The Power of Love, Music, and City Ordinances Were Felt at Rakastella

It would be a cruel irony for Mother Nature not to christen an environmentally forward festival like Rakastella with perfect weather. The moon and the constellations shined bright over a clear sky. A gentle breeze swept through the palm fronds, and people could dip their toes in the Atlantic Ocean if they chose.

But what the weather giveth, the City of Miami and logistics taketh away.

A pinnacle to the usual 17-hour festival is witnessing the sunrise at Virginia Key as you dance to the melodic overtures by DJs like Dixon or DJ Tennis. And that was the same plan for the last couple of months. It seemed like it was going to be DJ Tennis going back-to-back with Seth Troxler at the oceanfront "Forever Stage" from 5 a.m. until 7 a.m.

Then Rakastella's management posted some unexpected announcements on its Instagram, the first being that the German DJ Rampa was added to the lineup. This was in replacement of the DJ/producer Sofia Kourtesis who silently canceled her performance. The second shocker, posted during the festival, was that the Tennis B2B Troxler set was moved to the Where Are My Keys? stage and would now be playing from 3 to 5 a.m. without news of a replacement for who would fill that coveted sunrise slot.

Conflicting answers began to circulate: Some said it was going until 8, others said 7, and some said 5. By the time Tennis and Troxler were done playing a phenomenal set of disco, techno, acid, and classic electronic anthems, the party would end under cover of darkness.

"Fire Marshal came in and said, 'You have to finish by 5 a.m.,'" a security guard told New Times. "He just got in his car and left." Back at the artist area, an attendee shouted to no one in particular, "Where is the music? How do you not have a music festival without music?" To which Troxler, who had just wrapped up the set and was within earshot, replied, "Because the police."

Miami's code ordinance restricts music from being played at Virginia Key past 5 a.m., putting Rakastella in an awkward position with partygoers who paid for the sunrise ending that's been the festival signature since its 2017 debut.

"Usually, it's no music past 3 a.m." an on-duty officer clarified to New Times. "It's been in place for a while, and the city lets this festival go until 5 a.m. If it were up to me, I would let them go until 7 a.m."

The question remains who knew what time Rakastella was actually closing and when.

To be fair, Rakastella did end at 7 a.m., and there was a sunrise. However, the best it could do was an ambient set by DJ Tennis, who spun at a significantly lower volume. Trying to tell ravers to stay for an ambient set is about as convincing as a JPEG holding its value. Most left after it was clear there were no more beats.

As for the show itself, the music and vibe were what was expected with Rakasetlla. An attendee could flock to the anti-hate party brand, He.She.They., for full-throttle techno and acid or dance melodically to the disco-balled Where Are My Keys? stage.

The Forever stage brought house-adjacent music — even the shock-factor addition to the lineup, Diplo, who released music via DJ Tennis' label Life and Death, played innocuous electronic music as he went back-to-back with Carlita.

The three stages, booths, and food hall were compacted like a neutron star, and sound bled as you walked outside each stage. Attendees traversed through the rugged terrain of sand, dirt, gravel, and train tracks. Roots spurted over the dirt (watch your feet), and low-hanging branches scraped anyone over six feet (watch your heads).

The beach was the natural decompression zone where the gentle waves could take anyone out of their funk and send them back to hear electronic music's finest.

Miraculously, there was a trash can every time you turned your head and hardly any trash on the ground — an instant point for Rakastella's "Keep Her Wild" environmental campaign. Also, the stages were smaller in size than in other years — perhaps as a way to emit less light pollution.

And, of course, every DJ did their job. There were no technical issues, and the mood was in the spirit of house — the crowd looked like everyone was in for the time of their lives. Euphoria swayed in the wind, and the audience was living in the moment at 4:59 a.m.