COMMENT: The Digitalisation of BMX

Features

Words by D. Hartley
MetalPegs BMX, East London.

My first BMX video was ‘Last Resort’ by Seventies. I got it as a present from my parents for Christmas, 1996. I’d spent a few weeks looking in Ride UK to choose the video I wanted: either ‘Last Resort’ or ‘Velvet Taxi’ by Jinx. I guess ‘Last Resort’ seemed more relevant to me as, based in the UK, I was already buying products from Backyard and had heard of more of the riders. Upon being presented with the video, I watched it during the afternoon of Christmas day, and over the coming days and weeks, repeatedly. I can still remember most of the sections and music from the video: Shaun Butler and Dave Osato riding to the B52s at the Backyard Jam, The Chasm, Jerry Galley killing the ocean blue metal halfpipes and hips at Leigh-on-Sea skatepark. Dennis Wingham jumping doubles with no seat. Kris Bennett. And Ian Morris’ feeble to barspin which was used as the screengrab in Ride UK.

My other early videos of BMX were Dave Mirra going for the world record air at King of Concrete 1993, Southsea on Childrens’ BBC ‘Record Breakers’ (Chris Akabusi enthused as ever). I’d recorded it off live television using my parents VHS player. Videos were harder to come by back then, usually required payment, and were less omnipresent. Props BMX Video Magazine was probably the equivalent of the internet in terms of exposure to riding from elsewhere, but I didn’t really get to see it very much. Road Fools picked up on the energy and mobility that the internet first brought to BMX. Fast forward to today and, like probably everybody else, I watch most videos online, usually as soon as they come out, for free, on my laptop or phone. I can watch videos wherever I am pretty much, whenever I want.

“Working chronologically through the videos, the timeline traces an evolution of BMX videography.”

Sometimes I have a look at bmxdb.com to catch up with older videos I’d forgotten. Working chronologically through the videos on the site, the timeline traces an evolution of BMX videography. I’m surprised when I watch old videos from companies like S&M and see the time that was taken just to present the videos’ titles… flicking through A4 pieces of paper, weird in-jokes that are difficult to decipher. There isn’t always such a rush to focus upon the riding and ‘groundbreaking’ manoeuvres in these older videos. Instead, often lots of talking about riding, insight into individual riders and scenes, a lot of emphasis upon style and creativity, often presented through a more do-it-yourself approach. The term ‘freestyle’ was perhaps more meaningful, and scenes and individuals seem to have worked to express the freedom they experience from riding through the styles of life they could create. Re-watching ‘Velvet Taxi’, I feel some of these memories rushing back.

The BMX database has far fewer videos from modern day riding. The latest videos seem to be from about 2011. Perhaps the site is no longer updated. But I also think it’s because it is dedicated to archiving peoples memories, and sharing videos that are difficult to obtain. Perhaps it’s also because, come the age of the internet, smart phones, Youtube and Instagram, and the rise of companies and individuals drawing on what is known as ‘social media’, videos are so innumerable and readily available. It’s likely commercially impractical for the site to archive all these videos made now; servers cost money.

All this seems to be reflected in the styles of riding that are now visible. This evolution of technology, ways of recording and presenting BMX for others to watch, seems to have changed the way we ride, by contributing to the opening up of distinctions in riding style between BMXers and scenes. The activity of watching videos is no longer located especially within a particular place and time (my Auntie’s front room at Christmas, or a mate’s house). Videos are also abundant, constant, playlisted, inescapable. Youtube retrieves over six million hits linked to ‘BMX’, in addition, our choices are manipulated by computerised algorithms that limit what we can see. Does this make those we can see less memorable? (How can it be possible to remember any, keep track of those enjoyed or not, those striking up our imaginations, others showcasing progression, technique, or creativity within the constraints of our own expectations?)

“Street riding once represented a return to what is most immediate and accessible: the streets around us and our imaginations as riders.”

Some do stand out, that is for sure. But most are short and snappy, limited by precisely the technology we use (for instance, by the time allowed for a video on Instagram, or the memory capacity of a smartphone). Riders, videographers, and companies alike, each hoping to make a living or a life out of riding, respond appropriately. Whilst some try to reproduce quintessential images of what constitutes a particular style, others aim to stand out from the masses of other riders and videos, doing so through emphasising elements of riding thought to be ‘extreme’, the most sensational parts of riding. Then the felt, bodily impact BMX used to have upon us previously floods back: the flips and tailwhips attempt to make riding more memorable, the oil-slick sheen catches the eye, whilst the bright and colourful clothing and bikes ensure our attention is held long enough for a company logo to be branded upon our memories. Us consumers can skip to the next video, watch from another site, select videos from any period of time, from pretty much anywhere. There’s no time nor space for messing about with stupid title sequences that last longer than can be practically presented as a Instagram preview two weeks before the official release. While all this was happening and we became preoccupied with shiny objects and flashing images, our print industry in BMX and more widely has crumbled and the older magazines struggle to not become, alas, simply video dispensaries. We no longer have anything to hold other than our bikes and our phones. In some ways, the hoards of street riders, replete with scratched up black bikes and discontinued parts, represents a cultural shift in BMX riding and scenes that counters this impact that digitalisation has had upon us and the industry. Though we all buy products, street riding once represented a return to what is most immediate and accessible: the streets around us and our imaginations as riders. Though this too is becoming another way of increasing ones’ Instagram followers via shoutouts (and my own conscience reminds me, BMX has always had corporate suits as well as WAL, Homeless, Hoffman).

'Still United' – a legit BMX DVD, you even have to pay for it.

Of course, this is all polemic: there are examples of riders, videographers and companies still being creative within all these constraints. I haven’t seen it yet, but I heard Ian Morris wanted ‘Still United’ to be a longer video in order that it didn’t get lost in the millions of other videos available to watch for free (… you even have to pay money for the video). Despite everything digitalisation has done to BMX, the apparent current boom phase of the industry and the uncertainty some face, the company is ‘Still United’. And there are other crews working with older technology, subverting the new, using technology and taking to business with style as well: DWOK, and Unknown Parasites, for example invoke memories of Velvet Taxi and other older, more memorable videos, and the new S&M video seems to recall BMX heritage and something more meaningful than BMX being only an expression of male risk-taking prowess. And of course, there’s always FBM. At times, BMX even looks fun.

“We no longer have anything to hold other than our bikes and our phones.”

As happened in music, with the rise in people buying vinyl again now that material recorded formats have all but lost their commercial practicality, ‘zines have arisen again, as if we still want to have something to hold, pass around, and which reminds us of specific occasions. My girlfriend picked me up the last copy of Matty Lambert’s Mono magazine from a gallery in Liverpool the other week. There’s a few others moving into print (Badventures; Endless, and so on). What is special about Lambert’s Mono is that the pictures are not digitalized, the images are of riding within specific places and times, outside, around the city, rather than performed upon generic plywood or concrete constructions that themselves, like digital videos, have no connections to place, time, or our bodies. I recall skipping through the pages of Mono on the train back home, and in my house. The images stop as I put the magazine down. I even have a think about some of them as well (and the memories seem to last more than the Instagram IDs hollered out on vlogging videos now everywhere).

Perhaps what is also happening is a shift in our capacity for creating experiences that feel authentic, ‘real’. What is riding if doing a trick – a rail, a 180 barspin, or even, a new unseen (NBD) manoeuvre, is not captured via smartphone and stored digitally? It is as if digitalisation of BMX has limited our abilities to remember riding as a meaningful way of life if it is not re-presented to us, on the screen. Overwhelmed by choice and discontent with the advantages watching and making videos promises but never provides, we pick up our phones.