I Paid $60 to Watch DJ Khaled Refuse to Say 'We the Best!'

Memorial Day Weekend in Miami has become known as “Urban Beach Week.” Tens of thousands of visitors come into the city ready to party at the most absurdly tacky South Beach clubs and famous strip club King of Diamonds, which all advertise hot rap acts. To many of the city's close-minded residents, it's also known as “the weekend I get the fuck out of town.” In reality, the weekend is no more dangerous or violent than Ultra weekend, but the city doesn’t exactly help the racist perception. The streets of Miami Beach are all closed off to cars, and the area is flooded with cops, making it look like some sort of police state. Things were feeling even more apocalyptic on Saturday night, as the Heat had just beaten the Pacers at home and fireworks went on in Biscayne Bay, causing the sky to fill with smoke on the drive into the beach.

The mission was to see DJ Khaled, Birdman, and surprise guest Ace Hood at Mansion, a top flight tacky South Beach club. Mansion was a surprisingly easy venue to get into. While the ticket price was a steep 60 bucks and I was wearing goofy clothes, the line was brisk. Bouncers weren’t being dicks, and the atmosphere was surprisingly loungey. I got to the club around midnight. Mansion is constructed with two levels. The bottom floor is for dancing and the DJ stage. The top level is for lounging. There are also various balconies staggered on top of each other stadium-style with woman dancing against railings. That night, the lower floor was filled with people. Some were dancing and taking selfies and videos of themselves rapping to the music. Some of just waiting for anything—ANYTHING—to happen. The DJs were just continuously yelling over the actual music. Blaring horns would be sounded, signaling nothing. The problem with hyping is that there needs to be some eventual content to rally behind. That night there would be none. And as hours passed, the guests could feel it. There were moments in the night where the crowd was absolutely comatose. “WE CAN’T BRING YOU HOME IN A STROLLER TONIGHT! WE NEED A JUMP!” the DJ pleaded.

By 2 AM, I had heard “Turn Down for What” twice, and 2 Chainz’s “Birthday Song” twice as well, albeit it was a remix the second time. “I NEED YA’LL TO TURN UP JUST A LITTLE BIT!” we were encouraged, as nothing was happening. “LOOK AT ALL THESE NAUGHTY GIRLS HERE!” as most of the women were either sitting down or lightly swaying in the back of the club. Every DJ also had a weird habit of saying the phrase, “STAY IN YOUR LANE!” which is kind of nebulous advice to give to club goers.

Troy Ave went up on stage at around 1:30, and rapped three songs with little to no sound, and, correspondingly, little to no reaction from the crowd. Around 2:30, security told everyone on the second level, including myself, that we had to head downstairs to the main level. Presumably this was to prepare for the coming of Birdman and Khaled, to make them feel wanted and desired. Hilariously, no one wanted to go to the dance floor and be fed to the party wolves. We kept finding nooks and crannies to hide in until the security really got angry and made us go downstairs. As no one would appear on stage until 4 AM, it just created this weird aggressive cesspool of people running into each other and stepping on each others shoes and people getting angry at other people for stepping on their sneakers and touching their women.

In this writer’s opinion, the reason for these appearances going so late is twofold. One, the artist can say that people came out to see him/her and go “My fans were partying with me until [whatever unreasonably late time].” The other more obvious reason is that it allows more time for people to buy alcohol from the club.

At 3:30 AM, the DJ announced that Birdman was on the stage. A crowded posse stood behind the DJ, hiding wherever Birdman was. He never came up to the front or addressed the crowd. A beat with crows and birds cawing played for about five minutes, supposedly signaling his entrance, but he was nowhere to be seen, at least to the normal club goer. Similarly, Ace Hood was announced to be in the building, once again visible to perhaps only the uppermost level of VIPs.

Finally, everyone was told to shut the fuck up because KHALED WAS IN THE HOUSE.

Khaled came out on stage, and, as was the pattern of the night, did absolutely nothing to entice or interact with the crowd. Standing far back behind the stage, almost out of sight from the massive crowd on the dance floor, he Instagrammed himself firing up a cigar. After lots of apparent haggling and pleading from the DJ, Khaled got on the mic and did a shoutout to the collaborators and producers on his latest track. He then went back behind the stage and continued Instagramming. Worst of all, he never even yelled “WE THE BEST!”

People were palpably pissed and immediately started draining out of the club, disappointed in having fallen for Miami’s ol’ appearance advertising tricks. Like a Khaled song, the night mostly involved Khaled slapping his name onto something and calling it a day.

I believe that if it weren't Urban Beach Weekend, more seasoned normal Miami partiers would have expected the night to turn out the way it did and wouldn’t have been disappointed. They might have even stayed at the club after realizing the extent of Khaled’s appearance. Miami is a place that indicates why someone like Khaled is allowed to succeed, though. It's often surface level, and the appearance of something is sometimes all you get.

Jon Peltz is Noisey's disappointing parties correspondent. He's on Twitter - @thecrazypman

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