Rooms from Black Kray: Miami

Bathroom:

Through the fluorescent haze of the bathroom lights, a white guy with curly, pink hair pulls down his bottom lip, inspecting his sharp, black grills in the mirror. His friend notices one of Pink’s piercings is gone. “Oh shit,” he says. 

A black guy in a striped polo is slumped against the wall over the vomit-soaked urinal, “just one of those nights, huh?” an onlooker says to me. A janitor woman mops the floor in circles as men come and go. The puker bumps into me on his way stumbling to the sink. He rinses his face and leaves.

Minutes later, another concertgoer comes in and makes his way to the urinal. “It smells like diarrhea in here,” he announces to himself. When he gets to the urinal, he yells, “Ew!”

Entrance:

Parked outside is the Surf Gang merch truck where two guys, Drew and Korbin, sit and talk to customers. The side of the truck is wrapped with a picture of Snow Strippers and the Nice Bass Bro emblem.

Nextdoor is a pool party that is in the process of being shut down by cops. A woman walks by in a bikini, pulling along her tiny bulldog who is wearing a neon green vest. There are mumblings of this show possibly being shut down too.

Young men in their best clubbing attire — shorts and button downs — repeatedly ask each other if this venue is where they’re supposed to be. It is not.

Behind the truck is a parked police car and an unamused, no-funny-business, female officer whose name tag says “Jasmine.” She tells the club guys to move out of the way of the squad car.

Stage:

Enter Black Kray, a large room that was partially full just an hour ago now feels packed for the underground legend. Throughout the night, several peers walk up to me and point at him saying, “that’s my goat.”

When Kray tells everyone to pull their phone lights out, they do. The crowd is rowdy, but it is a uniform rowdiness that feels respectful. A line of people watch from the balcony above the crowd, drinks in hand.

Navigating through the crowd are two friends wearing snow goggles on the sides of their heads. One of them, although a male, bears a striking resemblance to Greta Thunberg. 

Standing at the bar is a couple, the man wears tight jeans and a baseball cap, his girlfriend is nearly topless aside from black, weed-shaped pasties. It is true Miami romance.

Side Room:

Next to the main concert area is a room full of mirrors and blue lights; it looks like the inside of a tanning bed. People with “under 21” X marks on their hands congregate on the couches and chain-smoke.

In one of the mirrors, dances a guy in a red shirt. He is dancing harder and faster than anyone else and looks himself in the eyes the whole time he does it. He has been doing this for as long as I have been here.

Green Room:

Ironically, the green room is lit only by red lightbulbs. The walls are covered in pictures of various celebrities; beneath them sit young red faces conversing with each other. At one point, I hear the word, “auraful.”

Evilgiane leaves the room to go on stage. Tati from Snow Strippers dances to songs by Future under the light-up disco ball. You can’t hear any of the concert while inside this room. 

Black Kray walks in after his set and talks with his friends. The room was beginning to get much more crowded when I left.

Although all of these people are in different rooms —some watching a concert and some not — everyone is united by one chaos. This clash of Ultra Music festivalgoers and Miami underground rap fans created a specific and unique energy that was so palpable, seemingly everyone noticed it. 

There were multiple people who, unprompted, began talking to me about the “vibes” or “energy” in the venue. Miami is a strange place.