Last night, at Diplo‘s “secret” show at BAR (formerly PS-14), which everyone with a Twitter account or a friend knew about, Miami was in good form. Loud, sweaty, sensual, breathless, lawless, harmonious, grimy. Walking indoors for Diplo’s set was like entering a dog’s mouth. Whenever a camera flashed, you saw an American Apparel ad. Strands of wet hair branched across bright foreheads like tributaries. Red lips. Flushed cheeks. And don’t get me started on the women.
Out back a camaraderie I’ve only rarely experienced in Miami prevailed. None in the 500-strong swarm heckled the guy pissing in the corner, the bowl bounced from stranger to stranger, and any dude who had wedged inside for 10 minutes had his sweat-heavy tee to break the ice with that gal over there. It’s a night like this when, with the air cool and the music on, Miami steps off camera and makes a strong case for itself. Here are some photos from the show: