HIP-HOP HIGH PROGRAMS WEAVE MUSIC INTO TEENS' LIVES, OFFER ESCAPE FROM GANG LIFE.

Byline: Rachel Uranga Staff Writer

Droppin' knowledge.

That's what dozens of hip baby boomers and Generation X'rs who grew up on hip-hop are trying to do as they use the thumping music to help lure kids away from gangs, teach others about nutrition or writing, and give some lifelong skills.

In high schools, teachers use the music to walk kids through meter and tone in English class. Using hip-hop, anti-gang programs show teenagers how to operate music editing programs. And youth directors explain the finer points of cadence and the roots of hip-hop to expose children to African-American culture.

``Hip-hop, it's their language. The kids understand it, and it helps them understand each other. It's we, the adults, who have to catch up,'' said Shane Coleman, founder of Heroes of Life, a Pacoima youth program teaching teenagers to produce music.

Once ignored as a fad, then lambasted for encouraging juvenile delinquency and misogyny, hip-hop is now a billion-dollar industry and the country's foremost purveyor of youth culture.

``Bling bling'' and ``Keepin' it real'' - sayings that all stemmed from the edgy urban music - are now part of everyday language, with such corporate giants as Citibank using them in ads.

So it's no wonder that those who work with youth, many who grew up on the music themselves and consider themselves ``hip-hop heads,'' weave the music into their lesson plans or its phrases into their own speech. And, they say, for all the negative press hip-hop has received, its largely positive side is ignored.

Inside a cramped office at the Pacoima Community Center, Everett Harmon stands behind a mix board, bobbing his head to the beats of a track he helped produce last year. The 21-year-old Sylmar resident joined the nonprofit Heroes of Life after a string of dead-end jobs and little direction. He had been to other youth and job-training programs, but they all seemed to be for ``dorky'' kids.

``At first I thought this place was whack because you couldn't cuss ... but it introduced us to a new way of thinking,'' he said.

Founder Coleman, 47, has strict rules for the teens joining Heroes: They have to be dedicated and not ``clown around'' during recording sessions. He targets kids at local schools or those who are teetering at the edge of gang life and shows them how to produce songs. All the music is based on experience, but none of it can include curse words or be degrading.

``19 With a Bullet'' is a piece partly created by Harmon. More than lyrics, it was about his life and that of his friends, all who had been shot before the age of 19.

In helping to lay down lyrics, he learned to focus, become a better writer and, more importantly, to learn responsibility.

``People count on you here. You can't let them down,'' he said.

It's what he was thinking last June, when the cousin he hung out on the streets with was shot in the hip.

It might have been Harmon there with him catching a bullet, but instead he was at Heroes, making music. The notion has made Harmon rethink the direction of his life. He is enrolling at Pierce Community College and attributing his new priorities to the program that spoke to him through music.

Begun more than three decades ago in the public housing projects of the South Bronx, hip-hop music emerged as the voice of disenfranchised African-Americans. It became the expression of urban life and all its ups and downs. Though it has evolved and changed over the years, it remains for many the ultimate form of expression.

``Hip-hop is a lifestyle for people, it's what they are,'' said Mark Higgins, founder of the Git Fit fitness campaign, a pilot program that will be introduced at Hollenbeck Junior High School this year.

Git Fit uses popular dance steps such as the Atlanta Bounce or Chicago Step to get kids in shape and explore eating habits.

``This is my way of giving back,'' he said.

Raised in North Hollywood, Higgins was influenced by the music of Afrika Bambaataa and the dance moves of the New York City Breakers. Now an agent for music choreographers, he considers himself a hard-core hip-hop head.

``There's a generation that have grown up hearing nothing but hip-hop. You want to reach them in the way they speak,'' said Todd Boyd, professor of critical studies at University of Southern California. ``Most people see the most sensational elements of hip-hop. People outside of the culture - what they see is different from those on the inside.''

What many fail to see are groups like 4Real H.O.P. Institute, or 4Real History and Hopes of our People Institute, run out of a storefront in Leimert Park. There, every Thursday evening, a few UCLA students teach about a dozen high schoolers the history of music as a motivational tool and an alternative to the gang life that surrounds them.

``Hip-hop intrigues kids. It's more powerful than using just traditional education because it can facilitate discussion and makes them think about issues in the world,'' said Arias Williams, 25, founding member of the 4Real. ``It's a good starting point.''

Rachel Uranga, [phone]

rachel.uranga(at)dailynews.com

CAPTION(S):

2 photos

Photo:

(1 -- color) France Terredanio sings during a recording session Thursday at the nonprofit Heroes of Life studio in Pacoima. The program teaches teenagers how to produce music while offering them an escape from the streets and gang life.

(2 -- color) Everett Harmon, ``Young'' Shane Coleman and Shane Coleman, from left, fill in on a hip-hop vocal track for an upcoming single release at the Heroes of Life recording studio in Pacoima.

John Lazar/Staff Photographer