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

Not that the details can hurt. Imagine a yacht, the kind where polite people welcome you to the party as if they were happy to see you. Then glance around the deck and see people like Dj Dan, Hernan Cattaneo, John Graham, Nick Warren hanging out, catching up on things. Eating a prime rib dinner, making as many trips to the open bar as you wanted. Oh, and sailing across Miami with a bunch of your favorite people, who you haven’t seen since the last party, while Sasha and John play the perfect, sexy “backyard” set of the year. Throw a circle of good energy around the enterprise and it’s suddenly like maybe there really is a reason to believe in Santa Claus. Because this party, if you are lucky enough to be there, is the ultimate gift.

Even more to the point, it is probably the last of the Miami traditions left standing. The Masters at Work Party, Danny at Space, all are barely memories now. But the boat party, which began back in the days before the dot com boom had burst, is alive and well. And, for me, it’s still the real reason to make the trek to Miami.

Words by Neil Feineman, Photos by Jipsy

Photos by Jipsy for Nefariousgirl.com