Miami Horror
2010 was a different time. Most people had not yet recovered from the 2008 financial crisis. The Dow remained 40% off of its pre-recession peak. Barack Obama was in his first term and, impossibly, had just passed the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. (We’re pouring one out for you Mr. President.) Osama Bin Laden was putting out propaganda videos and Donald Trump was a TV personality hosting The Apprentice. Vaping was something people did to quit smoking.
Me? I lived in Seattle, married and broke, faking my way to greatness as a designer. I was listening to a new band out of Australia called Miami Horror, while cranking out designs in Photoshop and writing thousands of lines of inscrutable JavaScript.
Miami Horror mixed four to the floor disco rhythms and driving basslines that reminded me of ABBA, with guitar riffs and synth lines that reminded me of The Cure. It was fun. It was danceable. It was, above all, sexy. I listened to their debut album, Illuminations, for hours on repeat. Miami Horror was an always-open door to my own private pool party.
A lot can change in seven years. I’m currently around the corner from my apartment at the lovely Honeybrains, listening to Miami Horror, and nursing a hangover with the official breakfast food of NYC - avocado toast. It’s my last weekend in this neighborhood, basically the only neighborhood in NYC I’ve called home.
Twelve hours ago I was riding my bike through poorly lit stretches of East Williamsburg and Bushwick. With very few cars and smooth pavement, I spent most of the ride hands-free and doing my best “I’m the king of the world” impression at full speed, soundtracked by the unmistakable thump of techno and house music leaking from stretches of nondescript warehouses.
Keep your eyes on the road, bro.
It was a night filled with rooftop punkabilly bands, dance-offs, cute DJs asking me for cocaine, sweaty techno dance parties, 2 AM slices of pizza, and – most memorably – an outdoor set played by Miami Horror.
It was close to a perfect night.