The Dark Beast of Miami, From the Mind of a Buffalo

Being a man from the Western New York area, I have learned to love being a neighbor, and a good one at that.  This is most likely why Buffalo totes the “City of Good Neighbors” slogan.   The people in the WNY area seem to exude a calm intelligence, even the rednecks, and are just pretty much nice to everyone.  Now, I have to insert the disclaimer that there are nice people everywhere, but the WNY area is just packed full of them.  It’s most likely because of the legendary winters that feel like they last most of the year, so this means that there is little else to do other than eat, drink, and well…be a good neighbor.

Miami on the other hand is the complete opposite of the Buffalo region. It is almost always really warm, and the cold days are still nice.  (Buffalo boys would be wearing shorts and sweating up a storm on Miami’s coldest day.)  I have found that the driving here is INSANE!  Yes, I meant to flame that.  The people here are all cutthroat and I believe out to kill you, me, and everyone else.  The scary part is that a full 1/3 of the drivers don’t have a driving license and even more than that don’t carry insurance.  Did I say INSANE? Yes, I believe I did.  Not only do the people drive crazy in Miami, they all are packing heat in their cars…so nobody yells at anyone, they just honk. A lot. 

I often get honked at because I drive like I am still in WNY. This means going more or less the speed of the people around you, but keeping a healthy distance between cars, and letting people pass when they need to.  I just do the kind thing and wave.  Yes, I totally make believe that these people know me, and appreciate what I am doing.  My wife thinks it is going to get me shot.  Perhaps it will.

For all the mayhem on the roads and the spillover from the rage of the road to real life, I feel that there is another side to this area, a magic to Miami that is dark, wild, thrilling, and so full of life that it is addicting.  Let me introduce to you to a snippet of Miami life, an event called the Art Deco Miami Weekend. 

 

The Art Deco District of Miami is a veritable bastion of art and free thinking…well sort of. Old Classic Cars line the streets, street acts fill the road and the buildings are painted with murals ranging from actual studio paintings to brilliant graffiti.  Looking inside the windows will reveal a myriad of tastes in furniture and other adornments for living spaces all real works of art.  All of these items are handmade right in the district.  This is all well and good, but the real heart of the Art Deco District is the people and these people are works of art themselves. The performers do everything from playing the ukulele on a super high uni-cycle to break dancing in the middle of the road.  The warm ocean breeze tantalizes only the most beautiful people to be ushered onto Ocean Street.   On those streets music would blaze out of each block only to be pushed back and eventually taken over by another block of loud music.  I once looked between a wall of palms and did a double take.  I saw three women singing and they were all in skin tight costumes.  I of course just HAD to look again after making sure my wife was merrily pushing our son’s stroller, and after I squinted to get a better look I realized that the costumes were really just body paint, and nothing else.  When I looked back to assure myself that my wife was safe, I was greeted by a glare and I wisely picked up my pace.

I like to dress up, and I am usually overdressed for the places I go, but I felt that I should tone it down a bit for the walk through the Art Deco.  Jeans and t-shirt, check. Sneakers, check.  I was gold.  When I found myself on Ocean Street, I found that I was for once under-fashion.  Oh no, people were wearing the same stuff I was, in fact much less than I was, yet I was out of fashion because I am out of shape. Yes round is a shape, but not in Miami. Every man was chiseled to perfection and all the women were literally busting out of all the right places.  It was all…so fake.

 This is when it hit me.

  The smells of paella simmering in the wind and the Caribbean music smashing into my ears were suddenly dulled as I realized that the art lined up and down the road was nothing more than stalls selling bent spoons turned into rings, or beads strung onto cheap string.  There was nothing really artistic about it at all. This depressed me, and made me realize that most of Miami is only skin deep.  There is just not that much under that tan my friends.  Or so I thought.

My friends in the band Phantasm, who started out in Jamestown, NY, but now play out of Pennsylvania, were playing at the Art Deco Weekend.  They were invited by their friend Doug Wimbish, a veritable master of soul on the bass, who plays with Living Colour, after jamming with Aaron the bassit of Phantasm, he became friends with the band, and asked them to come all the way to Miami to play. 

Doug is a big name in music, and made it his responsibility to bring live music to the Art Deco. When I saw him he was wearing only a white t-shirt and shorts, and was very low key.  He talked to people passing by and acted normal…but deep in a subtle way that just drew people to him.  I think gravity itself was a bit stronger around him, just to give him more of a sense of depth.  This man was art. When he plays his bass, the funk soars to the clouds, makes love with them and then cascades through your ears and plants a forest of love in your heart.    

Phantasm was no less impressive.  They played some of their regulars like “two left feet”, and everyone, even the homeless people were helpless and they danced to the sounds that Phantasm was belting out.  How would I describe them? I can’t really. Their first albums used the concept of Phi (the golden mean) in their writing and somehow it worked.  They are just amazing.  The lead singer has a great voice and loves to pan, the drummer is crazy talented, and Aaron, my friend, is a ninja on the stage assassinating any doubts that he is a master of his craft.  

To wrap up my oh-so-long tale of Miami, I still think that the majority of people in Miami are skin deep, and this is ok, because Miami is beautiful. Yet I know now to search out those places where the sun does not tan, the places where dreams are Technicolor, dayglo and neon  where everything becomes all twisted together into some funkably delicious soul food for the heart.  This is that dark, wild magic I was talking about.  Miami, you dark beast, I think I could love you.