Last night, all of Miami went hard as fuck.
But only Grand Central was goin' Hard Miami, shakin' our rumps till early morning. And the beat freaks at this bass-filled, trap-moombah-dub night didn't give a damn if the floor was dirty, they were gonna make their asses touch the ground.
We loved cake, we ran the trap, and all the hoes had something vibrating in their coochie. But we did have to work our way up to it.
Doors for Hard's Rump Shaker kicked open at 10 p.m., with trap's Green Lantern getting the place warmed up. We heard the set was fire, but we walked in just as French Fries was catching his peak, a little after 11 p.m.
The South American turned Parisian served up a tasty appetizer of dark but funky rhythms and grooves. The crowd was still relatively small, but the dance floor filled with slowly shaking bodies ready to get the night going. FF kept the beat moving, bobbing silently under dark lighting until someone else grabbed the mic.
"Hey guys, what's up? I'm Flume from Australia." The next performer was taking his place when the music stopped and some technical difficulties gave the crowd a minute of silence. It was a quick blip, but one that would seem to occur between every set of the night, punctuating each hour or so with a minute of strange quiet.
Flume brought the energy back up with a relaxed, hip sound. He kept it trillwave-y and all about vibe as his name filled Grand Central's LED screen, big and bold behind him. The crowd was definitely feeling it as the energy slowly amped higher and higher.
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French foursome Birdy Nam Nam were up next, taking time to set up as trap hits played over the club's sound system. In a world full of button-pushers, BNN is a glowing exception. The group seamlessly jockeys records and samples, taking turns laying down grooves, cutting 'em up, and turning out mixes on the fly, all while bobbing to the beat.
From the get go, they were focused hard on their decks, and they showcased their skills to huge applause. Keeping things in the trap mood, they were the perfect thing leading into masked man UZ's hard, dark vibe.
After a quick tear down of BNN's setup, UZ went in hard on the 808 sounds, ticking and click-clacking the crowd to new heights. Chants of "hey," "what," and "oh" made the rounds like an STD in a retirement community -- you just couldn't stop it. Couples across the room started grinding a little harder, some lifted their ladies off the ground, legs locked around their middles and getting that good air-hump action.
And just as the air-hump action hit its peak, Borgore, the King of Humpers, took over control.
"Yo Miami, how the fuck are you feeling?" He went right into his dirty, sexy style, going back and forth from trap to dub and grabbing the mic throughout. He lays down the live vocals for his filthy-talk songs, going in about bitches and everything they love.
The Isreali dubmaster had the place sweating hard, but the real peak of the night came when Fool's Gold ringleader A-Trak cut his way into the night. No one had more control of the crowd, more hands in the air. He switched the mood up into a funky, electro vibe, taking time out to go ham and show off his DMC World Champion skills every twenty minutes or so. He's still one of the most impressive DJs that you can ever hope to catch.
Caught up in the wave of excitement, A-Trak jumped in front of the decks and into the crowd. His remix of Martin Solveig's "Night Out" played as he rode a wave of hands.
"Y'all are a bunch of crazy motherfuckers," he said upon return to the decks. "Pardon my French." The fog machines were definitely getting their workout. There must have been twenty cooling explosions during A-Trak's hour alone.
He closed out his set with another insane cut-up, his arm looking like jerky rubber as his face went slack with concentration.
A few minutes later, R.L. Grime took over, throwing off his cap and going in hard. His gold chain slapped on his chest as he rocked back and forth to the sound with his Goosbumps-inspired logo hovering creepily behind him.
Beach balls of all different colors were tossed 'round the club and booties shook like thunderclaps. He dropped some Floss, some originals, even some Miami-grown GTA for good measure. Bitches got mad ratchet in the back, "Expressing Themselves" ass-up by the bars and tables, not giving a fuck how grimey the place was.
More DJs showed up as the stage became a real producer pow-wow. Overnight internet sensation Baauer stood atop the decks and blasted the front row with champagne. And then R.L Grime finished his set with a lot of hip-hop and his ever-ill "Trap on Acid" beat before making room for Nadastrom's close-out set.
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Both Dave Nada and Matt Nordstrom were present for a full-effect moombah set, playing to a room that had dwindled from its peak-hour numbers, but raged on harder than ever. Whoever was still in the room was truly in it to win it. And the dance moves got weirder and funkier till the bitter end.
We hung around as long as our droopy eyes could stand it. But our energy drink high had worn off an hour or so earlier. And we stuck around until about 4:30 a.m. when we could moombah no longer. After all, we know we're just coming back to go in Hard all over again for day two.
Lord help us.