In a converted warehouse on the east side of Des Moines, the bass drops and fifteen bodies explode into motion. Arms slice through the air. Chests pop. Feet stomp so hard the sprung floor shudders. This is not what most outsiders picture when they think of Iowa—but it is exactly what founder Marcus Webb envisioned when he opened the Des Moines Krump Collective in 2017.
"People told me krump wouldn't survive here," Webb says, catching his breath between sessions. "They said Iowa was too quiet, too polite. But krump isn't about where you're from. It's about whether you're willing to be real."
From South Central to the Corn Belt
Krump originated in South Central Los Angeles in the early 2000s, born from neighborhoods where traditional dance studios were scarce and expression was urgent. The style—characterized by aggressive, highly controlled upper body movements, theatrical facial expressions, and spontaneous battle circles called cyphers—arrived in Iowa roughly a decade later through touring dancers and YouTube tutorials.
Webb discovered krump while studying criminal justice at the University of Iowa in 2012. He spent weekends driving to Chicago and Minneapolis for workshops, then returned to Iowa City to teach whoever would show up. His first class drew three people. Two left halfway through.
By 2016, Webb had relocated to Des Moines and built a core group of twelve dedicated dancers. The Des Moines Krump Collective opened the following year in a 2,400-square-foot studio that had previously housed a textile printer. Today, the academy serves roughly 180 students annually, with weekly classes for ages seven through adult.
Inside the Collective
The academy's schedule reflects krump's democratic roots. Monday and Wednesday evenings feature all-levels sessions where beginners drill foundational movements—chest pops, jabs, and arm swings—while advanced dancers refine their freestyle vocabulary. Friday nights belong to the cyphers: open battles where students test material against peers and visiting dancers from Cedar Rapids, Waterloo, and Omaha.
Webb insists on a structured progression. Students must complete twelve weeks of fundamentals before entering intermediate choreography. The curriculum also includes krump history, battle etiquette, and music theory—unusual rigor for a street dance studio.
"In L.A., you might learn by being in the room," says longtime instructor Tasha Okonkwo, who joined the Collective in 2019 after training in Atlanta. "Here, we have to be intentional. We build the culture piece by piece because the infrastructure isn't already around us."
That intentionality has produced measurable results. Collective members have won top-three placements at the Midwest Street Dance Championships in Chicago for four consecutive years. In 2023, Webb and three senior students traveled to Los Angeles to compete in the annual Back to the Underground krump invitational—the first Iowa representatives in the event's history.
A Broader Movement
The Collective's influence extends beyond its own walls. Webb has partnered with the Des Moines Public Schools' after-school arts initiative to offer free six-week krump residencies at five middle schools. The Iowa Arts Council awarded the program a $22,000 project grant in 2022, funding instructor training and student scholarships.
Local support has also come from unexpected quarters. In 2023, the Iowa State Fair added a street dance exhibition stage for the first time, with the Collective programming ninety minutes of daily performances during the fair's eleven-day run. Attendance exceeded projections by 40 percent.
"There's an appetite for this," says Des Moines city council member Connie Boesen, who helped secure the fair partnership. "Marcus didn't just build a studio. He created a pipeline that connects kids to discipline, to history, to something bigger than themselves."
The Students
The Collective's student body defies easy categorization. Maya Chen, 16, drives forty minutes from Ames three times weekly. She started in ballet at age five but found krump during the pandemic through TikTok tutorials.
"Ballet was about disappearing into a shape," Chen says. "Krump is about arriving as yourself. I didn't know dance could feel this honest."
DeShawn Morris, 28, works second shift at a meatpacking plant in Perry. He attends the Saturday morning adult class, sleeps through the afternoon, then returns for Friday night cyphers when his schedule allows.
"After eight hours in that plant, you carry something," Morris says. "Krump gives me a way to put it somewhere. The floor takes it."
What Comes Next
This spring, the Collective will send its first full competitive team to the World of Dance qualifiers in Denver. Webb has also begun discussions with the Des Moines Civic Center about a 2025 evening-length production combining krump with live orchestral music—an ambitious collision of forms that would have seemed implausible a decade ago.
The studio itself remains unglamorous.
