Don’t Cry for Me, Miami

The fulcrum is once again leaning south. Studio A sunk into the downtown pavement last fall, serenaded by the tears and acoustic strummings of Miami’s burgeoning hipster crowd, but on top of the pool of spilled Pabst Blue Ribbon and unrequited love poems for Cat Marshall was built a place called Kukaramakara, the first stateside incarnation of a renowned Colombian nightclub chain. So although some of you will have to go elsewhere to hear the gravelly power chords of the Walkmen, folks desperate for the ebullient trumpets and congas of live Latin music can rejoice. The tattoo-and-hair-dye crowd has one less reason to cross 14th Street, but the untucked-button-down-shirt-and-lip-liner pack has a new stopover between Brickell and South Beach. One door closes in Miami; another opens. It’s the circle of life. Establishing their Friday night is a priority for the Kukaramakara people, and hearing some rockin’ Latin music is a priority for you, so go check it out.
Fri., April 17, 10 p.m., 2009
 
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