“My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me.”
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Secret of the Sea,” 1850.
“305 till the death of me
Cremate my body let the ocean have what’s left of me.”
-Pitbull, “International Love,” 2011.
During my senior year of college, I remember a literature professor who, upon learning I was from South Florida, declared a boycott against the entire state. He cited George Zimmerman and stand-your-ground laws, listing a litany of Florida’s perceived atrocities. While I understood his sentiments, I felt strangely defensive. It’s a common reaction; mention Florida, and people often reel off a list of infamous figures and bizarre headlines. Yet, despite the Casey Anthonys and Jeb Bushes, there’s an undeniable pulse to Florida, a rhythm that resonated deeply within me, especially when it came to Pitbull. To me, dismissing Florida was like dismissing a part of myself, a vibrant, chaotic, and utterly unique identity shaped by the 305.
Growing Up Pitbull in South Florida: More Than Just Music
Pitbull wasn’t just a musician in my South Florida upbringing; he was an institution. Even in the bubble of my affluent elementary school, filled with the children of lawyers and less-than-legal entrepreneurs, Pitbull’s music was gospel. His early albums were passed around like contraband, sparking an excitement that transcended typical childhood trends. At Quinceañeras, while other teens might have awkwardly swayed to R&B slow jams, it was Pitbull’s early hits like “Culo” that soundtracked our clumsy first attempts at dancing, a distinctly Miami rite of passage.
Leaving Miami, But Never Truly Gone: The Pull of Home
In 2010, I sought refuge from Florida’s perpetual summer in New York City. Like many, I’d internalized the criticisms of Florida – the endless cycle of drinking, driving, and strip clubs. I even declared I hated Florida. But something shifted when a New Yorker scoffed at my choice to play Pitbull at a party. Suddenly, a fierce protectiveness surged within me. “Florida is incredible!” I’d argue, surprised by my own vehemence. I couldn’t fully articulate my love for Florida, but every Pitbull song seemed to capture something essential about it.
New Year’s Eve Revelation: Back to Miami for Mr. 305
Fast forward to Christmas a few years later. Back home, working on an article and contemplating New Year’s Eve plans, Spotify suggested Pitbull’s “New Year’s Eve II” concert at the American Airlines Arena. It was a lightning bolt moment. I had to be there. Three nights later, fueled by childhood nostalgia and the infectious beat of “Give Me Everything,” my best friend Ariel and I were speeding down a Miami freeway, past the familiar glow of strip club signs and sprawling shopping plazas.
Inside the Arena: “What Happens in Miami Never Happened”
The arena pulsed with Miami energy, situated downtown amidst the artificial charm of an outdoor mall and across from a flamboyantly pink neo-baroque building. Tourists, maps in hand, stared at the locals in their Miami finery – white suits and velvet dresses. Ariel and I chuckled, a comfortable Miami cynicism. But then, catching a glimpse of Ariel’s unapologetically Cuban curves and a stain on my own shirt from a recent encounter, the realization hit: Miami never truly leaves you.
Stepping into the arena, we were handed illuminated styrofoam sticks and programs printed on high-quality paper. The cover declared, “What Happens in Miami Never Happened.” Inside, Pitbull’s business motto was boldly displayed:
It was more than just a concert; it was a production. This wasn’t some tacky pop show, but a meticulously crafted experience, a testament to Pitbull’s ambition and Miami’s showmanship.
“Content is King”: Pitbull’s Business and Brand
Flipping through the program as a Goya ad flashed on a screen, I was reminded of Pitbull’s empire. Fragrances, sold-out concerts globally, billions of social media impressions, millions of albums sold. Beyond music, he was an “equity partner and brand ambassador” for a dizzying array of brands: Voli vodka, Miami Grill, Bud Light, Pepsi, Dodge, Kodak. Pitbull wasn’t just a rapper; he was a shrewd businessman, leveraging his Miami identity into a global brand. 2013 had been his year, and this concert was his victory lap, a celebration of his ascent. Yet, the program’s cryptic message, “Dade County Always 305 All Day,” alongside the “New’ New Year’s Eve Tradition” tagline, hinted at something deeper than just business.
The Pre-Show and the Miami Vibe: Everyone’s Dancing
Before the main event, a DJ took the stage in front of a curtain resembling camouflage netting, spinning hits from Pitbull’s golden era. “If you ever been in love in a hopeless place, put your glow-stick up!” he yelled, launching into “We Found Love.” In any other city, the line might have felt cliché, but in Miami, a city known for both its struggles and its resilience, it resonated. Despite my New York-acquired cynicism, I watched as the crowd surrendered to the music. Hookers on dates, Cuban grandparents, kids at their first concert, bald men in white suits – everyone was dancing. In Miami, self-consciousness seemed to melt away in the heat of the beat.
The DJ announced an after-party at Hyde, the arena’s nightclub, because of course, Miami’s basketball arena has its own nightclub. Then, suddenly, models materialized, handing out yellow towels like some glamorous SWAT team. The DJ explained that three songs would be broadcast live on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve special. We were instructed to wave glow-sticks during the first and third songs, and the yellow towels during the second, to “show the world why Miami is the dopest city.”
“Show the World Why Miami is the Dopest City”: The Televised Moment
“THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO SHOW THE WORLD WHY MIAMI IS THE MOST AMAZING PLACE TO BE!!!” he bellowed.
The author in repose
He attempted to rehearse the towel waving, but this was Miami. Orders weren’t exactly in our DNA. Switching tactics, he yelled, “We’re doing it for our hometown! For Pitbull!” That worked, for a moment. But soon, anticipation for Mr. 305 himself overshadowed any desire for synchronized towel choreography. Then, Ryan Seacrest’s face appeared on the screen, live from New York. The stage exploded with dancers, and Pitbull emerged in a black suit, the cut suggesting a certain… confidence. Pitbull embodies Miami; therefore, Miami’s got swagger.
For the televised set, Pitbull seamlessly blended three songs, including “Timber.” The crowd erupted, a chaotic mix of bouncing towels, glow-sticks, and unrestrained energy – pure Miami. After the broadcast, the dancers vanished, leaving Pitbull alone to bask in the applause. When he returned in his signature white suit for the full concert, including a much-demanded encore of “Timber,” he declared, “WE JUST MADE HISTORY.” What exactly that history was remained vague, but witnessing Pitbull command the stage, it was clear something significant had indeed occurred.
The Full Pitbull Experience: Humping Strippers and Guest Stars
For the next hour, Pitbull delivered a high-octane performance with dancers, remixes, and a healthy dose of Miami theatrics. He even humped a dancer with such vigor she slid across the stage. Covers of songs like “Holiday Inn” interspersed with his own hits. During songs featuring guest vocals, the pop stars appeared on a giant screen. “I want to thank Jennifer Lopez for all the amazing opportunities she’s given me!” he yelled before launching into “On the Floor.” Will Smith graced the screen during “Back in Time.”
The purpose of these virtual guest appearances became clear when Enrique Iglesias appeared live for “Rain Over Me,” complete with his trademark fedora. As Enrique bro-fived Pitbull, it clicked. Back when they recorded “Rain Over Me,” Enrique was the bigger star. But now, on Pitbull’s stage, it felt like a changing of the guard. Enrique’s fedora seemed less a style statement and more a shield against the inevitable – aging, fading relevance. Pitbull, eternally bald, stood as the ascendant force. His music, undeniably mainstream, was increasingly sounding like Miami. “Timber,” with its blend of country, reggaeton, and pop, was Davie, Florida – a suburban mix of cowboys, Hispanics, and glitter-loving partiers – in sonic form. His album, Global Warming: Meltdown, even sampled “La Macarena,” a nod to Miami’s Latin roots.
“We Made History”: Pitbull’s Vision for Miami
Throughout the concert, Pitbull punctuated the music with spoken interludes reminiscent of Kanye’s Yeezus speeches, but with a distinctly Miami flavor. He wasn’t rapping about the streets anymore, he explained, because rapping was his escape from them. His global travels were not a departure from Miami, but an expansion of it. “I love 305 Dade County more than any other place on earth.” He launched into a five-minute roll call of South Florida cities: “Let’s take it to Homestead! Give me Pem-broke Piiiiiiiiiiiines!” He could have been a motivational speaker, or a politician.
Switching to Spanish, for Miami-Dade’s 65% Hispanic population, Pitbull declared, “The culture of South Florida is better than any other country’s culture!” citing music, diversity, and women “hotter than any other women” on the planet. Florida, in Pitbull’s world, was a country unto itself.
As midnight approached, the countdown may have been slightly off, but “Time doesn’t matter. We’re on Miami time,” Pitbull declared. He counted down, performed “Give Me Everything,” and stood bathed in a white spotlight, absorbing the moment. “We made history,” he repeated, before a final, resounding “Dale.”
Pitbull’s claim that “WE MADE HISTORY” wasn’t hyperbole. He envisioned Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve Special becoming a Miami tradition by 2015. He might be right. Florida, often the punchline, is increasingly shaping American culture. As Molly Lambert noted, EDM festivals exploded out of Miami, the Miami Heat are a national sports powerhouse, and Florida-set films like Spring Breakers and Magic Mike dominate pop culture conversations. Miami is also on the front lines of climate change and grappling with the demographic shifts the rest of the US will soon face. By 2050, nearly 30% of America will be Hispanic, and Miami is already facing the rising tides of climate change.
Miami’s Cultural Ascendance: More Than Just Bad News
Bad things happen in Florida, yes. But those bad things exist alongside a vibrant, messy, and undeniably influential culture where old people, hookers, Hispanics, whites, and children can unite under the banner of a bald Cuban rapper who gleefully mixes EDM, reggaeton, and pop – genres now dominating the American music landscape, as “Timber” proved by topping the charts for weeks.
People may mock Florida, but they can’t deny its cultural gravity. Pitbull understands this. “They respect Chicago!” he proclaimed. “I’m going to make them respect us.” And on that New Year’s Eve in Miami, surrounded by the pulsating energy of the 305, it felt like that respect was not just being demanded, but earned.
Mitchell Sunderland is a semi-proud South Florida native now living in New York. He’s on Twitter – @mitchsunderland
