by André de Sa Moreira

Andros Dresamore i leans limply against the railing of an escalator. His body is pulled sideways, in an absurd back-and-forth, like a record being scratched. The editing, punctuated by a hip-hop beat, transforms this innocuous slide into a mechanical choreography, close to a DJ performance.

The escalator becomes a turntable, and the body, a vinyl. It squeaks, it rubs, it bounces. In this forced laterality, Andros doesn't dance: he is danced. Each micro-displacement is an involuntary riff, a groove of plastic and metal. Hip-hop, here, is nothing more than the sound of an urban flow, a sample of gravity.