Ivan Michael Blackstock: ‘Dance became my outlet before I even knew I needed one’

Dance has shaped every chapter of Ivan Michael Blackstock’s life. Not merely as an art form or a career, but as medicine. ‘I was just obsessed with movement,’ he says, looking back on his teenage years. ‘It gave me somewhere to put all this energy I didn’t really understand.’

When I speak to Blackstock – the true definition of a multi-hypenate, as a choreographer, dancer and curator – over a video call, he is chirpy. ‘I have the day off,’ he says. ‘At least, I’m trying to not do as much work. Living in London, that never really seems to be the case.’ He’s back on home turf for a brief reset in the middle of touring his Olivier Award-winning production, Traplord, around the UK. The next day, he’s back on the road for another two shows. ‘Then it’s the holiday,’ he says, laughing.

Blackstock has become a singular voice in contemporary dance, fusing Black culture, hip-hop theatre and raw explorations of masculinity, while building ecosystems of mentorship and collaboration from the ground up. He became one of the Southbank Centre’s Associate Artists in 2024 – a three-year partnership to nurture a new project – and now, two decades into his professional career, the south Londoner is increasingly interested in the bigger picture: ‘What comes next after hip-hop? How can I carry on a certain lineage?’ But he’s not always been this at peace. In fact, his journey to this point has been marked by conflict and doubt – about his art, purpose and place in the world.

He grew up in the 1990s between his mother’s house in Peckham and his grandmother’s in Brixton, finding himself caught between two rival areas. ‘Gangs were just part of the backdrop,’ he says. ‘Even if you weren’t involved, you were aware of the tension. It influenced how people moved, where they went, who they associated with’. Meanwhile, his family life felt increasingly stifling, marked by the absence of his father. Blackstock found himself retreating inwards to escape, and though he didn’t realise it then, those environments played a key role in shaping his identity, and as a result, his artistic output. ‘A lot of what I make now is me trying to make sense of that world,’ he says.

Watching videos of Michael Jackson and Bobby Brown on MTV – studying the footwork, singing along to the lyrics – provided some sort of solace. He recalls making up dance routines to perform at the church talent show when he was five and taking street dance classes when he was eight. In primary school, he formed a playground dance group called KWA (short for ‘kids with attitude’), singing songs he’d memorised from cassette tapes and riffing on American styles that felt exotic and exciting. Blackstock smiles at the memory. ‘Then you get into secondary school, and you’re trying to hold on to that young energy while navigating becoming an adult.’ He ‘felt like his brain worked differently’ to his peers: he knew he was smart, yet he failed all of his GCSEs and found it difficult to be punctual. ‘Coming out of that secondary school phase, it took me a while to find dance again,’ he says.

A deep-rooted interest in subcultures laid the groundwork for what happened next. Drawn to the intersection of music, fashion and film with hip-hop, punk and skate scenes, he became, in his own words, ‘fascinated by people creating their own language and identity’. He religiously studied the careers of rappers like Master P, Pharrell Williams and Jay Z and had a brief stint studying music at college before he was scouted to do dance at Urdang Academy, the respected performing arts school in Covent Garden. Reluctant at first, he soon realised that formal training could only enhance his hip-hop (by then, he’d joined dance company Boy Blue Entertainment, competing against other crews). ‘Jockstraps and spandex was a completely new thing, but it got me to understand my body better’. Two years later, he could do the pirouettes and jumps with ease.

With his peers, he went on to found the BirdGang Dance Company, something which would eventually, ten years later, lead him to an associate artist role at the Young Vic. He spent his free time teaching dance at Pineapple Studios, then enrolled at London Contemporary Dance School. But before he’d even started his course, his career took an unexpected leap. At 19, he landed a place on the Pet Shop Boys world tour, spending the next year and a half touring the globe. When that ended he used his wages to fly himself out to LA where he’d received an offer, via a school friend, to choreograph for the R&B dance group, Fun*dmental 03. In the States, things moved faster than he could hold onto: he was going to industry parties, getting lifts with famous rappers, was put up in a downtown apartment and also had a brief stay in Bobby Brown’s old house. But before long, the glamour started to wear off. Blackstock could feel in his body that something had to give. ‘I felt like my skills were being wasted on basic steps in the background. I can understand the appeal: you’re getting private jets and are in proximity to these artists and other celebrities. But I just wasn’t taken by it.’

He started a ‘men’s circle’ with fellow dancers and creatives in an abandoned leisure centre in Barking, where a friend was living as a property guardian. ‘It was just boys chilling at first. But then I started opening up about deep things that I’ve never shared. And then they started opening up. I was like, ‘whoa, this is intense’.’ Those conversations turned into regular meetings, which turned into ideas, scripts and rehearsals. Before long, Traplord was born, a genre-defying dance production shaped by Blackstock’s own experiences of masculinity, emotional healing and brotherhood, with references spanning Plato’s Allegory of the Cave to Peter Pan syndrome and Lord of the Flies. ‘It was very cathartic,’ he says and looking back now sees that creative process as a lifeline. ‘I believe that what I make is medicine, because it was medicine that helped me get out of what I was dealing with mentally’.

The first show took place in a small theatre in Redbridge, east London, in 2015. He invited everyone. ‘It was probably the most honest thing I’d ever made, and there was nowhere to hide,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t someone else’s brief or someone else’s vision. It was mine. But I also remember feeling quite calm underneath it all because I knew why I was making it. I wasn’t thinking about where it might end up, I just knew I needed to make this piece. The thing that surprised me was how many people saw themselves in it. I realised that the more honest you are about your own experience, the more other people can connect.’

When we speak, Blackstock is about to turn 40, and his focus has shifted beyond his own career. ‘It’s been a really interesting journey, but now it’s just like, what comes next? Why are there no new styles coming out?’ Much of his attention is on nurturing the next generation through his creative incubator and festival, CRXSS PLATFXRM, which has already supported emerging artists  including designer Bianca Saunders, filmmaker Jenn Nkiru and musician Kojey Radical.‘It’s been about finding a unique ecosystem for myself and artists to survive, but also paying it forward, because that’s the world I’m from; in hip-hop, it’s each one, teach one. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for people in my life who mentored me, gave me space, and helped me through my ups and downs.’

Looking back on it all, Blackstock says the biggest lesson has been learning how to trust his body. ‘My body usually knows before my mind does. When I was younger I couldn’t explain what I was feeling, but my body was already trying to work through it. Dance became that outlet before I even knew I needed one.’ Now, his practice has become more about listening to what his body is asking for. ‘Sometimes that’s movement. Sometimes it’s training. Sometimes it’s rest. Sometimes it’s making work. I think we’ve become really disconnected from our bodies. We’re encouraged to think our way through everything, but sometimes your body already has the answer.’