BlackBook

If Radiohead were a book, they’d undoubtedly be a literary novel; something lauded by both critics and independent booksellers and, perhaps most importantly, cherished by the type of folks who aren’t afraid of spending time alone, undoubtedly reading literary novels. While there’s (still) something to be said about those who (still) write literary fiction, not to mention folks who (still) find solace in open books, the twain don’t make for a great night out at the arena. Which is to say that Radiohead’s Miami showing would’ve made for great headphone, but it sure didn’t make for great spectacle.

Being one of the world’s Top 3 DJs apparently isn’t enough for Tiësto; nor is cranking out smash tracks with the likes of Steve Aoki, Diplo and Kaskade. Because now the Dutchman has expanded his Club Life brand to include clothing. Yes, the line’s called the CLVB LIFE, and it precedes Tiesto’s own same-named Sirius FM radio station, which launches in early 2012. BlackBook got with the crowd-pleaser and asked him to fill us in.

Of all the Art Basel action to go down this year, none was more sublime than Moby’s acoustic appearance at Bardot. It wasn’t so much that the joint was packed, mind you (though of course there was that), or that the ticket was one of the hardest to get (though there was that too); it was more that the occasion had an air of utter intimacy nearly impossible to attain in a fair that attracts a hundred-thousand plus. For the chosen few who were lucky enough to make their way through the venue’s door that enchanted evening, the affair will forever be one to remember. That includes Bardot’s owner, Amir Ben-Zion, who is still in some awe over it all.

By now everybody and their brother’s best friend knows Miami and its adjacent Beach is in the midst of another Art Basel. To know that also means to know the ‘hood known as Wynwood, which serves as the heart of Miami’s art scene. At the heart of the heart is the mural-laden wonder called The Wynwood Walls, where 40 of the world’s very best street artists have thrown up their version of the enduring. Ensuring the Walls is as wowful as possible is former Deitch Projects Director of Operations Meghan Coleman, who left New York (where she also co-founded The Hole in order to core Miami. And core Miami she has, and then some.

This week the onslaught known as Art Basel descends upon Miami Beach and brings with it more coincident action than perhaps any cultural event on Earth. I’m not slingin’ hyperbole either. Between Basel itself (which occupies every un-square foot of the massive Miami Beach Convention Center), and its now neighbor DesignMiami (which has grown into a full moon all its own), to the mainland lineup of satellite fairs such as Scope, Pulse and Art Miami, there will literally be thousands and thousands of works to wow over. Add the local museums and galleries to the equation, and the mural-soaked ‘hood known as Wynwood, and you’ve another good grand to gander at. Of course, what you see is only half of what you can get if you make even a fraction of the parties and other assorted happenings, which are both voluminously numerous and irrepressibly with it.

Story, baby. That’s where we come from, that’s where we’ll go, that’s what we are. It was also both subject and predicate for last Thursday night’s “Evening” at O Cinema. Why? Because the man of the hour has made his name telling story—in film and in fiction and in fact. Hell, when it comes to John Sayles, story is the nothing but.

The last time BlackBook caught up with Miami’s own David Josef Tamargo, the Urban Hunter was on the trail of South Florida’s mythic and mighty Giant Sloth. Whether the subsequent (and customary) capture and release of the great beast became the catalyst for even bigger game to come is anybody’s guess. What’s certain is that since Tamargo nailed his prey, more and more galleries came calling, in New York, Los Angeles and the MIA. As of this Saturday, the well-armed artist will have his imprint in all three cities, simultaneously.

The chat was fast and furiously fun. In a stairwell off to side of the summertime madness going down at the pool at Arkadia, DJ Irie, Lil Jon, and yours truly cracked wise, laughed loud, and caused a small ruckus. It was just us three, lensman Presscott McDonald, and ace handler Felicia Quaning. By the time we were finished, there was a break-off crowd of 50+ clicking away as if their day depended on it.

'Twas another one of those storybook nights for which Miami has long been infamous -- crisp, clear, and sparkling with enough stars to buttress a waning moon. Of course it takes more than merely marvelous skies to get Miamians to assemble anywhere, especially en masse. No, for that you need something truly miraculous. Like perhaps a massive music and art fest featuring a slew of the best and the brightest our town has to offer. Such was the case last Thursday night at Awarehouse, when a buncha wily minds got together and staged an onslaught so resounding it brought gaggles and gaggles outta the proverbial woodwork. Unfortunately, it also attracted the cops.

Last weekend, amid the hangovers and general fatigue that inevitably lingers after another blow-out Art Basel, a cool core of a couple hundred or so with-it locals turned out at a spot West of Wynwood to hear a pop punk amalgam known as Pretty Please. In addition to the swingin' sounds, there were works from a dozen buzzy Miami visualists, among them Claudia Calle, Monica Travis, and Nicole Soden. A proverbial damn good time was had by all. But had not this spot existed, it's unlikely the racket-makers would've been staging at all that night - they certainly wouldn't have been staging amid such divine splendor. But they all were there, because there is a there there, and that there is called Awarehouse.