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The Sasha and John Digweed boat party may have upheld an annual tradition but tweaked another. In the past, the party was on a Friday, the night after they played at the Mansion. This year, you had about two hours to get from the boat to the South Beach super club, and the process was jarring.

It wasn’t just the time it took to shower, go from short pants to long pants and go from being among friends to battling several thousand clubbers, all fighting to squeeze onto the sidewalk and get in one of the seemingly endless lines that would get you into the club.

Once in, the space was overwhelming, a spectacle of light and sound, packed as if to defy movement. After some getting used to, however, the music, darker and more seductive than their set on the boat, worked its magic. By then, you also were able to make out familiar faces and find pockets of space to move around.

Perhaps because the day had been so long, I don’t have a clear sense of the quality of the set, other than that it always hit a groove, that the hours flew by at a rapid clip and, at the end, when the crowd was at a fever pitch, Busta Rhymes made his way into the DJ booth, trying to get Sasha to play his unfinished new track. It was one of those incredible faux paus that can only happen in Miami. Needless to say, the track remained unplayed, yet still became the punchline to this year’s gig.

In other news, friends had great times on the Desyn Masiello/Sander Kleinenberg boat party and at Richie Hawtin’s big Minus party. Although the party went on into the day, he played until about seven, and hit the minimal tip like only he can. I didn’t have a complaint in the world about the way the day went down except one: my failure to, no matter how hard I try, be in three places at once.

Words by Neil Feineman

3.75 (4 votes)

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