7 March 14-20, 2024 miaminewtimes.com | browardpalmbeach.com New Times | Contents | Letters | news | night+Day | CuLture | Cafe | MusiC | Month XX–Month XX, 2008 miaminewtimes.com MIAMI NEW TIMES | CONTENTS | LETTERS | RIPTIDE | METRO | NIGHT+DAY | STAGE | ART | FILM | CAFE | MUSIC | It’s 2:30 a.m. on Friday of Miami Art Week, and there’s a phalanx of ravers, night-trippers, and British tourists travel- ing stateside to party like there’s no tomorrow. He should be at his post at the door of downtown Miami club Floyd. The damp nighttime air smells of spray paint, cigarette smoke, and spilled beer as a swarm of twenty-something la- dies from Los Angeles approach the velvet ropes. They throw out a complicated soliloquy of names, hoping to get inside. Alan T is hard to miss. The 58-year-old rocks a shaved head with piercing green eyes that stick out of their sockets like he’s been waiting to tell you four decades’ worth of sto- ries. He is stiff yet nimble enough to do a cancan kick and pir- ouette to the rhythm of the night. Usually known for his flamboyant outfits, tonight, he’s dressed conservatively, sporting a Dickies denim mechanic’s coverall with red and white paint splattered all over. Attached are long, black tas- sels that can whip when provoked. The ensemble is com- pleted with a pair of black boots, a black chain as a necklace, and a scarf covered in spikes. But instead of being at the door, Alan is inside the venue to catch Danny Daze, who is gearing up to drop the track “There’s Only One,” a 2008 collaboration by Lula and Alan T. It’s fine — Alan’s second in command, Gabby Bolano, can manage the door for a few minutes while he basks in the spotlight. “There are songs that some DJs just hold dear to their heart,” Daze wrote on his Instagram the day after the show. “This is one of them being done by a hometown cohort. I’m glad to see remixes out, but nothing will top the original. One of those records I wish I’d made.” Daze’s adoration for Alan T isn’t uncommon. You’d be pressed to find someone who has anything truly bad to say about him. For three decades, Alan has been guarding the velvet ropes at Miami’s most in-demand nightclubs and par- ties. His raspy voice and acerbic sense of humor are part of the fabric that makes the Magic City’s nightlife what it is. Even if you are turned away at the door — either for being too inebriated or not being on the list — it’s impossible not to laugh as he roasts you for not knowing better. As his close friends and family will tell you, Alan T is more than just a doorman; he’s a brother, a boyfriend, and — believe it or not — a caring guy who adds much value to those around him. All in the Family Alan Dale Tibaldeo’s entrance into the music scene came the day before Valentine’s Day in 1968, the day he was born. His grandfather, Corrado, ran the family music store in New Haven, Connecticut, since the 1930s. Then, Alan’s father, Victor, took the family business to Miami after a vacation and, in 1958, founded and operated Victor Pianos & Organs at 200 NW 54th St. At its peak, there were seven shops throughout the city that stayed in business for more than six decades. Alan’s older sister, Camille, tells New Times that every musician worth their salt would make their way to Victor Pi- anos & Organs during a stop in Miami. The Jackson 5 visited, and so did Billy Joel. Victor became so well-known that he occasionally took the bench to play alongside Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. at the Fontainebleau. According to Alan, all of his father’s shops were spared during the Miami race riots in 1980, thanks to his father working with Black churches on their organs. After Victor retired at 88 and his death five years later in 2016, Alan’s sister, Lisa DiRaimondo, ran the 54th Street lo- cation until its closing two years ago. Alan was never interested in taking over the family busi- ness. Instead, he attended the University of Miami, graduat- ing with a bachelor’s degree in architecture in 1990. He then went on to earn his master’s of architecture at Columbia University in New York City. George Krassas, Alan’s roommate at Columbia University and a New York City architect, remembers him as an erudite student. Alan could easily keep up with the pace, and Kras- sas believes that if he had stuck with it, he would have been among the greats. “I regret that he didn’t pursue architec- ture,” Krassas laments. “He would’ve been hugely famous considering his personality and talent. He was probably more talented than I was — and more free-willed.” Alan took on projects after moving back to Miami but soon grew frustrated with the red tape and build-grand-but- cheap ethos, so he gave up his career in 1995. “It’s all grunt work. Even if you’re on your own, it’s impossible. Just get- ting people to say yes to a project is 40 percent of the work,” Alan says. “Not like when I went to live in Italy. I could just use what I learned in school and go with it.” To Hell With It Even as he was studying to become an architect, Alan always kept one foot in the nightlife scene. “I was going to Salvation, the Paradise Garage of Miami,” he says matter-of-factly. While attending Columbia, he lived close to his sister Camille, who worked for a high-end art firm at the time. “I got a lot of knowledge from her; she knows everybody,” Alan says. “I would hang out outside her office and see all the celebrities: David Bowie, Grace Jones, and Blondie. It was the heyday.” By the 1990s, Alan began working nightlife as a doorman and host at Miami Beach hot spots like Score and Liquid and events across the country, such as the late Peter Rauhofer’s Work! parties in New York City. You may think that being a doorman is an easy gig, simply choosing who you let into a party, but for Alan, it’s more complicated than that. “I think it’s somewhat on par with being a psychiatrist,” Alan ex- plains. “You sort of have to psychoanalyze certain situations. You have to be a valet of sorts, providing a platform for peo- ple to have a good time.” At the same time, Alan also made connections with the DJs visiting Miami, like Honey Dijon, Sasha & John Dig- weed, and Danny Tenaglia, all of whom often popped into Yesterday & Today Records’ former Alton Road location, where he also worked. “Danny would stay there for 21 hours sometime and just look for records,” Alan recalls. “He’s a nightlife icon,” Tenaglia told New Times last year when the discussion turned to Alan. “He has many qualities and gifts: an eye for art and an ear for music, and his fashion is a statement each weekend. His house is like a museum. He’s just shy of being a big personality on the stage. Doing the door to the club is his stage, but if he were a singer or a DJ, he would be in Vegas. He’s got the gift.” In 2004, Alan began working a few nights a week at Pawn Shop Lounge, a former pawn shop turned nightclub located at the northern edge of downtown Miami. He describes the venue as “hipster heaven — very hipster bratty and pre- techno.” His notoriety at Pawn Shop caught the attention of Emi Guerra, one of the partners at Club Space, who offered him a spot at the 11th St. dance emporium. Feeling that he did all he could at Pawn Shop, he accepted Guerra’s offer. Alan first worked in the VIP after-hours section at the nascent Club Space, which back then was more of a bunker than the cigarette-free space adorned with hanging BEHIND THE VELVET ROPE Meet Alan T, Miami’s fiercest nightclub doorman. BY GRANT ALBERT Where’d Alan T go? >> p8
