Perhaps the most compelling thing about jerking, suggested Randall Roberts, the music editor of the L.A. Weekly, is how handily its practitioners manipulate the Web, scouring culture of historical context, freely deploying any tool that comes to hand. “It’s like they’re dipping back and forgetting that things like gangsta rap ever happened,” he said.
There is much to admire, Mr. Roberts suggested, in the vision of teenagers of all sorts united in pursuit of a music that blends computerized pop syncopations with hip-hop beats, that obliviously blurs racial boundaries and that encourages sartorial experimentation of a kind that, Mr. Hasan said, would have marked him in high school as a hopeless nerd.
Guy Trebay, “Hip-Hop’s New Steps,” The New York Times
The New York Times does its de rigeur jerking Sunday Styles piece. Nothing particularly revelatory, though there is the ever-entertaining spectacle of the Times' stylebook, which leads to a description of teenagers goofing around with each other coming off as, “Batting their false eyelashes, the Walker twins giggled at Mr. White’s antics…” Charmed, I'm sure. (Or maybe Mr. Trebay is playing on the predilection amongst jerkin' youth for calling parties “functions.”)
Mr. White, by the way, is a fifteen year old with “Spotlight” tattooed across his belly, who initiated the rendezvous with, according to the Times, “Let’s go mess with the Pink Dollaz.”
Congratulations, anyway, Los Angeles. Your grassroots music/dance trend has come of age.
In Washington, the first thing people tell you is what their job is. In Los Angeles you learn their star sign. In Houston you’re told how rich they are. And in New York they tell you what their rent is.