Arts & Entertainment

Tampa Bay native Skyler Schubert may have migrated south to attend Florida International University, but the 25-year-old seems to be getting most of his schooling from the city's nightlife these days. Schubert, better known as Get Face, has injected some much-needed experimentation into Miami's dance music scene. With his debut Space Tapes EP, 2018's Horns of a Beast, he veers close to the nonsensical while keeping it danceable. (The influence of other queer dance music acts like Arca and Sophie is evident.) And Get Face isn't done releasing music this year. He's working on a two-track EP for Adrianna "Gooddroid" Moschides' label Materia, and another release he's not yet ready to announce.

There was a time when the number of record stores in the 305 could be counted on one hand. That all changed when Broward's lord of the vinyl, Mikey Ramirez of Radio-Active Records, opened the city's sixth indie record store on Miami's Upper Eastside this past January. The small, dog-friendly, New York-style independent shop boasts an alphabetized and incredibly well-organized selection of used, rare, and imported records, making crate digging a breeze. But to truly soak in the full Technique experience, vinyl vultures will also need a good chunk of time to browse through the store's books, cassettes, and cult movies. Don't know where to start? Give Mikey a shout. Technique Records is open Monday through Thursday from noon to 8 p.m., Friday from noon to 9 p.m., Saturday from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., and Sunday from noon to 5 p.m.

On a scale from croqueta to chonga, Otto Von Schirach's Instagram is the most Miami thing to bless the internet. But when Otto, AKA "King of the Bermuda Triangle," posts Instagram stories, that's where the real gold shines — and not just from his teeth. The self-proclaimed "Papaya God's" 16,500 followers are well acquainted with his adorable blue-eyed son Axl and fruit supplier Nuña, who frequently rolls up with shopping carts packed with local fruits from mangos to avocados and coconuts, while Otto hilariously documents the entire exchange. There are three things you need to know before following the bass lord on the social media platform: papayas, agua de coco (or, as he calls it, "leche de Otto"), and the Bermuda Triangle. Ya tú sabes.

Tama Gucci has the raddest name in the game with a voice of gold to boot. His moniker merges "Tamagotchi" — the digital pet that took the '90s by storm — and "Gucci." "A good singer without Auto-tune" is how the up-and-coming Miami-based R&B singer, born Kymani Floyd, describes himself on his Bandcamp page, but he's 100 trips around the world better than good. His smoother-than-silk vocals on the sexy track "Lexus" from his debut mixtape, Out of Order, landed him on New Times' list of the "20 Best Miami Songs of 2017." He recently followed that release with Digital Touch, a self-produced EP featuring the standout track "Gettin' It On." His vocals melt like butter on pan cubano, setting him apart from the rest.

Whether you grew up on country, rap, pop, or Latin music, Power 96 was undoubtedly one of the stations pre-programmed in your car back in the day, and it probably still is today. Power 96 was the go-to station back when '90s kids waited for their favorite songs to play on the radio so they could hit "record" on their boomboxes. Today, music from artists as diverse as Cardi B and Adele plays on Power 96, and none of it seems out of place. The Power Morning Show is a staple for people making morning commutes to work, and the afternoon drive mix always pumps listeners up during the slow crawl of a rush-hour commute.

Miami takes its sports seriously, but at its core, every sport is just another form of entertainment. By extension, sports radio should also be entertaining, and 790 the Ticket's Brian "the Beast" London always keeps his commentary interesting. For over two decades, London has provided listeners with the kind of down-to-earth, relatable sports takes you might expect from a guy sipping a Bud Light on the barstool next to you. If good news for the home team hits ESPN while he's on the air, he's likely to scream it at the top of his lungs. His energy is unlimited and his personality is infectious, which always makes for an engaging broadcast.

Alex Donno is a sports radio warrior. Though not always the flashiest or most-talked-about broadcaster, he consistently provides the kind of detailed, "meat and potatoes" commentary sports nuts crave. He's a one-man show who bounces ideas about current events off producers, listeners, and even himself, making his show relatable and refreshingly low-key — you won't hear someone screaming hot takes into a mike on his watch. His pacing and restraint make the show translatable to morning, afternoon, or nighttime audiences. It's a testament to the versatility of this invaluable sportscaster.

A good rule to live by: a game of pool shouldn't cost more than your hourly wage. Luckily, two bucks is all it takes to cue up at Lost Weekend, a divey, neon oasis in the heart of South Beach. Open seven days a week, from 4 p.m. to 5 a.m. Monday through Saturday and noon to 5 a.m. Sunday, the place always offers an ample window of time to catch a game at one of the bar's five pool tables. Happy hour runs daily until 8 p.m., during which you can snag a pitcher of Miller Lite, PBR, or Yuengling for $8 — a practically unheard-of bargain around these parts. Save your money for the jukebox or, better yet, a basket of $4 tater tots.

Finding Basel Week balance can be tricky: You want to see great art, but you also don't want to take yourself too seriously. Aqua Art Miami lets you do both. Among the galleries showing at South Beach's Aqua Hotel in 2017 was an exhibit curated by the Consulate General of Canada, which showed off some of our northern neighbors' most impressive work. But visitors also witnessed quirkier stuff such as live tattooing by renowned tattoo artist Thea Duskin, and a 16-foot-tall golden bust of a female monkey by artist Laura Kimpton, who earned her fame at Burning Man. Aqua also offers some of the cheapest drinks you'll find at a South Beach fair, running a daily two-for-one happy hour — a welcome reprieve from the prohibitively priced Ruinart bubbles at the convention center.

No, Space Mountain Miami isn't a spinoff of the popular ride at the Magic Kingdom. But though you can't rocket through Disney's version of outer space at this Little Haiti gallery, you might just be able to do things equally awesome. Led by director Alice Apfel, Space Mountain stages exhibits by local artists, often collaborating with artists from Miami institutions such as Borscht Corporation and PornNail$. These aren't stuffy affairs; in March, for example, artist Katiana Elena installed an immersive ode to Kanye West. Apfel keeps the space operational largely by programming related events such as live music, film screenings, and political talks. One of them, a late-2017 "Salacious Sunday" sex-ed workshop, sadly had to be canceled after it proved to be a little too experimental for enough people to RSVP. But hey, pushing boundaries is what art is all about, right?

The Bass is back, and it's bigger than ever. When the ocean-facing museum finally reopened last October after a lengthy renovation, critics were ready to pounce. Construction delays had moved its reopening date back a full year. Would the results be worth the wait? Totally. One of the Bass' opening exhibitions, "Good Evening Beautiful Blue" by Ugo Rondinone, swiftly took over Miami's social media feeds, as photos and selfies with the artist's melancholy clown sculptures racked up likes and shares. And the renovations themselves have only enhanced visitors' experience. There's now double the space inside, including a cafe and a center for kids and teens.

The phrase "arthouse cinema" conjures images of black-and-white, subtitled foreign films with plots moving slower than rush hour traffic on the causeway. Coral Gables Art Cinema is helping undo that perception. It has a family program, screening classic favorites such as The Muppet Movie at kid-appropriate times. Long after the little ones have gone to bed, grown-up film fans fill its seats for midnight showings of beloved crowd pleasers and cult films: Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet, Pulp Fiction, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and beyond. The theater's recent series, including a Wes Anderson retrospective and a lineup of Cuban independent films, expertly target the interests of Miami's diverse, offbeat film community.

Even in the sunny place with shady people that is South Florida, 2018 has been particularly dark: corrupt politicians, violence in the news, sea levels continuing to threaten our homes. But Octavia Yearwood, author of How the Hell Did You Do That?, is here to brighten everyone's outlook. Yearwood, an arts educator and motivational speaker, grew up with a mother who struggled with drug addiction, and later, survived the foster care system. But she came through it strong, and she's paying it forward by sharing her story and her advice. How the Hell Did You Do That? is intended to help her fellow foster kids and other young survivors of childhood trauma recover and claim their power. But the lessons inside — owning one's choices, forgiveness, and radical self-love — can benefit even the most emotionally healthy Miamian.

Aside from classic fare, such as The Nutcracker at Christmastime, Miami has few dance traditions. But Alma Dance Theater, led by Marissa Alma Nick, has carved one out: Cask, a retelling of Edgar Allen Poe's short story The Cask of Amontillado, which the company restages every year to coincide with the spooky Halloween holiday. For Nick, choreography is an ever-evolving process. Pieces such as Cask and Flowers, another of her recurring works inspired by her grandmother, shift and change with each new year. Last year's reworking of Cask, for example, featured an all-female cast — a move that's on brand for Alma, whose work often focuses on the movements and stories of women. The troupe's latest work is A Rebel in Venus, directly inspired by millennials and movements like #MeToo and #TimesUp.

They say the best dancers put their partners' well-being above their own. By that measure, Pioneer Winter is a contemporary dance master. Winter, an MFA recipient, Horatio Alger Scholar, Dennis R. Washington Achievement Scholar, and widely awarded artist, is technically masterful. He's also incredibly prolific, creating, choreographing, performing, or otherwise supporting the local dance community with new shows and events every month. But it's his commitment to his fellow dancers, and to his fellow man, that elevates him to greatness. His troupe, the Pioneer Winter Collective, is comprised of unconventional dancers — people whose races, ages, body types, and disabilities are rarely seen onstage. He collaborates with, rather than directs, those dancers, incorporating their identities and experiences into his work. The results are unexpected and powerful movements that uplift — physically, emotionally, and culturally — some of society's most overlooked and abandoned groups.

Miami has undergone a drag renaissance in recent years, expanding the definition of the term beyond the traditional RuPaul aesthetic. Local queens and kings increasingly use avant-garde, gender-bending modes of dress and performance inspired by everything from aliens from outer space to art films to Kellyanne Conway. Nowhere will you find a better or more diverse representation of South Florida's legion of creative queer performers than at Wigwood, the annual festival celebrating all kinds of queer performances. The festival only launched in 2017, but it has since expanded into an extravaganza of queer culture taking place at multiple venues and drawing hundreds of attendees dressed in their weirdest, wildest attire. Frankly, the world could use a lot more of Wigwood's welcoming, anything-goes culture, in which the only qualification for acceptance is an open mind.

When Agua Viva, the animated short film by Alexa Lim Haas, debuted at the Borscht Film Festival, it had plenty of competition for buzz. Other crowd-favorite films that night included a weirdly terrifying reproduction of a Red Lobster commercial and a documentary about an internet-famous millennial bro who somehow befriends local deer. But Haas' dreamy, melancholy tale of a Chinese woman working at a Miami nail salon made an impression on local audiences. Haas expertly evokes the emotions of feeling lost in translation, a familiar sensation to anyone who's navigated South Florida's patchwork of diverse languages and cultures. Agua Viva continued to impress at film festivals such as SXSW 2018, where it was the jury award winner for animated short. But awards only confirm what Miami audiences already knew: that beyond the Scarface and Bad Boys stereotypes, there's a quiet, introspective side to the Magic City.

Is there anything more punk than being queer? Both communities take a stand against discrimination and for rights and nonconformity. And there's no better mashup of the punk and queer aesthetic than Gender Blender, an LGBTQ party that originated at Little Haiti punk haven Churchill's and has since moved to new but crusty Allapattah venue Las Rosas. Every fourth Sunday of the month, Gender Blender stages live performances by visiting artists and locals alike, blending drag, booze, and a healthy dose of rock 'n' roll into one glitter bomb/Molotov cocktail hybrid of a dance party.

A casual trip to the grocery store turns into a sharp, funny indictment of the pregnancy-industrial complex in Rhonda Mitrani's short film SuperMarket, which wittily skewers society's treatment of the so-called miracle of life. Shot at a local Sedano's, the film follows Jasmine (Heather Lind), a woman in her mid-30s, who finds herself in a Twilight Zone-esque alternate universe the moment she strides through the supermarket's sliding glass doors — and discovers she's pregnant. Filled with bizarre baby products and eerily well-meaning women who bombard Jasmine with unsolicited advice and opinions, SuperMarket will resonate with any viewer who's been publicly pregnant and therefore privy to the belly-touching and concern-trolling that comes with growing a fetus in the U.S. With equal parts sarcasm and compassion, Mitrani offers a hilarious and cringe-inducing reflection of a society hell-bent on encroaching and capitalizing on one of the most deeply intimate experiences a woman can have. But despite the heavy subject matter, SuperMarket is also a bright, light, even cautiously uplifting comedy.

Loud and proud Miamian Ahol Sniffs Glue is prolific as hell. This tattooed, bearded, golden grill-wearing street artist has painted his sleepy eyeball murals and tags all around the city — on electrical boxes, metallic store shutters in downtown Miami, inviting walls in Wynwood and South Beach, and the interiors of residential, commercial, and office spaces. Ahol is devoted to the Magic City's art hustle. In the last year, he opened a downtown pop-up souvenir kiosk that sold "A hole in one" golf balls and other knickknacks, dropped an art book titled Cellular Fuckery, added solid 14K gold necklaces in the form of his quirky Miami character illustrations to his luxury jewelry line, and partnered with a Brazilian shoe company to release a line of chancleta sandals. And though he's been invited to show his art and do projects all over the world, Ahol is fully committed to his hometown of Miami, frequently reinforcing his love for the 305 with his signature tag line: "Miami Full Time."

When you're angry and overheated in Miami, nothing relieves the tension quite like saying the f word. For the sake of the children, swap your usual for ¡Fuácata!, a Cuban term that is the phonetic equivalent to the sound of a slap, and the title of a hilarious one-woman play by Elena María García in collaboration with Zoetic Stage director Stuart Meltzer. Written by a Latina about Latinas and performed by a Latina, ¡Fuácata! explores the spectrum of the Latina experience in Miami through the satire and parody of over 20 female characters found in the Magic City, from the stereotypical Miami party girl obsessed with selfies and fun drinks to an ultraconservative Cuban immigrant running for political office. ¡Fuácata! sold out its 2017 run at the Arsht but will be returning to the venue's Carnival Studio Theater August 1 through 19, with tickets starting at $50.

Fort Lauderdale's Slow Burn Theatre Company is the crown jewel of the Miami musical theater scene. The company is known for its diverse programming, such as past productions of Tarzan, Avenue Q, Rent, and Little Shop of Horrors. Audiences have laughed, cried, and screamed along with the cast and crew during the nonprofit theater company's nine years in existence. This season, Slow Burn's selection of popular picks will make any contemporary musical theater lover squeal with excitement, from the new adaptation of family film favorite Freaky Friday (October 18 through November 4) to queer classic Hedwig and the Angry Inch (November 8 through 25) to the musical version of Elle Woods' law school revenge saga, Legally Blonde: The Musical (December 13 through 30). Omigod, omigod, you guys!

"We're not interested in what was popular in New York last season; we want what's perfect for Miami this season." That is the artistic mission statement of the Colony Theatre as told by its artistic director and cofounder, Michel Hausmann. The 415-seat venue opened in Miami Beach in 1935 as a Paramount Pictures movie theater. Over the decades, it has transformed into an intimate performance space presenting Miami's top dramatic pieces with a multicultural flair. The building itself is a masterpiece, from its iconic art deco exterior to the pelican mural that greets guests inside the theater. This past season's highlights included Hausmann's multilingual, Miami-centric reimagining of Thornton Wilder's Our Town and the spicy drama Queen of Basel.

This is South Florida and there are many places to see boobs. The occasional European on the beach? Sure! The periodic drunk lady at the grocery store who wants to show you her, uh, melons? It happens! But there is one place where the experience is almost transcendent: Scarlett's Cabaret. This is a true gentlemen's club and an entertainment destination. In 2017, the Hallandale Beach institution was acquired by strip club conglomerate Rick's Cabaret International, resulting in all-new furniture, fixtures, carpeting, and more. The place is swanky, the light shows are mesmerizing, and the sound system gets people moving. Oh yeah, the girls are hot, too. Scarlett's is a utopia you never really need to leave — you can even order some chicken tenders or filet mignon as you watch a performance or the latest UFC fight. Is this real life?

Is Aunt Gladys in town, wanting an authentic Miami experience? Make sure she naps and gets fully energized, then hit Hoy Como Ayer, located on Calle Ocho in Little Havana. This Latin club has been going strong for 18 years. The keys to its ongoing success are regular performances by some of the best Latin acts in the city, ranging from singers such as Amaury Gutierrez to music groups like Los 3 de La Habana. A cozy dance floor and wonderfully strong mojitos enhance the experience. Obviously, this place isn't just popular with visiting Aunt Gladys. Nearly two decades in, Hoy Como Ayer continues to grow its loyal, local fan base.

Being a music fan in Miami can be hard if your favorite genre isn't house, techno, or EDM. Much-loved venues such as Grand Central often pass on simply because Miami's geographic isolation makes it difficult for certain acts to schedule a tour stop in South Florida. When Club Space opened its ground floor as a live music space called the Ground, it made a much-needed impact. Now metal bands, up-and-coming rappers, R&B acts, and even experimental percussion ensembles are playing at the 555-capacity venue alongside unconventional DJs. Downtown Miami isn't just for dance music anymore.

If you're the type of unpretentious film fan who didn't make a beeline for the "Best Arthouse Cinema" category, you'll probably enjoy Brickell City Centre's CMX theater. It's a high-end experience for people who feel no shame about their excitement for the latest Disney-Marvel-Star Wars CGI-explosion slugfest. This is the place to go to make an event out of an event movie. Amenities include blankets and pillows, high-end audio and projection, portable caption devices for non-English speakers and the hearing impaired, and in-theater food service — because why should you have to miss Black Panther's latest battle to go order some jalapeno poppers?

Last year, just in time for Art Basel, the ICA Miami reopened in its new permanent location, an immaculate metal-faced building in the ritzy Design District, just a stone's throw from Tom Ford and Maison Margiela. Its debut exhibition, "The Everywhere Studio," featured work by artistic heavyweights such as Picasso, Andy Warhol, and Yves Klein. While the art world can often seem elitist and impenetrable, the ICA is different. It comes down to a single policy: The museum does not charge admission. Simply provide your email address and take in three floors of world-class art, as well as a backyard sculpture garden. The works you'll see are not only made by artists with blockbuster names. ICA also includes conceptual pieces from rising international artists, as well as work from local, regional, and immigrant artists. At a time when museums elsewhere are making access to art more difficult, this small Miami museum is taking an egalitarian approach.

Before 2017, III Points was a small, forward-thinking, yet continually troubled festival. Its lineups, mixing together local talent with major underground names such as Flying Lotus and Earl Sweatshirt, were among the best in North America. But issues plagued the fest, especially in 2016, when Hurricane Matthew nearly slammed into the city and forced headliners LCD Soundsystem to cancel. Cut to last year's festival: A massive crowd packed in front of the main stage at Mana Wynwood sings along with Damon Albarn of Gorillaz as he belts his way through "Plastic Beach." In a city maligned for its connection to EDM and lowest-common-denominator thrills, III Points has become an institution that champions unconventional regional and international artists of all stripes.

Club Space has long been known for its all-night parties and famous terrace. But you might not be aware of this record label started by local impresario David Sinopoli and rebooted last year by electronic producer Nick Leon. You might assume, given its namesake club's reputation, that Space Tapes releases dance music records. But a Space Tape doesn't sound like Club Space — it sounds like outer space. Its small but growing collection of releases from artists such as Get Face, Austin Paul, and Leon himself traverse the stars, mixing ambience, bass, and other alien sounds. This isn't like any music that has come out of Miami before. Space Tapes may produce locally, but they're thinking cosmically.

Dara Friedman's most famous short film, Dancer, shows dozens of Miamians dancing across the city. They step, grind, pirouette, slide, and tumble on bridges, under overpasses, against building walls, and even atop skyscrapers. It was one of many films featured in "Perfect Stranger," a retrospective of Friedman's work featured at Pérez Art Museum Miami that confirmed her lasting importance to the city's art legacy. Ironically, what makes her art so essential is us — the people of Miami. In films such as Dancer and Government Cut Freestyle, we are the art — she's only holding up a mirror.

In the druggy, seedy world of SoundCloud rap, nothing is certain. Your favorite rapper could be riding high (figuratively and literally) one day and be felled by a disappointing song or sexual assault scandal the next (the latter is unfortunately common). For now, out of all the Floridian artists riding the SoundCloud wave, Ski Mask the Slump God is on top for two reasons. First, he is an undeniably talented rapper. His cartoon-referencing wordplay is clever, and his speed and technical proficiency are close to that of fast-rap legends such as Twista and Busta Rhymes. For another, he actually seems focused on growing his career, putting out consistent projects, working with video director Cole Bennett and the Asian artists of 88rising, and distancing himself from the popular-yet-toxic, domestic-abuse-accused XXXTentacion. Time will tell, but this guy could make it.

The Jewish philosopher Maimonedes wrote that one of the highest levels of charity is giving anonymously. Less righteous is when the donor makes themselves known, rendering the act egotistical rather than for its own sake. Drake, who is Jewish, obviously opted for the latter choice in his "God's Plan" video, in which he blesses the University of Miami, Miami Senior High School, and several random people all over the city, with serious stacks of cash. "The budget for this video was $996,631.90. We gave it all away," the opening caption boasts. Here's the thing: Jewish people are supposed to be charitable. It's a religious obligation to give to others — you could say it's part of "God's Plan." But did Drake really have to make a massive spectacle out of it? Maybe. It brings to mind the words of another great philosopher named Sheryl Crow: "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad." Drake made a lot of people happy that day, and for better or worse, we have the video evidence.

Let this forever be known as the scene that officially turned Miami into Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. The date: March 11, 2018. The location: the eternally busy intersection of NE 36th Street and Biscayne Boulevard. A silver Infiniti has T-boned another car. The driver tries to take off, lurching away from the scene even as his front bumper hangs off the car like a half-clipped toenail. The other motorists, however, won't allow it. They get out of their cars and approach, screaming, "¡No te muevas!" The Infiniti continues its slow crawl, dragging its grill on the ground all the while. Two cars block him as he drives west on 36th Street, and a crowd grows. They bang on his windows and demand he take responsibility. Then, unbelievably, a bystander whips out a damn ball-peen hammer. He bangs it against the car's windows, attempting to smash them. The driver somehow slips through the blockade and speeds away, but not for long. Police detain him and note he is "high on narcotics" in the arrest report. The hero with the hammer, however, remains at large.

Sometimes it's fun to wonder what Miami would be like if people didn't associate it with cocaine. We might be known for the arts, or our sports legacy, or as a mosaic of immigrant communities. There's comfort in knowing that when the viral video of now-former Dolphins offensive line coach Chris Foerster hoovering three big ol' lines of cocaine was released in October, it was for a good reason. After team ownership reneged on promises to allow Dolphins players to kneel in protest of police violence during the National Anthem, a Las Vegas-based model named Kijuana Nige uploaded it in retribution. "Last little bit before I go to my meeting," Foerster says to his former girlfriend, adding, "I wish I was licking this off your pussy." And we wish you would've laid off the skiing and focused more on your football players while you were with us, Chris.

SoundCloud rappers are the cartoon characters of contemporary hip-hop; they dress and dye their hair in wacky colors and do ludicrous things such as dropping thousands of dollars on designer clothes or shooting off guns in improper locations. Lil Pump is the stereotypical SoundCloud rapper, and every cartoon character needs a great catch phrase. For Bugs Bunny, it's "What's up, doc?" and Bart Simpson says, "¡Ay, carumba!" Last year, before the "Gucci Gang" fervor, Lil Pump found his signature phrase. In a vertically shot cell phone video, he shouted from his banana-yellow Porsche: "Essskettiiiiiiiiit!!!!!" (That's "let's get it," slurred into oblivion.) The phrase went viral. Teens began saying it and posting it everywhere. A star was born.

No one would blame Al Sunshine if he spent his retirement knocking back margaritas and working on his backhand. Sunshine worked as an acclaimed investigative reporter at CBS 4 for 25 years, often digging into consumer scams and bogus products before hanging it up in 2013. The County Commission even voted to celebrate an official "Al Sunshine Day" to commemorate his career. Now, instead of heading for the golf course, Sunshine is using his investigative skills as a powerful tool to battle developers and politicians hell-bent on paving over the last green spaces of South Florida. Since leaving television, Sunshine has transformed into one of Miami-Dade's most effective environmentalists. He helped found the Miami Pine Rocklands Coalition, which has repeatedly sued to stop a Walmart from being built on one of the remaining patches of endangered rockland environment in South Dade. Sunshine may be off the air, but he's still fighting the good fight.

In the weeks following the Parkland massacre, political talk was cheaper than Donald Trump's suits. As Republicans offered "thoughts and prayers" (and not much else), plenty of Democrats rallied for new gun restrictions without ever taking a risk to actually change anything. Then there was Coral Gables Mayor Raul Valdes-Fauli. Not only did he quickly propose a complete assault weapons ban in his town — knowing full well that an onerous state law passed by the NRA-funded Tally GOP could mean getting tossed out of office and opening his city up to huge fines — but he didn't mince words about why he was willing to risk it. Valdes-Fauli called gun-coddling Republicans "prostitutes" who "sold themselves to the NRA." His proposal failed on a narrow vote, but he later signed his city onto a lawsuit to challenge Florida's law against local gun restrictions. In the meantime, he says he won't shy away from fighting the gun lobby. "This is a matter of principle," he said in an interview after the vote on the proposal. "Somebody has to take a stand."

The weekend after surviving one of the worst school shootings in American history, a few students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School met up for a slumber party and vowed to change the world. The goal was sensible — real gun reform. The battle, the kids instinctively knew, would be waged on social media. The #NeverAgain movement was born: a youth-driven, politics-conquering triumph that proved beyond doubt the establishment is no match for a committed group of teens fighting the good fight. The group's cofounders won Twitter this year by hitting hypocrisy head-on. They dispatched Alex Jones conspiracy wacks with alacrity. They doled out memes, spanked down GOP naysayers, and organized millions to march for gun restrictions. Corin has been among the most effective in the group, blending an earnest call to action with a sense of humor and willingness to tussle. "If you are a student in Florida, print this tag and wear it to school. Remind the world that you are worth $1.05 to @marcorubio," she tweeted with a link to a price tag, referencing Sen. Marco Rubio's millions in NRA donations divided by the number of students in the state. No wonder Corin has tallied more than 160,000 followers in just a few short months.

You can catch a band in a dive bar or corporate-branded arena just about anywhere in the world, but any concert is more enjoyable at the Historic Virginia Key Beach Park, where you can dance to sonic grooves in paradise. Over the last few years, the idyllic beachside oasis has hosted the indie dance rock of House of Creatives Music Festival, the reggae sway of Nine Mile Music Festival, and the Burning Man-inspired zaniness of Love Burn. Staring at the unsullied night sky while Alt-J plays fan-favorite tracks, or skanking along to the music of the Marley Brothers while an egret flies overhead is an experience you're unlikely to have at any conventional stadium or theater concert.

Miami's most fearless police reporter does not work for a newspaper, magazine, TV station, or radio program. He is instead a cantankerous former bank robber with a mouth unsuitable for FCC-regulated airtime. Al Crespo's Crespogram is bafflingly designed (it's full of mismatched typefaces, all-caps headlines, and big round buttons like a vintage GeoCities page), traffics in rumor, and makes liberal use of the words "cocksucker," "dildo," "bitch," and "pussy." That the Crespogram is only occasionally verifiable or readable is not the point — Crespo has such a knack for securing public records and clandestine documents that every blog is a must-click. He's broken criminal justice stories that deserve citywide attention — from the apparent theft of multiple guns from inside the City of Miami Police Department, to news that Miami PD brass knowingly left murder evidence in a metal storage locker under an I-95 overpass, to investigative files tying Miami Officer Edward Lugo to an FBI sting. Sure, Al is always screaming, but if you had as much dirt on Miami cops and politicians as Al does, you'd curse too.

Miami Beach City Commissioner Kristen Rosen Gonzalez's entire career has been defined by chutzpah — from her admitted habit of putting her foot in her own mouth, to her penchant for calling reporters around town and yelling at them when she doesn't like the tone of someone's coverage. But one incident in particular this year took the cake. As Hurricane Irma dumped gallons of rain onto Miami Beach, local arms dealer Erik Agazim allegedly strapped on a Kevlar helmet and vest, hung an AR-15-style rifle on his body, grabbed a machete, and started attacking fire alarms throughout his apartment complex. His neighbors said they were terrified. But Agazim had also recently donated $2,700 to Rosen Gonzalez's 2018 congressional campaign. Rosen Gonzalez had the nerve to email Police Chief Dan Oates and tell him to lay off Agazim, who was dressed like he was heading into Fallujah. "Erik is a meticulous and upstanding businessman," she messaged the chief. Miami Beach PD arrested him anyway.

To say that Roger Stone "went bad" isn't entirely accurate — much like a deep-sea anglerfish or Batman's Bane, Stone was born into darkness. He happily admits he had a hand in the Watergate break-in and gleefully participated in a recent Netflix documentary detailing just how underhanded, sly, and cruel he is. But 2017 was the year Fort Lauderdale's Stone seemingly went from "behind-the-scenes heel" to "full-time conspiracy theorist and major player in what kinda-sorta sounds like a treason probe." He got booted from Twitter and compensated by becoming a regular InfoWars contributor. Stone's threatened some sort of uprising if Trump is impeached, he's been sued for defamation by a Chinese billionaire, and he's been caught in increasingly slimy-looking conversations with Wikileaks founder Julian Assange over the alleged Democratic National Committee email hack in 2016. Stone didn't so much fall from grace in 2017 as he jumped back into the black tar pit from which he was spawned.

When David Hogg was hiding in a closet to avoid being murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in February, he probably wasn't thinking about how he'd be forced to spend the foreseeable future getting trolled, insulted, and downright smeared online. But such is the quality of internet discourse in 2018. More than any other Parkland survivor, Hogg, age 18, has been villainized by the right-wing media-sphere, all because he had the gall to demand that it become harder for some Americans to buy assault rifles. Hogg has been called a 27-year-old "crisis actor" (wrong), a liar who didn't live through the shooting (also wrong), a foulmouthed demon, a communist, a fascist, a Marxist, a Nazi sympathizer, and more. Someone made an entire website (HoggWatch.com) dedicated to smearing him. But what Hogg has done is hold a mirror up to show America its absolute ugliest, most craven side. Miami-area cops, Sinclair Broadcasting TV anchors, Fox News host Laura Ingraham, and others have been slammed for attacking Hogg personally. He's being attacked because he's winning.

It would be hard to find a time when Miami-Dade County State Attorney Katherine Fernandez Rundle could have been described as a "good" influence in Miami-Dade County. For the last 25 years, she's been Miami's top prosecutor, AKA the person tasked with charging poor black and brown Miamians with drug crimes while letting corrupt politicians and killer cops walk free without a legal scratch on them. But 2017 was the year Rundle's record caught up to her: After she shamefully announced she wasn't bothering to charge four state prison guards involved in the scalding-hot-shower death of schizophrenic inmate Darren Rainey, protests erupted, and Rundle was forced to give multiple rambling, dreadful, and easily picked-apart defenses in public and in the press. In 25 years, Rundle has never charged a Miami-area cop for killing a person on duty — this was the year the whole community seemed to realize she "went bad" a long, long time ago.

This might just be the greatest quote in Miami public-corruption history. It's all right there — the cold desperation, the plea for mercy, the inability to own up to one's mistakes despite knowing that everything will get a lot worse if you don't come clean right now. Last year, Miami Herald reporting duo Nick Nehamas and Joey Flechas nailed Grieco for collecting money from a so-called "straw donor," who was paid by a noncitizen to illegally contribute foreign money to Grieco's campaign for Miami Beach mayor. After the duo tied a political-action committee to Grieco, the reporters sat down in the Miami Beach city commissioner and lawyer's office in Brickell — where Grieco stared them right in the eyes and said the allegations were "absolutely untrue. You can look right into my soul." The Herald instead looked into his handwriting and found that Grieco had pretty clearly signed PAC documents. Grieco eventually pleaded no contest to straw-donor charges and was temporarily barred from running for office.

Most government flacks respond to critical reporters in a few obvious ways: by screaming over the phone, ignoring requests for information, or publicly accusing journalists of lying. The Miami Beach Police Department's Ernesto Rodriguez is the rare public figure who seems to understand that it is a reporter's job to critique governmental decisions — he's happy as long as his side of the story is heard. It helps that "Ernie" secures information at a rapid-fire pace. It also helps that he's active on Twitter. During CNN's Parkland town hall, he was busy yelling at the National Rifle Association's Dana Loesch just like the rest of us.

Glenna Milberg is the rare TV news reporter who seems to understand that her job is to critique powerful people, not to suck up to them. Milberg has been a fixture on South Florida TV for decades, and she's earned her airtime. Today she hosts This Week in South Florida, a public-affairs program where constituents can listen to candidates explain and defend their platforms. Where most TV reporters are occupied with ludicrous features about the latest, dangerous teenage social media challenges, Milberg spends her weekends pressing politicians about their thoughts on topics such as school funding or environmental policy.

TV news broadcasts are often vehicles for profoundly stupid commentary, outright government propaganda, and weird scaremongering. They're mostly just there to scare your grandparents into buying bread and water jugs when hurricane season starts. NBC 6 evening news anchor Jawan Strader offers much more than that. This year, Strader debuted an additional weekend program called Voices, which spotlights viewpoints from the city's black community. He has spent considerable time interviewing members of the Dream Defenders civil rights group about what it's like to "drive while black" and face racial profiling. He's also held panel discussions on untreated mental illness in black and brown communities, and even told the story of the "segregation walls" built during the Jim Crow era to separate Liberty City's black residents from nearby whites. In an era when some TV stations are forcing their anchors to read preapproved scripts praising President Trump, Strader is allowing the community at large to guide the conversation.

It's always dicey when longtime local sports anchors retire or move on to different markets. Miami takes its sports seriously, so if the new guy isn't on the home team, he needs to at least pretend to be. When Clay Ferraro joined the Local 10 News team in 2014 after working in Fort Myers for over a decade, even the most skeptical sports fans could tell right away he'd be a good fit. Whether it's a straightforward, quick hit during the news broadcast or a comedic sports parody sketch after the kids have gone to bed, Clay Ferraro's recaps are events worth watching in their own right.

John Morales' role in the South Florida community has grown in importance recently, not only because of the predicted threat of bigger, more powerful hurricanes brought on by climate change, but because of the beloved meteorologist's willingness to wade into what some see as political waters to educate the public on environmental matters. As a meteorologist, he views climate change as scientific, rather than political, in nature. Morales is active on Twitter and Facebook, where he shares news articles and the latest topical research alongside weekly weather reports. The issue became personal this year when the catastrophic 2017 Atlantic hurricane season — which included major hurricanes Irma, Jose, and Maria — decimated Caribbean islands including Puerto Rico, where Morales grew up. Like thousands of relatives of Hurricane Maria's victims, Morales went weeks unable to communicate with his family due to damaged infrastructure on the island. Perhaps for these reasons he has become even more dedicated to educating the public on ways to curb the looming threats of climate change. In March, Morales publicly declined an invitation to moderate a panel at FIU after learning that climate skeptic James Taylor would be participating. Instead, Morales hosted his own talk about the scientific method and the ways journalists can become complicit in climate denial efforts through ill-informed pursuits of objectivity.

Few people handled the massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School as poorly as Marco Rubio. Florida's junior senator managed to make things worse for himself with every noncommittal remark he made in the wake of the shooting. The coup de grâce of his political self-immolation was his decision to take part in a CNN town hall alongside a handful of MSD's blisteringly intelligent, staggeringly capable student activists at an arena packed with Parkland parents and students. While it was a bold move to try to connect with his rightfully outraged constituents, Rubio did not fare well. When Fred Guttenberg, whose daughter Jaime was killed in the shooting, took the microphone, he immediately told Rubio his comments the preceding week had been "pathetically weak." As the crowd applauded Guttenberg, Rubio's face betrayed his trepidation. But it was when one of the most prominent voices of the #NeverAgain movement, Cameron Kasky, asked Rubio point-blank if he would refuse to take money from the National Rifle Association that the entire nation saw the senator's spirit break live on national television. Kasky repeated the question again and again as the jeers inside the BB&T Center grew louder. Rubio declined to reject future NRA contributions.

From the moment Emma González took the stage at the Rally to Support Firearm Safety Legislation in Fort Lauderdale — just three days after 17 people were gunned down at her school — she has been a model of compassion and activism for people around the world. In her speech, she called "BS" on those who would dismiss her and her peers and asked politicians in the pockets of the NRA how much the lives of students were worth to them. From speaking to a few hundred people in front of the federal courthouse in Fort Lauderdale to addressing 800,000 in front of the U.S. Capitol during the March for Our Lives, González has not let tragedy harden her heart, nor fame diminish her integrity. Instead, she's been humbled by her platform, and she's ceded it to students of color in communities across the country who have traditionally been ignored in the gun reform debate.

Initially, Robert Ramos set out to make Rene De Dios and the South Beach Shark Club as an homage to the shark fishermen he grew up around, and to the Miami Beach that once was. That passion project expanded into a 17-minute documentary while Ramos and producer Pedro Gomez studied film at Miami Dade College. The short film received the Faculty's Choice Award at MDC before going on to win five awards at Miami Film Festival's CinemaSlam, including best writing, best director, and CinemaSlam Champion. The documentary explores the life and legacy of Rene De Dios, a heroic figure to many locals with a devoted following of angling acolytes eager to stand alongside him on the South Beach Pier or take fishing trips to the Keys with him. But the movie also offers a look into the South Beach of the '60s and '70s and its development over the years. Rene De Dios and the South Beach Shark Club is a love letter from Ramos to his city's past and present. Now, Ramos and Gomez are crowdfunding to expand the movie into a feature-length documentary in time for festival season.

César Paniagua is not exactly new to Miami, but he's a noticeable recent addition to the city's musical landscape. Paniagua moved back to his home country of Costa Rica in 2010 after graduating from Miami Beach Senior High School in 2008. He began to flourish as a musician in his hometown of Sarchí, eventually playing around the country with his band, Camelolloide. Paniagua returned to Miami with his blues guitar, harmonica, and a book of original songs featuring a brand of "tropical rocanrol" that blends eclectic influences from musicians such as Muddy Waters, the Beatles, and Jack Johnson. Paniagua has quickly carved out a niche for himself here, playing gigs all over Miami from Las Rosas in Allapattah, to Kill Your Idol on South Beach, to Churchill's in Little Haiti and the Wynwood Yard. He's also collaborated with local musicians such as Rick Moon and filmed a music video for his song "Nobody Knows." In May, he released Del Sol y La Roja Juventud, a five-song EP featuring tracks recorded and produced in Miami, Mexico City, and Sarchí.

Miami-based folk singer Keith Johns flipped the script on the traditional folkie origin story. Just two years ago, he was a physicist working at a carbon dating lab by day and writing and recording music by night. His efforts resulted in the 2014 EP Maps and Plans, and by the time he released his full-length album Grateful Fool in 2016, he'd quit his day job for an earnest shot at a music career. Johns has earned a faithful audience around town with solo acoustic and band performances at festivals, and particularly through his ongoing First Fridays residency at the Wynwood Yard, where he performs original music and invites other local folk artists to showcase their talents. He's also earned a sizable streaming audience outside of Miami with his lyricism, which leans as heavily on the transcendentalist and naturalist writings of Henry David Thoreau as it does on the scientific spiritualism of Carl Sagan. "Come, won't you look at the stars in the night/And the people on the street/They're one and the same and I'm certain in time/They'll switch places and repeat," he sings on "Isn't It Grand?" "How bland, if it always went as planned," he continues. If anyone can rhapsodize on the joys of surrendering to life's unexpected turns, it's this physicist-turned-folk singer.

It's difficult enough for most rock bands to find success in 2018, when hip-hop and electronically derived music rule the day, and particularly in a DJ mecca like Miami. The men of Venezuelan band Viniloversus know all about the daily grind necessary to grow an audience. They'd built a sizable following in their native South American nation and were already Latin Grammy winners by the time economic and political turmoil forced them to emigrate to the United States. The band channeled its experience into the 2017 English-language album Days of Exile, which they supported with an East Coast tour that culminated in a set at Okeechobee Music Festival. While the pangs of extrication linger in kiss-offs like album opener "So Long School Boy" and the raging, distorted guitar of "Broken Cities," it is ultimately the optimism of a song like "So Many Stars" that makes Viniloversus a compelling listen. "Can you believe it?/Fate has conceived it/Of all the places we could be/We are here, we are free."

The acrylic studded claws are out at Miami's monthly Celebrity Deathmatch lip-sync battle, and these queens are out to snatch wigs. Celebrity Deathmatch takes the cartoonish aggression of its late-'90s stop-motion MTV namesake and combines it with all the urgency of two drag queens lip-syncing for their lives in the final minutes of RuPaul's Drag Race. The battles are held inside an actual wrestling ring, so queens are free to death-drop on their nemeses until a winner is declared by the audience. Participating drag queens craft their looks based on monthly themes. Cardi B battled it out against Nicki Minaj on pop-star night, and Mario and Luigi hit the ring at the Mario Party-themed edition. Admission to Celebrity Deathmatch is always free, courtesy of the LGBTQ-focused anti-tobacco organization This Free Life, and there's an open bar during the first hour of each event. Drag Race veterans such as Seasons 2 and 3 star Shangela have also been known to guest-host.

A bridge removed from the traffic and wallet-busting LGBTQ tourist traps on South Beach and comfortably sandwiched between Little Havana and Coral Gables, Azúcar Nightclub has long been a haven for Miami's local Latinx LGBTQ community. Rather than relying on the tourism that sustains Miami's world-famous gay clubs and bars, Azúcar has made its name as the spot locals frequent for dance nights and some of the most elaborate drag shows in town. At the bar's must-see weekly event, contoured, padded drag queens emerge from behind flowing red curtains, backlit by the LED screen monitor on stage for the Viernes De Glamour drag show series, an extravagant stage production that sometimes includes backup dancers and has all the hallmarks of the set design of the pop stars the performers set out to emulate. Hours are 10:30 p.m. to 5 a.m. Thursday through Sunday and midnight to 5 a.m. Monday.

Sometimes bumping Invasion of Privacy in your car just isn't enough. You know all of Cardi B's verses on "Get Up 10" and you want the whole world to know it. Whether you're looking to perform for strangers or want to keep it between friends, this South Beach bar has perfected the art of karaoke. They know even the person who's most game to sing gets cold feet sometimes, so they offer $7 Liquid Courage shots for individuals or five- to fifteen-shot specials ($30-$75) for the entire party. If you'd rather ease into the festivities, cocktails cost $12 to $14 each. While many karaoke bars charge for songs and drinks separately, at Sing Sing any drink over $5 comes with one song ticket for the main stage on Fridays and Saturdays or two song tickets the rest of the week. And at a standard rate of only $8 per person per hour, their private karaoke rooms are an affordable option for birthday parties, girls' nights out, or bachelorette parties, with party packages including drinks beginning at $42 per person. Best of all, Sing Sing updates its song lists frequently, adding about 50 songs per month and listing them by song title and artist for maximum search efficiency. Hours are 6 p.m. to 3 a.m. Sunday through Thursday and 6 p.m. to 5 a.m. Friday and Saturday. The bar is open from 8 p.m. to close.

Latin pop/rock hybrid Elastic Bond has been making music in Miami for a decade and has received its fair share of international recognition, but the group fine-tuned its sonic identity this past year with its latest album, Honey Bun. The band has never been bound by limitations of genre or language, which could have made it more difficult to find a sound uniquely theirs as opposed to an amalgam of separate and ill-fitting influences. Instead, Elastic Bond created an album that opens with the instrumental Caribbean dance flair of "Dorada," bops through the pop funk of "In a Perfect World" and "Quédate," and slinks effortlessly into the synth tickles of "Alone Together." The album leads listeners along the many musical roads Elastic Bond has traveled, but always with the hip-swaying strut that makes the origins of its sound immediately recognizable.

Millionyoung has been making waves as a DJ and producer around town for most of the last decade, but his track to the top of the local crop has accelerated as he's gained a sizable following outside the Magic City the past couple of years. Most DJs and producers in his position might have ditched South Florida's burgeoning art scene for the security of a fan following in a city like Los Angeles. Instead, Millionyoung has stuck firmly to his commitment to cultivate the scene that birthed his blend of sparkling, sun-kissed dance gems, equally fit to soundtrack a low-key night out at an out-of-the-way bar or a beachside picnic with friends. His latest album, Rare Form, recalls the blissed-out, reverb-laden vocals of Tame Impala filtered through springing house beats and New Order-style synths.

A songwriter's inspiration can come from endless sources, but for Dama Vicke, it's the darker emotions that conjure the muses. Vicke was born in Mexico but has been based in the United States since the '90s. The songwriting on her last EP, Point of Inflection, reflects her multicultural upbringing with songs in both English and Spanish, but the rage is visceral in either language. "Prefiero soledad que tu crueldad alimentar/Circulabas rapidamente como veneno/hacia mi yugular," she writes on the pissed-off breakup missive "Sola," and the object of her ire doesn't fare much better on the goth crawl of "You're Not a Ghost": "Look at me," she taunts. "I'm finally laughing/At your useless self-righteous cowardice."

Emilio and Gloria Estefan are Miami cultural institutions. They've given the city unofficial theme songs like "Rhythm Is Gonna Get You" and restaurants like Estefan Kitchen. Last year, Gloria became the first Cuban-American to earn Kennedy Center Honors, cementing the family's place in American cultural history. Yet somehow, in the midst of receiving these accolades and working on expanding productions of their Broadway musical On Your Feet!, the Estefans continue to give back to the city where it all began. The Miami Design District Performance Series Presented by Knight Foundation, adjacent to Estefan Kitchen in the heart of the Design District, hosts free weekly Friday-night performances by local and nationally recognized artists in partnership with the Knight Foundation. This year's performances have included legendary drummer and Prince collaborator Sheila E., '60s folk and Latino icon José Feliciano, and the Miami Symphony Orchestra. Part of what makes the concert series so notable, aside from its A-list performers, is the accessibility that its complimentary admission affords the community in a neighborhood otherwise reserved for tourists and the city's financial elites.

At a superficial glance, classical music and a club atmosphere are the antitheses of one another, but at the endlessly inventive, Frank Gehry-designed New World Center, the two ends of the musical spectrum become strange bedfellows. New World Symphony's "Pulse" brings the loose, anything-goes atmosphere of a neon-lit South Beach club inside a classical music concert hall, an environment that historically has had a reputation for buttoned-up, white glove affairs. But "Pulse," which is just one recurring event of many that beckon younger audiences to spend their evenings with New World Symphony, eschews traditional concert trappings like fixed seating in favor of disco balls, innovative light and visual displays, and guests' ability to walk freely about the theater during performances. Audience members don't have to wait for intermission to fetch drinks, and they can even sit at the foot of the stage to watch performers make music up close.

Getting up for work on a weekday is difficult enough, but getting up on Sunday, when obligations and responsibilities are still 24 whole hours away? That takes some serious dedication. Kulcha Shok's Reggae Sundays at the Wynwood Yard are the best way to bridge the gap between weekend relaxation and getting a head start on the week ahead. Every week brings a rotating cast of the city's most popular reggae bands and special musical guests. Jahfe, Kulcha Kids, and Itawe Correa of Locos por Juana are regulars at the Sunday performance series. The music starts at 2 p.m. and goes to midnight, but with the Yard's bar serving up refreshing cocktails, food trucks like World Famous House of Mac, and vendors like Della Test Kitchen open from noon, it's best to start with an early lunch at the Yard and make a day of it.

Bed Scene's "Day in a Dream" music video is a fantasy tropical trip viewed through the lenses of the Beatles' girl with kaleidoscope eyes. Hallmarks of late '60s psychedelia are splattered throughout, primarily via the video's color palette, which fluctuates between vibrant bursts of primary colors and bright hues of art deco pinks and blues. Directed by Arminio Rivero of Crocodile Deathspin and Nick Aponte, the man behind the music of Bed Scene, the video takes viewers along for a day spent burying treasures in beach sand as mirror images multiply on screen, culminating in vintage VHS home videos of Aponte that emerge into the foreground and elucidate with each viewing, like motion picture Rorschach images.

The millennial R&B resurgence is in full effect with contributions from artists like Solange Knowles, Janelle Monáe, Kali Uchis, Khalid, Kehlani, SZA, and so many more; and there's no good reason to exclude South Florida from the conversation when an artist like Savannah Cristina is making albums as excellent as 2017's Mango Season. To call Cristina a "singer" would be too limiting a descriptor for her artistic range. She is also a gifted songwriter and slam poet who intersperses spoken word between songs during performances and on Instagram posts. From "Afro," a stripped-down ode to natural beauty ("He love my tummy like a cinnamon roll/He say he got a thing for stretch marks") to "Social Media," her take on the ways jealousy manifests in the digital age ("They gon' double tap it, baby/You know what it feels like in real life"), Savannah Cristina is a worthy addition to your next R&B bubble bath playlist.

Miami clubgoers may know how to party into the wee hours, but they sometimes forget to dance. All too often, clubbers can be spotted chatting idly on the dance floor or hovering listlessly around the bar. Leave it to the folks at Klangbox.FM and local promoters More or Less to bring in selectors who give crowds little choice but to move their feet. Since December 2017, the Klangbox crew and More or Less have taken over Floyd one night every month to spotlight international DJs and producers who might not have otherwise made it to Miami. With a focus on cutting-edge emerging artists, Extra Credit has already facilitated the Miami debuts of several choice acts, including Australian house hero Mall Grab and thoughtful techno producer Call Super. As Miami's clubs find themselves in an odd state of transition — with some closing and others changing programming — it's comforting there's still a small, intimate party dedicated to driving a roomful of people nuts.

Not all of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story is set in Miami. The dramatization of fashion designer and South Beach fixture Versace's death at the hands of serial killer Andrew Cunanan focuses primarily on Cunanan, tracing his cross-country murder spree and fall from grace in the summer of 1997. But the story, as told by executive producer Ryan Murphy and series writer Tom Rob Smith, begins and ends in Miami, which is by far the show's most memorable location. Alternating between the lush, warm hues of Miami Beach and the blinding strobe and neon lights of the city's gay clubs, The Assassination of Gianni Versace captures both the city's timeless qualities and the hallmarks of an era long past. With Miami's beauty providing a rich thematic contrast to the inner rot of Andrew Cunanan — a star-making performance by Glee actor Darren Criss — it's a striking backdrop for an unforgettable television experience, as well as a tragic reminder of a harrowing moment in Miami's history.

Crosstown Rebels head honcho Damian Lazarus' Get Lost Miami party has been a perennially popular destination for Miami Music Week attendees for some time now. Stretching a full 24 hours and stacked to the brim with some of the most beloved acts in dance music, Get Lost Miami has more than earned its reputation as an event that needs to be seen to be believed, with its multicolored glass fixtures, blinding lasers, and all-around dedication to psychedelia. This year's edition was the most memorable yet, due in large part to its Lemon City Studios location. The Little Haiti venue, within spitting distance of Biscayne Boulevard, offers plenty of room for creatives to see their visions come to life. It helps that in addition to its indoor and outdoor offerings, Lemon City Studios hits that sweet spot between sun and shade that so often proves elusive in Miami.

For nearly 40 years, Circle House Studios has provided recording artists with the quintessential Miami experience. Along with the requisite mixing consoles, mikes, and gear of a standard recording studio, Circle House offers artists a pool, palm trees, and a spacious outdoor patio, among other essentials. Given the accommodations, it's no surprise this facility has been in business for almost four decades. Founded by brothers Ian and Roger Lewis of the reggae band Inner Circle (best known for its 1987 hit and Cops theme song, "Bad Boys"), Circle House offers an ideal working space for artists to sit back, relax, and produce in a pressure-free environment. With the help of Ian's son Abebe, Circle House has originated countless hit productions, including Pharrell's "Happy" and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. The studio also hosts workshops to nourish young local artists, making it an accessible locale for the hitmakers of tomorrow.

It is no secret that the majestic downtown Miami skyline and the precipitous economic growth it represents were at least partly funded by drug money. Throughout the 1980s, the Port of Miami and South Florida's shorelines were the gateway to a thriving narcotics industry made glamorous by Miami Vice and Scarface. Nothing better encapsulated the atmosphere of those Wild West days than Billy Corben's 2006 documentary, Cocaine Cowboys. Nearly all the players in the real-life true crime drama were arrested, with the exception of Gustavo Falcon. The 56-year old former drug runner evaded authorities for 26 years, living under an alias in Kissimmee, Florida. Falcon, better known as "Taby" to friends and associates, was part of a group responsible for smuggling 75 tons of cocaine into the United States, a haul valued at an estimated two billion dollars. According to the U.S. Attorney's Office, Falcon's role in the Miami crime enterprise involved some decidedly unsexy tasks, including collecting debts, keeping ledgers, and organizing transport. He was more accountant or office manager than gun-slinging drug lord, but he was nevertheless slapped down with an 11-year sentence in April, adding yet another chapter to Miami's wild crime history.

Anastasia and Max Brenner, 15 and 19 years old respectively, are making the most of their formative years channeling young adult angst into ominous orchestral pop. The duo recently dropped its debut EP, The Haunt, including the single "All Went Black," named one of the Best Miami Songs of 2017 by New Times. At a young age, Max's mature songwriting combines the eerie with the exuberant, and is buoyed by Anastasia's powerhouse vocals. In February, Anastasia, still in her early high school career, and Max, a first-year college student, volunteered their time to play a Revolution Live concert benefiting the victims of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting.

José Ramón Andrés Puerta is a two-star Michelin chef and the owner of over a dozen renowned restaurants, including the Bazaar on South Beach and Bazaar Mar in Brickell. More important, he and his nonprofit World Central Kitchen were the primary food source for the residents of Puerto Rico following Hurricane Maria. After serving more than 3.5 million meals, they single-handedly did more for the island nation of American citizens than many U.S. government agencies and officials combined. Earlier this year, Andrés was awarded the James Beard Humanitarian of the Year award for his efforts. The 48-year-old Spaniard founded World Central Kitchen in 2010 after witnessing the devastation wrought by earthquakes in Haiti that year. His organization has since been front and center in aiding people who need help quickly without bureaucratic delays. In addition to his international aid efforts, Andrés traveled to Washington, D.C., in March to feed the teenage protesters who participated in the March for Our Lives.

There is really only one way the negotiations between longtime Miami blight Jeffrey Loria and South Florida newcomer Derek Jeter could have concluded. Since taking over in October 2017, Jeter, former New York City single guy and baseball player with no managerial experience, shipped off the Miami Marlins' franchise man, Giancarlo Stanton, to Jeter's old ball club. In addition to getting rid of Stanton, the 2017 National League MVP, Jeter gutted the rest of the team, trading away Dee Gordon (MLB's stolen base leader in 2017) and Marcell Ozuna (who won both a Gold Glove and a Silver Slugger award for the first time last season). Since giving up a home run on the first pitch of the 2018 season, the Marlins have accrued the third-worst record in Major League Baseball. Jeter has also claimed that "Project Wolverine," the plan to slash payroll by $30 million, will allow the Marlins to turn a profit in a season with average spectator attendance 4,000 bodies fewer than the second-worst team in the league. Recently, in an interview on HBO's Real Sports, Bryant Gumbel asked Jeter point-blank if the team was tanking. Jeter responded that he didn't understand the term "tanking" and then proceeded to berate Gumbel, calling the venerable journalist "mentally weak."

Over the last few years, "architects of hope" Roberto Behar and Rosario Marquardt have softened the hell of flying in and out of Miami International Airport. Travelers from near and far zip past the pair's work daily: the words "Peace & Love" sculpted of flower petals. The colorful welcome sign promises all will be well once flyers make it past the low ceilings, cranky TSA agents, and long queues. Behar and Marquardt are responsible for art installations throughout not only MIA, but Miami at large, crafting visually arresting works meant to instill a tranquil and reflective respite from the crushing chaos and noise of the bustling city. Behar and Marquardt's firm, R&R, was also behind the past Bésame Mucho installation at MIA, which greeted international arrivals stretching their legs after long security checks and even longer flights. Although R&R bears the initials of the founders' first names, in truth, those letters could stand for "rest and relaxation" — fleeting as they may be.

This year alone, Miami has lost popular clubs Ora and Heart. The local nightlife scene is quickly becoming an endangered species thanks to rising rents, gentrification, and nimby neighbors. It's disheartening, to say the least — Miami wouldn't be the city it is today without the nightlife institutions that have made it a place worth visiting. Treehouse seemed about to join the ghosts of nightclubs past when it announced in May 2017 it was "closing for the summer." In Clubland, "closing for the summer" or "closed for renovations" usually means "we're closing for good but are too embarrassed to admit it." Sure enough, summer came and went, and Treehouse didn't reopen for the busy tourist season. But then, weeks before this year's Miami Music Week, the club announced it would reopen with a full slate of parties. And while that could have been temporary, Treehouse has kept its door open, with local promoters Un_Mute booking shows every weekend.

In just a few short years, 26-year-old Daniel Edenburg has carved out a niche for himself in Miami's fickle nightlife scene. In a city where EDM and house music reign supreme, Edenburg has become a soul and funk mixmaster. DJ'ing under the moniker Brother Dan, he blends left-field soul, funk, disco, electronic, and more to create a sound not typically heard on Miami's dance floors. Edenburg really shines at his Tuesday night Gramps shindig, Terrestrial Funk, which is also the name of his label and online and mobile record shop. As a label head, he's hoping to shine a light on obscure records. He recently pressed She's Hot With 2,000 Watts, an out-of-print release by Miami funk legend Lang Cook.

Quality wine, delicious food, great atmosphere — Edgewater wine bar Lagniappe is inviting for most any occasion. With live music nightly from 9 p.m. to midnight, it's one of the hippest evenings out you can have in Miami. If you're looking for jazz, Sunday is the best night to catch some of the city's most in-demand jazz musicians, such as the Derek Fairholm Organ Trio and Rodolfo Zuniga Trio. It's a great way to cap off the weekend and still make it to work Monday without a hangover. Lagniappe doesn't take reservations, so arrive early if you want a choice spot to enjoy the music and wine.

Miami can't keep a midsize venue open to save its life. But just 20 miles north, Fort Lauderdale's Revolution Live has been making it look easy for 14 years. With Live Nation in charge of bookings, there's no shortage of stellar touring acts to check out every week. Never mind the thousands of shows over the years — last year alone, Revolution welcomed bands like Social Distortion, Lany, Clutch, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and Spoon to its stage. And thanks to a layout that makes for easy viewing from any level, Revolution continues to be a favorite of rock concert connoisseurs. Here's hoping the venue makes out of its teenage years unscathed.

There's no shortage of places where local musicians can perform in Miami, but few attract crowds as large as the Wynwood Yard. Thanks to its inviting atmosphere and mission as a food incubator, locals and tourists alike flock to the outdoor, open-space venue every day of the week. Local bands are routinely booked to enhance patrons' experience, exposing artists to new listeners. Unlike other established venues, the Wynwood Yard's audience tends to go there more to eat and socialize than to hear music. But it's a testament to the Yard's musician-friendly atmosphere that it frequently hosts local acts like Locos por Juana, Jahfe, and Yoli Mayor, and has surprised guests with pop-up performances by Coldplay's Chris Martin and Shakira.

Remember zines? There were the Kinko's-made publications your emo friend in high school used to hand out. Snicker all you want, but for many, it was a way to combine writing, photography, and design into a neat little package. Steve Saiz and Lillian Banderas, cofounders of Dale Zine (pronounced the way Pitbull says "dale"), are keeping the art form alive in Miami while introducing it to a new generation that's more "Tumblr and Snapchat" than "scissors and glue stick." In nine years, Dale has released more than 50 titles, and the zine has recently opened a pop-up at 777 International Mall, where billionaire investor Moishe Mana has extended his art empire. Stop by and peruse Dale's collection of zines and quirky knickknacks, which make unique gifts for the friend who has it all.

When Tallahassee was set to slash funding for New World School of the Arts last year, a veritable who's who of homegrown talent rose up to speak out against the cuts. The downtown Miami magnet high school and college counts Moonlight playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney, Cocaine Cowboys director Billy Corben, and Hamilton music director Alex Lacamoire among its alumni. In the end, lawmakers made a last-minute decision to abandon their plans. That's good news for locals: The 30-year-old institution provides a topnotch arts education and is ranked the 17th best school in Florida by U.S. News & World Report. Best of all, it's a public school, so any kid in the county has the chance to attend and become Miami's next big thing.

This year's horrific shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas shifted all of America's attention to Parkland. But further south, gun violence against children is depressingly commonplace. Between 2013 and 2016, 94 kids were killed in shootings in Miami-Dade County alone, according to the Medical Examiner's Office. Students whose communities have been wracked by gun violence find an outlet through Guitars Over Guns, which provides mentorship through music and the arts. Since 2008, the Miami-based nonprofit has linked about 2,000 at-risk middle and high school students with artists who teach them to sing, dance or play musical instruments. The result? Students do better at school and sharpen their decision-making skills. That's something to get behind, whether you donate to Guitars Over Guns or head to a student showcase to see the kids show off their new musical chops.

Self-declared pussy grabber Donald Trump is president, and women still earn about 80 cents on average for every dollar a man makes, with women of color earning even less. Let's face it: Being a lady is no walk in the park. Cheap drinks are the least society can offer, and fortunately for Miami chicas, Wood Tavern will do you one better and let you drink free once a week. From 8 to 11 p.m. every Wednesday, the Wynwood hangout offers women well drinks for the very reasonable price of zero dollars. And don't worry, fellas. Dudes aren't left out on Ladies' Night: The bar offers $6 shots of Jameson to both sexes.

Beneath all the glitz, Miami has always been awash in political corruption and questionable cash. And over the last couple of years, few have done as much to expose the shady side of the Magic City as Nick Nehamas. The business-turned-investigative reporter made a name for himself in 2017, when he shared a Pulitzer Prize with the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists for the Panama Papers investigation. The series showed how the rich and powerful — and in some cases, criminal — used offshore shell companies to snatch up luxury real estate in South Florida, driving prices far above what most locals can afford. Nehamas, who joined the Herald in 2014 as an intern, hasn't slowed down since winning journalism's top prize. Last year, he and colleague Joey Flechas revealed that Miami Beach mayoral candidate Michael Grieco had close ties to a secret political action committee that knowingly accepted a donation from a foreign national. The story tanked Grieco's mayoral ambitions, and he ultimately pleaded no contest to a criminal violation of Florida's campaign finance laws. In 2018, Nehamas has already hit another home run with a series exposing how drug traffickers smuggle dirty gold through Miami to turn cocaine into clean cash. His hard-hitting, far-reaching work is exactly the kind of journalism Miami needs.

The 17-year-old daughter of Miami Beach Mayor Dan Gelber faced the daunting task of addressing thousands of people gathered for the March for Our Lives rally in Miami Beach on March 24. She came through, harshly criticizing the older folks and politicians who have allowed the National Rifle Association to run roughshod over local, state, and national leaders for decades. A week and a half after organizing a walkout at Miami Beach Senior High School and a month after the horrific Parkland mass shooting, Hannah Gelber told the crowd that — after her upcoming 18th birthday — "I will vote against any candidate who takes money from the NRA. They will have to listen to me." Her speech brought down the house. Let's hope Hannah follows her father and grandfather (judge and former Miami Beach Mayor Sy Gelber) into politics.

When a Miami hospitality guru and the great-granddaughter of famous Vogue editor Diana Vreeland come together, you know they'll be the talk of the town. Yes, Jason Odio (Ariete, Sidebar, and Baby Jane) and Caroline Vreeland were already getting inches in Page Six in 2016, but it seems like Vreeland only recently adopted Miami as the home base for her jet-setting lifestyle. (Her Instagram page is filled with photos in far-flung destinations and is the stuff of envy for every aspiring social media star.) Odio is not exactly a shy boy himself. With three ultra-successful businesses, he's one of the few people who's made the leap from glitzy South Beach to more authentic experiences on the outskirts of Brickell and Coconut Grove. The couple was recently featured in a video for Harper's Bazaar focusing on Vreeland's favorite places to eat around town, which include Stanzione 87, All Day, and, of course, Ariete, all while her "Cuban papi" provides playful banter about her eating habits. How long before Vreeland starts ending her sentences with "bro"?

"I'm a black man. But my name is Kyle," bespectacled comedian Kyle Grooms told a laughing Def Comedy Jam crowd. "Hard to get respect in the streets when your name is Kyle." But from the stage, this funny man is making his not-so-tough name one to know in the comedy game today. Grooms got his start in Miami working as a Univision art director. Though he recently returned to his home state of New Jersey, Miami claims him as its own because he worked his honest, unique perspective into hilarious acts on Magic City stages for a long time. And after 20 years honing his craft, he's blowing up the New York scene, making rooms like the Comedy Cellar shake with laughter. You may have seen Grooms on his own half-hour Comedy Central standup special, NBC's Last Comic Standing, or Chappelle's Show. He has also been featured on P. Diddy's Bad Boys of Comedy, Jamie Foxx's Laffapalooza, and Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn. You don't have to respect Kyle Grooms in the streets, but you will totally respect him after a solid chuckle-fest standup set.

Hip-hop is a genre typically defined by someone vocalizing with rap. But as Black Violin, Fort Lauderdale's Kevin Sylvester and Wilner Baptiste have turned that idea on its head and stripped it of its literal voice. Known as Kev Marcus and Wil B, the classically trained violinist and violist (respectively) craft hip-hop symphonies with the sound of their stringed instruments and the help of a DJ. Marcus was 9 years old and Baptiste was 14 when they first picked up their stringed instruments, flourishing as performers at Fort Lauderdale's Dillard High School. They were influenced by the sounds of jazz violinist Stuff Smith, who expanded the ways the instrument could be used in music. Black Violin started out playing South Beach clubs in hopes of booking shows. They now travel the world touring and visiting schools to play with local youth orchestras. They've toured with Linkin Park singer Mike Shinoda's side project Fort Minor and worked with Diddy, Tom Petty, Aretha Franklin, and Aerosmith. Most significant, they performed at one of President Obama's inaugural balls in 2013.

Miami Beach native Nikki Kidd has been crooning since she was 4 years old. She grew up singing gospel in church, classical in school, and reggae, rock, and R&B at home. Kidd studied studio music and jazz voice at the University of Miami's esteemed Frost School of Music, and her commanding stage presence has led her to share the stage with big-name acts such as Gloria Estefan, Michael Bublé, KC and the Sunshine Band, and even the Florida Grand Opera in its production of Aida. Though she still performs locally with her Nikki Kidd Band, she has a residency at the Mandarin Oriental's Bamboo Bar in Bangkok, Thailand. Her shows are worth that trip around the globe, but she hasn't forgotten her hometown.

Visual and performance artist Sleeper's name is a fitting one. He's low key IRL but takes elements from the universal subconscious, mixes them with nightmares and dreams, and molds them into art. Sleeper has studied his craft since third grade and was the valedictorian at the New World School of the Arts College, where he majored in sculpture. His work incorporates performance and mind-blowingly creative costumes he calls "suits," which become fascinating, surreal sculptural artifacts post-performance. Sleeper also works to foster an alternative queer scene in Miami with Gender Blender, which provides a stage for queer artists and musicians; and the LGBTQ+ monthly night Counter Corner, which he established with bearded drag queens Juleisy y Karla. Both events provide queer performers with a safe space to bring their artistic visions to life. Sleeper is also a member of the noise band Squid Squad, makes a mean cocktail at downtown bar the Corner, and sometimes rides an absurdly tall bicycle around downtown. He is always creating or doing something worth watching.

Let DJ Hottpants, AKA Daniel Blair, help you meet the single girl of your dreams at his new film night, ReelHottpants. The bearded DJ and Miami native takes all the guilt out of guilty musical and movie pleasures and turns them into good times — the main ingredient in the recipe for a love match! He's kept South Florida's booties swaying for 15 years and continues to do so with his residency at Gramps' LGBTQ+ party Double Stubble. But recently, the local celeb partnered with the hip Little Haiti improv and comedy venue, Villain Theater, for an interactive movie experience. If you're not the funniest person, have Hottpants do the heavy lifting for you as he presents hilarious commentary on his favorite campy movies and films, such as Valley of the Dolls and Glitter. There's audience participation and the occasional red carpet, too. You may just hit the jackpot by running into a girls' night out brigade and meet your future wifey.

Orchestrated by the A&E District, the monthly Rooftop Unplugged Sessions at the Filling Station Lofts feature curated, live musical performances under the Miami moon and stars. Romantic, right? The rooftop parties are low key, so you can chat with the solo dudes you meet without having to shout over the music. Showcases are early, from 7 to 9 p.m. on select Thursday nights, so odds are the man you meet probably has a job and likes to go out, but not party too hard. Rooftop Unplugged Sessions feature light food, handcrafted cocktails by booze sponsors, and an unparalleled view of the city's skyline. They're also free, so if you strike out, you'll still have enough dough for your next matchmaking opportunity.

Set in the garish and raucous world of professional wrestling, Miami New Drama's The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity is an ethnological fable wrapped in a flashy parable told through the eyes of narrator Macedonio "Mace" Guerra, a lucha libre-masked wrestler portrayed with ardent passion by the magnetic Pierre Jean Gonzalez. Mace is a wrestler's wrestler — a student of the game and a natural heavy who gets relegated to playing the "bad guy" role in every match, partly due to his massive talent for making lesser but more charismatic wrestlers look good in the ring. Gonzalez played Mace with a frenetic energy that could have quickly lost its bearings in a less-talented actor. But Gonzalez walked the fine line between exaggeration and understated ambition. Along the way, the audience witnessed Mace's growth as a character and, in the end, it was Gonzalez's infectious charisma that made crowds root for the bad guy.

Does DNA decide not only where we come from, but who and what we're meant to be? That question is the starting point of GableStage's Informed Consent. At the center of the play is a genetic anthropologist named Jillian, played with heart-wrenching intensity by Betsy Graver. In the story, Jillian finds herself in an ethical and personal dilemma: Her mother died at a young age from complications brought on by early-onset Alzheimer's, and Jillian fears not only that the gene has been passed down to her, but that she may have passed it on to her own young daughter. Jillian is so driven to unlock the genetic mystery that could save her and her daughter that she dives into her work without thinking much about its moral consequences, and how it might affect an entire indigenous tribe living in Arizona. Based on a true story, Informed Consent is a complex drama fraught with existential crisis, and Graver was at the center of that hurricane, playing Jillian with a subtle brilliance that echoed a mother's deepest anguish while struggling to preserve her moral dignity.

The Color Purple is a heartbreaking period piece based on a harrowing novel about the hardships African-American women faced in the early 20th Century. Audiences know it best from the 1985 film directed by Steven Spielberg and starring Oprah Winfrey, but modern audiences have witnessed Alice Walker's poignant journey through a Tony Award-winning musical, which came to the Adrienne Arsht Center for the Performing Arts in February. With a stripped-down set and minimalist lighting, the production made way for its talented cast and accompanying music themes including gospel, jazz, blues, and ragtime. It should be a nearly impossible feat to put music and dance to a gut-wrenching story like The Color Purple, but this cast pulled it off in what was truly a work of musical theater alchemy. And yet, that is the indomitable spirit of the African-American plight: suffering overcome through song. The Color Purple musical nailed it.