* click on Don Johnson to view photo gallery
Shorter, faster, more hotel-y? The 2008 conference was less hectic than previous years, streamlined by the fact that after 7 years of WMC attendance, we at SOAP can say with confidence we have passed from enthusiasts to veterans. Our ratio of sunrises to sunsets in florida is near equal, and our absorption of bass beats now hovers around the 2.3 billion mark, so what could be of interest in the almost three quarters of a decade visit? Dispatch below.
First- a word of apprehension after ‘06 and ‘07 seasons. With the M3 Summit skipping out yet again and the flyers for euro-trance parties seeming to multiply, apathy continues to grow for dance music fans that annually flock to Miami to hear a diversity of acts rarely found in the states.
To be sure, M3 isn’t the only bastion of good music, and there’s plenty of ways to avoid DJ Boris’ 24 hr endurance parties at Space, but the momentum of past years still doesn’t seem to be there. Nevertheless, SOAP correspondent and jet-lagged degenerate Ellsworth avoided New Jersey’s spring break crowds to see a concentrated and engaged amount of good music, on land and (sort of) at sea.
FRIDAY
After flight delays, we met up with Ghostly friends and family for sushi at a lounge in the basement of the Townhouse Hotel. After too much unfiltered sake, we headed down the beach for a hotel party. A friend had a massive balcony that peered into the courtyard of Opium Garden, so a voyeuristic sort of late night lounge session naturally came about. Partying in South Beach after midnight is always a game of chance; with all the liquor store closed, bars become black market boutiques for booze that only deal with hardened haggling and lots of cash. After paying “conference prices” for a bottle of absolut, the party carried on its merry way.
SATURDAY
Saturday was big. After two hours at local beach, we met up at the National Hotel for the Beatport Remix Hotel day party, catching Matt Dear, Ryan Elliot, and three pina coladas for opening set of the afternoon. The site of many a past pool party(RIP M3 Sunset Sessions), the National is a Miami institution where old party people and new technology gather together for free day parties. As Guy Gerber warmed up, we left headed up the beach for the fete du conference, the Ghostly yacht party.
Our caravan arrived early enough to avoid the lines that began to wrap around the will call and guest list. Just as we received our bracelets, a word from our gracious hosts: both Coast Guard and Homeland Security are on site to oversee check-in. No wallet, pant pocket, or open pack of cigarettes was left unchecked. License ID numbers were even written down to make sure our next of kin could be identified should we fall off the boat. The bottleneck to get on the boat finally eased around 6pm, and the place filled up.
The massive seafaring vessel was fully stocked with booze and sound. Downstairs, the dj setup was a humble 6 foot card table for Ryan Elliot and and pants-less cowboy Seth Troxler. The majority of the sound was reserved for the live stage upstairs where the rest of the lineup was set to play. At last, at sunset, with a full boat, the party shoved off. Sort of. Apparently, so much extra sound had been trucked in that the boat’s generators were overheating. Just before we could leave the protection of South Beach’s canals, the captain pulled the plug on heading ocean-bound, and we motored back to our cause-way. The view of the highway didn’t seem to stop anyone from enjoyment. Party favorite? Kate Simko’s twisting traverse of techno’s bubbly side. Her bobbing head and asymmetrical haircut were, in the words of a drunken yachter, “damn sexy.”
For Saturday PM, we spent our most energetic moments hanging out in a hotel before trying to rally for one of the millions of parties taking place. The goal was to make it until dawn for the Degenerates party, now something of a tradition. Sadly, a series of wrong turns led us back home before we could reach the Pawn Shop. Studio A was searingly loud- we saw what appeared to be Boyz Noise on the deck and ran for the nearest fire exit. The Minimoo warehouse party similarly had its share of problems- a steep cover, no AC, and, much worse- no crowd. After calling an end to our epic day and straggling soiree, we passed out.
SUNDAY
Sunday provided vindication; the Degenerates party didn’t end until that night, so after a leisurely dinner, we headed to Pawn Shop to catch Steve Bug, Matt Dear, and Jamie Jones close down the patio. There’s a certain inevitable sense of community that occurs during hour 13 of a 16-hour party, a hand-pumping badge of honor among dance music’s truest patrons. We said goodbye to Pawn Shop and made our way back to the hotel to gear up for the final party of the conference.
Ryan Elliot was booked to play Sunday night as the headliner for a techno party at Club 6, a small club on South Beach. We rolled up en masse, a group of twenty or so friends that took over the dance floor to welcome Ryan and Matthew Dear for what amounted to a private set- the best set of the conference- and probably the best set heard in a while. The intimate crowd literally freaked out as they went from Chicago house haunts to old school Detroit to bubbling minimal to more dance-y Italo, all while hugging and dancing and hand waving from the DJ booth.
We headed back to the hotel for more shirtless dance parties and a final sunrise, a fond farewell to the annual mess of humidity, dance music and excess that is the conference.
Lil’ Louis - Frequency || Dance Mania
