Crouching Lion, Hidden Dragon

Fridays at 4 p.m. mark the training session for Chinatown’s oldest lion dance troupe, a group established nearly 70 years ago. These 20 to 25 performers gather at the New York Chinese Freemasons Athletic Club on Canal Street to prepare for the upcoming Lunar New Year parade.

Brandon Lee, the nonprofit’s president, leads the session in a fitted black T-shirt, directing the trainees like a drill sergeant. They practice a range of intricate gymnastics aimed at getting their young lion performers ready.

Out of sheer curiosity, I decided to enroll in some classes to learn the art of lion dancing. It wasn’t just playful dressing up—it blended ballet with a sense of “Cobra Kai,” underscored by martial arts history visible on the walls.

“On the count of three, shift to your next stance,” Lee commanded. Everyone else seemed to glide effortlessly through the complex moves, while I struggled to keep up, falling out of sync.

Soon, these beginners will have to wear heavy papier-mâché lion heads weighing 10 to 15 pounds and perform intricate routines they’ve practiced for a whole year. One dancer operates the lively head, while another manages the flowing fabric behind.

Just moments in, my legs ached. At 36, I found myself the oldest in a group mostly between 12 and 29. Thankfully, I avoided the dreaded 70 push-ups.

“It’s tougher than it seems,” Lee said, hinting that mastering this takes about three years. He remarked they’re in search of a fierce lion dancer, explaining, “We’re strong, we’re confident. That’s what makes our style recognizable.”

Lee knows what he’s talking about. Following the paths of his father and uncle, who performed in the 1990s, he joined the ranks before taking on leadership. By day, he works in IT, balancing roles as president and treasurer.

The boot camp feel of practice clashes with the fact that this is a completely volunteer-driven effort. Participants range from high schoolers to professionals, all squeezing rehearsals between classes and jobs.

Interestingly, you don’t need prior dancing experience to try out; everyone is welcome. Typically, the most athletic performers take on the head while others provide support, like playing the gongs.

David Jang, 22, who began his journey at 16, noted, “This is a side gig for me,” pointing out that it required significant effort to reach a level where he could perform. It took him around eight to ten months to truly dive into lion dancing, juggling his studies with sessions outside scheduled practices.

“It’s hard, but it matters—I’m here for the team,” he shared, claiming that the challenges he faced helped him grow as a person.

“Endurance training shapes your mindset,” he added. “It’s really about passing down culture to younger generations.”

While some positions may seem like simple participation, there’s no room for slack in this troupe. Having strong upper body and leg strength is crucial, as is the ability to move in harmony with your partner. Picture it as a mash-up of “Saturday Night Fever” and Broadway.

A good test of coordination is when the head dancer improvises. Lee explained that the person in the back has to keep a close eye on their footing.

I couldn’t help but admire the group’s dedication as they never let me near the lion costume during practice.

This dedication is vital, given their busy schedule consisting of 70 performances a year at various events, from weddings to grand openings. They’ve even danced during the Knicks’ halftime show for three consecutive years.

“If I can perform at Nick’s show, I can handle anything,” Jean said.

The upcoming Lunar New Year festival on March 1 presents the biggest challenge. Celebrating the Year of the Horse, the parade will involve firecrackers and last from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.

While around 40 to 50 will march in the Masonic parade, only about five will actually dance, with others playing gongs, drums, and cymbals.

“We have parades all day throughout Chinatown,” Lee explained. “It’s a major effort to keep everything flowing.”

Across town, a competing troupe, Young Lions, founded in 1972, claims to have 150 performers in their ranks.

Skill level often dictates where a dancer can perform, Lee noted. Only seasoned dancers manage to handle the lion while navigating offerings like fruits on strings.

Not dropping the lion’s head is crucial, as doing so can set you back $1,500. “That’s definitely something you want to avoid… it’s a real loss of face,” Tom warned. If it happens, the troupe’s members pitch in quickly to recover it.

This practice stems from a tradition that dates back to the Tang Dynasty. Most stories about lion dancing trace back to the mythical monster Nian, which was scared off using firecrackers and drums.

Now, the performances continue annually to drive away evil spirits and promote communal prosperity.

But this art form, while steeped in history, is increasingly influenced by modern elements. Tom remarked that although the China Community Young Lions remains largely Chinese, there’s growing representation from African American, Italian, and Japanese members.

“People joke that we’re like the United Nations around here,” he said.

However, clubs face the challenge of maintaining the traditions of Lion Dance in a social media-driven era. Videos showcasing performers dancing to rap music have surfaced, which Tom decried as “not cool.”

“The more that happens, the more we lose respect for the art itself and the essence of why we do this,” he stated.

Yet, Young Lee remains hopeful. While acknowledging some cultural aspects may fade, he also sees the potential for spreading excitement and increasing skill levels.

“We have our own social media; it lets us share performances online,” he explained. “It also encourages members to reflect on how to improve.”

Ultimately, he feels adapting is essential to staying relevant. It’s just vital, he concluded, that no one forgets to care for the lion’s head.