Miami has never been known for its service, political consciousness or sensitivity. But tourism is big business here and Winter Music Conference is one of its big cash cows. So you wouldn’t be out of line to expect the city to go out of its way to do everything it can to at least feign an interest in consumer satisfaction.
If anything, though, there was more friction between the egalitarian aspirations of the scene, which has long stood for the concept of equality on the dance floor, and the brutal politics of Miami’s door policy, which is geared to a tiered entry policy, based on money, looks and fame.
The epitomy of this disconnect is the “Fuck you” pass, which costs around a grand. In addition to providing meatheads to yell out if any people with fuck you badges are hiding in the cattle pen, it gives these people the right to haughtily be escorted in not because they are about to play but simply because they can pay. So much for the scene’s emphasis on equality.
Then there are the unprecedented accounts of bad behavior. Rumors of Paris Hilton harrassing a techo dj because he wouldn’t play hip-hop and then having her boyfriend punch him in the face swept through the clubs in seconds, but fights between mainstream reporters and clubbers pretty much stayed out of the public eye.
What did not was seemingly excessive and inconsistent behavior by the police, who closed down the $100 a ticket Mansion’s evidently overoptimistically named Fuck Me, I’m Famous” with David Guetta event at1:30 a.m., busted pool parties or Djs with abandon or, as in the case of Nocturnal’s anticipated Sunday party, simply cancelled them entirely.
Although locals just dismiss the difficulties as the price of doing business in Miami, which is right up there with Vegas in flaunting it’s ability to extract the last ounce of flesh off your bones. Which may explain why so many people have said it’s the last time they’re coming back.
But then again, people say that every year. And some will not. But as this conference proved others will come back, complain about how many new people there are and will once gain be reminded that while there may be equality on the dancefloor. Getting to the floor, though? Not so much.
P.S. The oft pondered question of who’s the greatest DJ of all has now been answered. It’s Paul Oakenfold but not because of talent, sales or polls. If his latest ads are to be believed, he indeed is “the world’s biggest Dj TM.” These days, apparently, it’s not clothes but trademarks that make the man.
Words by Neil Feineman
