As one of the e-blasts queried, “Where is Soho Studios?” Not as far
away as you’d think—ten or so blocks from Space, for example—but far
enough away to make you feel as if you were entering into a whole
other realm—which is as it should be on New Year’s Eve: out with the
familiar and in with the new.
There were white Hummers parked out in front—and security guard
presence—and a long entranceway beneath a moonlit, palm-filled Miami
night. Inside, Abel was up in his booth, high above the massive
Soho Studios floor—and “Please Don’t Stop the Music” was thundering
from the speakers. Maybe the Song of the Year—as much for
its metaphorical meaning as well as its literal.
This was Abel werqing it out in his warehouse, mixing it up in his
big personal sound studio. Abel playing with his mixes, reworking
“Gimme More” into a year-synopsis symphony.
With décor by RKM, what was once a concrete monolith had been
transformed into something soft and ethereal: swaths of sheer fabric
puddled on the floors and white fabric columns punctuated the room.
One entire wall was covered by video projections—and out back was an
outdoor tiki lounge with palms and palapas (perfect for photos—and
text messages to friends around the world).
The countdown commenced with the year in visual images: ninety
seconds of planetary insanity—accompanied by the thundering bass of
Abel. And then—there it was: the New Year. And thereafter, the
kisses—and maybe the collective sigh of relief, Thank goodness
that one’s over, and this one’s here.
The video projection flashed the message: One World, One Night,
One Beat. And then the words: It’s here – THE FUTURE OF
DANCE. And now we were in it: dancing in the New Year.
With Madonna singing “Forbidden love—a certain kind of torture,”
everything came together. There were boyz flagging, gorgeous
mosaics of fabric, and there were go-go boyz on the boxes, and
couples holding tight. There were boyz from Melbourne, texting home
to Oz, and boyz who’d been in New York the night before—and now were
stripped down to nearly nothing. There were porn stars and fantasy
men and— Wait, there’s that guy— Didn’t we just rent him last
And then came Jeanie Tracy, a vision in red satin and feathers—werqing
the boyz with her string of hits. She and Abel go way back; they
have history; they’re family—and on New Year’s Eve, they made
everyone else family, too.
For that’s the kind of party it was—the kind of night a New Year’s
Eve should be: where you send off the old and welcome in the
new—with people who look good and know how to dance! Hats off to
Hilton, Gary, and Abel for bringing that kind of party back to
Miami. One world, one beat—let’s make it truth this year.