It's been a week since the party people behind behind Miami Music Week shuttered their sound systems and dragged their ragged, limp, bodies back to wherever they came from. Reflecting on my Miami pilgrimage this year, my memories are overshadowed by a distinct dark cloud of sadness that followed me even from my arrival at the airport. I'm a firm believer in reading omens and the first one showed itself during my flight down. I looked out of my window and saw how blue and depressing Miami looked from up above. Then, running into Skrillex and Steve Aoki's main photographer, Caesar Sebastian, we shared a moment of melancholy about missing a pool party while we waited for our luggage.
I stayed at The Catalina hotel, which was a complete disaster. We had a shitty DJ playing festival bangers and weird mash-ups in the lobby until 5AM. My mini-fridge was shaking with EDM 24/7. I had to get out of there, but I was too poor to rent a Ferrari and hailling a cab on South Beach was impossible. I had to resort to renting a scooter and, at times, had to rely on my Ford Model-T.
My friends Andrew and Anthony had a miserable time too. I found Anthony at La Sandwicherie feeling really sad that Steve Angello didn't buy him a sandwhich. Andrew wasn't picking up his phone because he was feeling too depressed with Hardwell at the Sirius XM lounge.
Zedd was also at the party and Andrew had a tough time hailing a cab with Paul Kalkbrenner.
Later that night I decided to head downtown to the Fashion District. The further away from South Beach I got, the more my FOMO started to kick in. I met up with a few other sad friends like Bro Safari, Flinch, Valentino Khan, Abe G, 12th Planet, Datsik, Two Fresh, Jack Beats and Row Weber. Alvin Risk was even crying on my shoulder.
Across town Andrew had a depressing time as well. Neither of us could score free bottles for everybody in the club, and he was even with 3LAU, Borgore, Sander Van Doorn and Wyclef Jean! Why is Miami so ungrateful?
Even more depressing than Afrojack's breakdown was Dancing Astronaut's midlife crisis. I decided to hit up Ultra with Jessie Andrews, but both of us couldn't get in because our DJ friends weren't picking up their cell phones. Life is so hard.
After the Ultra debacle, I headed to the Boys Noize party. I found myself with Brodinski, Bare, Pasquale Rotella, Blood Company's Keven Leos and Dave Taylor—all grief stricken that Avicii had to undergo surgery. Later that night, I found the Game of Frowns chair and sat there just thinking about what the "M" in EDM really stands for—Misery.
Walking around Collins Ave was heartbreaking. I thought about why Lee Foss and Gary Richards were so sad and then...
On the last day of my Miami trip, I managed to get into Puff Daddy's mansion party. I found him dancing in his backyard as the sun began to rise. Was that sad? I'm not sure. When I got back to my hotel I sat alone by the pool and thought to myself, Maybe life is just one big EDM festival and that's sad.