Penn Station, the biggest transportation hub in New York City, that at times may feel like a short visit to hell, has a new life as an unexpected place where dance steps rewrite the rhythm of the city.
As The New York Times reports, some commuters are no longer rushing to the exit as soon as the train stops. They’re moving to the beat, waving their arms, and letting their bodies follow the music. It’s not the agitation and impatience of train delays that they’re expressing: it’s dance.
This is not an isolated case. Not far away, groups of K-pop dancers, a discipline that combines singing, choreography, and acting, sway their hips in synchronized sequences. Passengers continue to flow off the escalators; some stop, intrigued, while others rush past, momentarily captivated by this impromptu stage.
For 24-year-old Lockhorn, this hidden corner of the city has become a symbol. In his view, it represents the true essence of New York culture when it is expressed through the art of the body.
Penn Station, a bustling crossroad for travelers and Amtrak shuttles, as well as daily commuters, now hides a dual identity. In the lower corridor leading to Moynihan Train Hall, between Tracks 7 and 16 of the Long Island Rail Road, lies an unusual free rehearsal space. Officially named the West End Concourse, it features smooth flooring, convenient access, makeshift mirrors in the windows overlooking the tracks, and blue lights that provide perfect visual effects for filming.
This is where Lockhorn and his group, the Foolish Funkateers, have found a home on rainy or cold days, when they cannot stay outdoor. The group, specialized in the “locking style”, discovered the spot thanks to videos posted online by K-pop dancers–and they haven’t left since.
Each crew claims a corner, occupying the space between one or two train tracks: the slanted windows become shelves for resting water bottles, speakers, and phones to record; yet despite its apparent perfection, there is one major flaw in this place: the noise.
Destiny Rodriguez, a member of the V3RS Crew NYC collective, described the environment as “definitely more chaotic than a studio,” but emphasized that, despite everything, they can still work effectively.
In a metropolis where renting a rehearsal space costs between $35 and $150 per hour, the corridor of a station becomes an advantageous alternative for those who dance for passion, without pay, offering a free area to prepare performances or social content.
There’s also an element that even the best studios can’t offer: the unexpected audience. Luke Fletcher, traveling from Boston with his son, confessed that he was fascinated by the scene he encountered while waiting for his train.
Kai Fritz, a K-pop dancer from the Not Shy Dance Crew, travels an hour several times a week from Flatbush, Brooklyn, after a 5 a.m. shift at a coffee shop. For her, the corridor is the perfect meeting point: affordable, accessible, open. She explained that her salary doesn’t allow her to book professional spaces and emphasized that what matters is just being able to move and dance freely.
The floor also plays its part. Paula Naconecy, a Brazilian Zouk dancer, praised the surface, describing it as fluid and even, without tiles or unevenness. After trying various spots around the Big Apple, she concluded that this is definitely the best.
This is confirmed by the salsa dancer Lizbeth Lucana, who, with her partner Jacob Aliapoulios, comes every week from Long Island to train there. She enthusiastically pointed out how the floor allows her to make perfect spins without tripping.
All this happens in a gray area: dancing is not formally authorized, but neither is it prohibited. As explained by the spokesperson for the MTA (Metropolitan Transportation Authority), performances are tolerated as long as they don’t block the flow of passengers or obstruct access to the tracks.
Sometimes, security may ask the performers to lower the volume or stop filming. But for most dancers, this small compromise is worth the freedom to express themselves. No one asks for tips, nor do they dance for money. They dance for passion, to share a moment of joy.
