my church home because I no longer felt the same way about the religion. I had witnessed several unchristian-like events that caused a profound crisis of faith.

In Dancing with the Devil, Konkrete’s journey centers around themes of resilience, transformation, and artistry. The film follows his life both on and off stage, capturing moments of deep vulnerability. What I saw in the movie was Konkrete struggling with the decision to stay at a new church home that, in my opinion, took great advantage of talented dancers. It confirmed my own vulnerabilities regarding the separation of Hip-Hop and religion. I saw the church as a control mechanism, and Hip-Hop as the antidote to that control.

PSA: I write this with no judgment toward any specific religious beliefs or affiliations with spiritual practices that do not involve harm. The problem is, harm is becoming less subjective.

In other forms of Hip-Hop dance—whether breaking, b-boying, house, or freestyle—the dancers might have their own personal relationships with religion or spirituality, but the focus remains entirely on the music and personal expression. Krump is different. It is purposeful. It unites like-minded Christians into a cipher or competition where the expression is meant to be an uplifting exchange between dancers.

If you don’t know what you’re looking at, it is going to seem wild. If you do know what you’re looking at, you will see a dancer throwing all of their energy into a style featuring quick, hard-hitting movements, jumping, hopping, and the use of imagery that can appear violent. “Buck” style is a savage expression meant to invoke praise. The audience is loud and vocal in their support. To me, it is highly reminiscent of the Pentecostal style of worship, which is loud and boisterous, with church members jumping and running through the aisles. Again, if you don’t understand it, it can feel chaotic—but people of the Pentecostal faith believe they are communing with God.

I am an observer of all types of Hip-Hop culture, and I especially love dance. I no longer have a crisis of faith because I now understand that my beliefs do not have to be separate from my love of Hip-Hop. Sadly, what I currently see within the Krump community is the exact same thing that caused me to leave my church home decades ago. The pioneer of this dance style has been vocally critical of other dancers within the genre. Unfortunately, I have yet to see how this isn’t just another form of religious dogma, where the vehicles of shame and patriarchal control prevent total freedom.

Konkrete elevated the visibility of Krump when he became part of Beyoncé’s Renaissance tour. I’m sure much of the audience did not understand exactly what they were looking at when Queen Bey dedicated a section of her concert to Krump dancers. Krump isn’t new, but it was elevated to a worldwide platform via Konkrete, which likely sparked this recent controversy between Tight Eyez and Konkrete.

Tight Eyez’s primary issue with Krump dancers outside his immediate circle is the commercialization of the style and the lack of recognition for him and Mijo as its originators. He has expressed strong opinions about dancers like Konkrete who have gained attention through mainstream platforms like World of Dance or Beyoncé’s tour.

This situation is similar to what happens when other artists go mainstream and share their art worldwide. It raises a tough question: Is this gatekeeping to preserve the art form’s purity, or is it dogma aimed at shaping Krump into a strict style of praise and worship—possibly causing others to experience their own crisis of faith?

Konkrete’s journey has contributed to a much wider conversation about art, identity, and perseverance. His story resonates with anyone who believes in the transformative power of creativity. My dilemma now is whether I dislike Tight Eyez because I view his actions as hypocritical for someone who claims to be a Christian, or if I have to accept that he, as the creator of something new, has the right to dictate exactly what Krump should be.