I write a monthly for my job called Cadence. It’s a Miami newsletter that combines pro-tips on musicianship with cultural city concerns. I work on it with this and that. Thank you.
We tried. We failed.
My hair has been cut - and as you can see, it’s not just one of them. (Apology for shit quality goes here.)
I’ve been staring into the reflection of my hometown. It’s not easy to miss Miami and love my new town at the same time, but as long as this push and tug keeps alternating, I should be okay. Tally’s been great to me; I’m starting to feel like I’m on the right rails. The nightlife’s great, the glow of the town is entrancing, and I’m picking up a lot of experience that’s fitting to mold. I’d even go as far as saying I’m finding a lot of parallels between here and home - I’m swimming down an estuary, both away and towards my hometown.
Zachary Schomburg’s poem-film for his piece “Costa Rica,” a wonderful short work of dim solace. Miamians like myself will be roused by some familiar scenic spots.
Live! now has the sickest bookmarks; my personal favorite is the Hendrix one. I’m going to miss working here when I move. Check out my work blog - some posts might look familiar.
I also want to put the word out there to all you Miamians that we have an instrument donation organization directed at repairing old or damaged instruments and giving them back to public schools and music programs; check out and donate to Music for Memories.
Sleepless Night Miami was a fascinating event of Miami culture, music, and performances. The usual Lincoln galleries were open and street performers were out and about, as well as The Poem Depot and a “starving” composer performance art piece (my personal favorite) - everything in South Beach carried a cultural theme into the brittle-lit hours of the night.
From eccentric art and found theatre to the free esspresso shots being given out to keep the crowd going, the night was wired. Each street seemed to have carried its own sound with it: classical on Washington, rock on Lincoln, jazz in the alleys - even the echoes sang songs of their own.
Above all else, Project Bandaloop’s wall performance on the New World Center was awe-inspiring. Pieces of humanity and daily progression were performed under the weighing gravity of the night’s gaze (and rain). The music was explosive, the dancers were fluid, and the evening in its entirety was an aurora of cultivated culture.
Above are two snapshots of the Bandaloop performance, along with my escape from a maze. Photos by my good friend Alec.
“Settled!” by Mauricio. We’re giving Miami a flag.