Meet the B-boy carving out global fame

Breaking burst onto Bronx blocks in 1973, thanks to Black and Puerto Rican youth as a powerful form of expression. By the ​‘80s, the rise of hip-hop propelled street dance from the boroughs of the Big Apple to concrete jungles worldwide.

Fast-forward to today and the new generation of b‑boys and b‑girls represent some of the top athletes, dancers, and influencers on the planet. They’re landing sponsorships with Nike, Adidas, and Red Bull, roles in major motion pictures, invites to dance in different countries each week, and a chance to compete at the Paris 2024 Olympics this summer, when breaking will make its ​“one-time” debut. 

Sam Phillips, known as Sheku, is a self-taught pro b‑boy and underdog on BreakingGB, a crew for elite breakers in the UK and a member of Just4Funk crew. He’s carved out fame across all four corners of the globe, not through glossy campaigns or a sizeable stash of sponsorship cash, but with a unique style and an unstoppable determination. 

When we speak, Sheku is at the beach for a rare week back home in Devon, carrying a shoulder injury and one shot left to make the Olympic cut. He’s between daily double training sessions, with a razor-sharp focus on the future and his battle mentality at maximal. 

“I kill myself every round like it’s my last,” he says. ​“I don’t mind setting the pace and going first against an opponent because I know no one can dance like me. It’s hard to dance like me. I’m very complex; my strength is my originality. You can’t teach that; you either have it or you don’t.” He continues: ​“Even though I’m not sponsored, I reckon I work harder than anyone else who is. Honestly, I don’t think any breaker is on the same work ethic as me right now.” 

Breaking has never been this big. Ever. From the explosive creativity, fusion of styles and acrobatics b‑boys and b‑girls possess, to the level of competition, prizes at stake, and the gargantuan fan following that comes with it. 

The heights are unprecedented. Today, a b‑girl in a village in Kazakhstan can post a clip from a local cypher on TikTok or Instagram and clock viral fame or brand deals by morning. Add the Olympic Games to the mix, and the breaking scene is set to have more exposure than any pioneer of hip-hop culture could have predicted. 

51 years ago, on August 11^th 1973, DJ Kool Herc, the pioneer of turntablism, famously mixed two copies of the same record at a party for the very first time. He extended ​“the break” section of the track so that dancers could go off and have more time to showcase their moves. 

Breakers flexed fly footwork and gravity-defying head spins during Herc’s rhythmic loops, creating the foundations of the genre. MCs like Grandmaster Flash spit bars out of boom boxes, and graffiti writers Futura and Lee Quiñones painted the backdrop. 

Soon, Ice‑T was hosting breaking battles, which, like rap cyphers, became an alternative way for crews to master moves and settle their differences, whether at block parties, clubs, park jams, or freestyle sessions in skating rinks. 

Photographer Martha Cooper was documenting a subculture on the rise. Hip-hop heavyweights like Big Daddy Kane, Fab 5 Freddy, Kurtis Blow, and Run DMC jumped in on the action and recruited breakers like Mr.Freeze, The New City Breakers and Rock Steady Crew into their music videos. Television appearances followed, and cult films like Breakin, Wild Style, Beat Street and Flashdance launched, leaping across the pond toward global hype.

Breaking hit London in the early ​’80s. UK crews formed, such as Street Machine from Manchester, Rock City Crew from Nottingham, and Second to None from Bournemouth. But by the end of the decade, the scene had been diluted by the feverish rise of mainstream pop, party dances, and crazes. Many b‑boys, b‑girls, and hip-hop heads who’d supported the culture packed up their Kangol hats and Adidas superstars and left their legacy on the lino.

Sure, the mainstream scene was dead, but underground, breaking was very much alive. Unknown to the general public, breaking was thriving and evolving.

The rise of the competition era and ​“judged breaking” gained traction thanks to promoters applying for art grants, sponsors, and funding events out of their own pockets. Among those were the UK BBoy Championships, a yearly event famous for its 1on1, solo competition, and 8vs8 crew battle, established in 1996 by the promoter, DJ Hooch.

That same year, in ​’96 Sheku was born by the seaside in Devon. A decade later, he was dancing. ​“I started breaking around 2009 after seeing the first UK BBoy championships really early one morning on the TV. Immediately, I knew that b‑boying was what I wanted to do.” Sheku explains, ​“I didn’t really have access to YouTube back then, so I was just recording all the breaking battles and documentaries I could get my hands on.”

Sheku began honing his skills by repeatedly rinsing the tapes and copying the moves. ​“Someone taught me the helicopter at school, and I started body popping and all that after watching the Step Up movies”, he laughs. ​“I would say I’m self-taught apart from a couple of workshops with important people in the UK world of breaking such as Renegade, Mouse, and Splinter. B‑Boy Casper had a big influence on my footwork, because he was killing it in his own way. ” he continues, name-checking those who’ve inspired him. ” I wasn’t winning for a long time; I was always losing. Mainly because I wasn’t good at power moves, and in England, back then, those were the ​“go-to” to win. I always lost to breakers doing windmills and head spins because I was just rocking classic footwork like a 6‑step the whole round.” 

Sheku’s finesse with footwork began in a different arena. ​“I started out with boxing and breaking at the same time. I think I was 14 years old, which is not that young, really. All my friends were doing it, and I was the only one dancing, so I guess I initially started boxing to follow the crowd.”

But by his 16^th birthday, Sheku’s passion to pack a punch had been superseded by breaking. ​“I knew if I was going to make it at one thing, I would make it in dancing, simply because I put more hard work into that.” Sheku says, ​“I was growing out of boxing a bit because it is painful! It’s not an easy sport. Still, if dancing hadn’t worked out, I would have endured the pain and done all I could to make it at boxing or some sort of martial arts. My mindset of mastering a craft comes from that indefinitely.” 

At 27 years old, Sheku has 55 titles under his belt, including World Battle Porto, one of the biggest solo-breaking competitions, two Red Bull BC One UK wins and spent 18 months defeating opponents in a gruelling qualifying process to try and qualify for the Olympics.

Despite being ranked 33^rd on the WDSF Olympic ranking list, he’s had to cement his status by battling first thing in the morning and late at night in different countries against a string of revered b‑boys who have been multiple world champions. 

On top of that, there’s been chat circulating among breakers about biased judging across the battles from some of the unknown names on the panel that could be less knowledgable about the breaking or OG fanboys making the final decision. 

“That can be a bit scary and a bit unreliable to know that our future is in their hands.” Sheku remarks. 

Debatable judging isn’t why you won’t see breaking at the Los Angeles Summer Olympics in 2028, but it’s another testament to the numerous complexities and logistics of trying to transform one of hip-hop’s four elements into a world-class sport. 

When it comes to adversity, Sheku is a beast who can battle past all odds. When he’s not training, he’s a barber who has had multiple side hustles to fund his dreams. 

“In the future, I would love to go down the route that sponsored b‑boys and b‑girls have gone down; that would be amazing! If I could train six hours a day, I would really abuse my body just to make sure I’m amazing! If I was sponsored, I wouldn’t be barbering. I would focus solely on dance. Unfortunately, now I still have to work.”

Sheku reflects, ​“I became a barber because I was trying to find a job where I could take time off to travel. Before that, I made a lot of sacrifices when I was younger, working in coffee shops and roofing just to make sure I had the weekends free to go and battle. But I was getting a bit depressed roofing, it wasn’t for me. I always put my happiness first. I’d rather be skint if I have to be. I put happiness over money any day.” 

One of the most blissful spots for Sheku is running on the beach, nature or training in the studio. ​“I wake myself up every day and go ​‘right, I gotta go train.’ I just have this thing in the back of my mind where I have to go.”

When asked to reveal how he’s adapted his training this past year, he explains, ​“I train for breaking like I would for boxing. I’m not really talented, but I would say I’m really hardworking at what I do. I train six days a week, over 20 hours, at least three or four hours daily. I love the running, the conditioning and drilling the same thing over and over until it’s perfect.”

Recently, Sheku’s been working with a coach to level up his dynamics for the Olympic qualifiers, but for the most part, he’s entirely self-trained. ​“Some days, I go with completely no plan of what I’m doing. It’s either a good or a bad session. I don’t really have anyone to battle with out here unless I train with my crew, which is once a week or my student. Everything else is on me. ​“he continues, ​“I try not to be too hard on myself. Even just showing up to your session and doing an hour of top rock [foot movem is still doing something. That’s how I see it. Everything all adds up.”

Sheku’s penchant for incorporating numerous, intricate threads (moves passing​one body part through an opening also created with the body) has solidified his distinctive style and the nickname ​‘Thready Kruger.’

He gets his main inspiration for his moves from movies and cartoons and infuses his performance with dynamic storytelling. Sheku has an all-rounded approach to his craft, but when pressed to sum up his style, he says that he makes his dance routines look like a captivating doodle coming to life. ​“So far, my proudest achievement was 100% finding myself and my style. The feeling you get when you know you have that shows the hard work.”

When it comes to his tactics before a major battle, Sheku remains solo.

“I normally go sit in the toilet and put my headphones in. I fiddle on my phone, working out what I am going to do, and then I close my eyes, and I visualise it. I see if it works, and then I go and do it. It’s always been me, by myself. Ultimately, I’m the only one who can make the right decision about what I’m going to do to beat this person up there.”

The studio is calling, and while the sun starts to set on our chat, Sheku’s eyes are locked on the horizon. ​“I would say the biggest challenge to ​“making it” as a b‑boy is getting your name out there. It only takes one big event for the whole scene to know who you are. Patience is key.”

So, how would he feel if he locked down that final spot? ​“Making it to the Olympics is a feeling I can’t really explain right now, but I’m sure I’d be over the moon more than anything if I did. When I look at who I’m up against in the last qualifiers before Paris, those b‑boys are literally the best to ever do it.”

When it comes to the UK breaking scene, Sheku already had G.O.A.T status, more than that, his self-made success thus far speaks to all the other underdog breakers out there who have had nothing handed to them, and had to build everything by themselves. Sheku’s proving he’s a force to be reckoned with. ​“I might have a bunch of titles, but my main focus in dance is to keep creating, exploring, and leaving a legacy. I treat every battle like it’s my last, but I’m only just getting started.“

A version of this story will appear in Huck 81, which is coming soon.

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