Basel Thots: Confessions of an Art Basel Party Girl (Part Two)

This week, Miami is hosting an international affair of modern and contemporary art called Art Basel—which everyone knows are just code words for the last great turn-up of the year. Night two seemed to revolve around James Blake, one of the most anticipated acts at Basel this year. Battling my hangover, I saw the soulful British singer at his big show, then caught his 1-800 Dinosaur label's party at Bardot, one of Miami's coziest live music venues. Follow me over the next three nights as I avoid looking at art and linger at all the best Basel parties. (Read part one here)  

I just woke up a couple hours ago. Feeling disoriented, but at least I have my first drink in hand. James Blake is doing his gospel-R&B thing on stage—is he a ginger?—while Rush Midnight sways next to me. Everyone in the crowd looks so… Neon Gold. Except for this one guy in a post-fedora hat. You know, the ones that are a little bigger than regular fedoras, but still make you look like a dick.

The venue feels extremely intimate, like I'm in a church of electronic musc. I run backstage to use the bathroom and hear Blake playing the chorus of Kendrick Lamar's "Swimming Pools." Then I have a 20-minute argument with the bartender about Ferguson. This guy from DC who I got introduced to via text is offering me all types of drugs—molly, cocaine, mushrooms. It might be a bad idea, but I'm actually down for shrooms at this point. Instead, I do a bump. DC guy tells me that cocaine in Miami apparently has very competitive prices—$20 a bag. An editor at Complex asks me to bring her a drink from VIP. I run into a guy who had a thing for me two years ago at SXSW. According to my best friend, he got weird, but right now he seems harmless. Then he tells me, "You look a lot better from the last time I saw you." Just kidding, he sucks.

Got into this hotel from the back entrance. The DJ looks like a professional surfer, and of course, he's playing catwalk-style house music. An old French man randomly gives me a drink ticket—cute. Wait, there are actual bowling lanes lit up by LED lights down here. It feels like a swanky Miami club version of a bowling alley. My DC guy is being a hero and buying everyone drinks. I'm ready to bounce, and Future Brown's manager says Bardot is fun.

Some guy who was doing visuals at FKA Twigs' show at Young Arts yesterday pours me a drink from table service. I'm sitting next to Ezra Koenig from Vampire Weekend. (TBH, I thought he was James Blake for a second.) My friend Dein shows me a text from Cashmere Cat, but I can't see the words. (There is a chance that I may be drunk.) James Blake is DJing now. It sounds familiar to his Output DJ set—which was bad the first time I heard it, but doesn't sound as bad now that we're in a smaller club with an A+ soundsystem. Everyone looks like Nicolas Jaar here. Where is my coke bag?

I struggled for 25 minutes to get inside this club. The scene here can only be described as "cougar sus"—I am not down. Denzel Curry announces that Kaytranada is on, but all I hear is the deep house that seems to be everywhere in Miami. Everyone here is old (OK, above 25) and speaking Spanish. My phone is dying. I am dying.

Briana Cheng is THUMP's Art-Basel-party-girl-at-large - @banacrisp