8 March 16-22, 2023 miaminewtimes.com | browardpalmbeach.com New Times | music | cafe | culture | Night+Day | News | letters | coNteNts | Month XX–Month XX, 2008 miaminewtimes.com MIAMI NEW TIMES | MUSIC | CAFE | FILM | ART | STAGE | NIGHT+DAY | METRO | RIPTIDE | LETTERS | CONTENTS | realized two decades had passed. Despite her best efforts, there wasn’t as much inter- est in the baile funk Cavalcante wanted to play in Europe. Local audiences complained they couldn’t understand the Portuguese lyrics or attempted to intellectualize the mu- sic too much. “[It] was time to experience the U.S. and come to Miami,” Cavalcante adds. The move made perfect sense for the sea- soned DJ, researcher, and record label owner. Moving to the Magic City meant coming to the birthplace of Miami bass and freestyle. Both genres came to prominence in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Miami bass is an upbeat subgenre of elec- tro and hip-hop characterized in part by the widespread use of the Rolland TR-808 bass machine — and a booming car culture to go with it. Pioneering artists of the genre in- clude producer Amos Larkins II and groups like 2 Live Crew and the more commercially successful L’Trimm and Tag Team. On the other hand, the freestyle genre got its name from the Miami-based band Freestyle Ex- press. It was a movement primarily of elec- tronic dance music rooted in Latin communities. Big names in the genre in- cluded Company B and Pretty Tony, a mem- ber of the genre’s namesake band. Along with Brazilian baile funk, these were the genres that Cavalcante highlighted as integral to her ongoing musical research. Crucially, both Miami bass and freestyle were influenced by and came from Miami’s historically Black communities, as well as Do- minican, Cuban, and Brazilian cultures more broadly. Baile funk, similarly, comes mainly from Black communities in Rio de Janeiro that blend funk with Miami bass and other hip-hop subgenres. Formative Years In 1993, right at baile funk’s peak in Brazil, Cavalcante was only 13 years old and living near the favelas where the sound was devel- oping. At a local warehouse party, she first heard Freestyle’s “It’s Automatic,” and a new world of music was opened to her. “At that point, I knew this is what I was gonna do with my life,” she says of the mo- ment. That party and “It’s Automatic” — which she admits still makes her emotional — led her to pursue a career as a DJ. Three decades later, baile funk, freestyle, and other Latin-inspired genres again domi- nate dance floors across Miami. It’s also opened the doors for more Latin artists to play the kind of music that directly connects them to their experiences growing up in the city and across Latin America. “We’re really seeing a lot of Latin-influ- enced music, and we’re re- ally kind of like taking off because of that because Mi- ami is such a melting pot of all these different cultures,” says Pia Isabella Palomino, who DJs under the name Bunni. Even though Mi- ami’s sound is ever-chang- ing, Palomino says it’s “always giving a nod to the roots.” Palo- mino started DJing in 2019, right at a time when the reinvigo- rated un- derground scene in Miami was just getting started, making it easy for newcomers to get a leg in. When the pandemic hit, Palomino took the time to learn how to produce music and began to release her own original work. She is adamant that her sound cannot be reduced to a single genre or set of inspira- tions. For example, Tender, her latest EP, is much more influenced by pop than her past work, which was more firmly rooted in club music. Still, she does see Latin influences in her work, especially in her DJ sets, where the goal is to connect with audiences. Born in Miami but with parents from Ec- uador and Colombia, Palomino incorporates Latin music into her sets — especially the old- school reggaeton that her peers were “grind- ing to during middle school” — to connect with her heritage. “I was a first-generation immigrant, so it really is important for me to be able to connect through that sound in a way that I wasn’t able to because I didn’t grow up in South America,” she adds. She’s not the only one doing this kind of community-affirming work, either. “We all have either a memory of a party or like middle school dances or high school dances, and so seeing [other DJs] take on this nostalgia is really fun and exciting,” Palomino explains. An Underground Movement Palomino often spins at Proibidæ events as one of the many DJs the group books for its baile funk par- ties, working closely with Cavalcante and Proibidæ’s coproducer Stephanie Ro- drigues. An emerging DJ in her own right, Rodrigues helps exe- cute the parties from conception to when the last guest leaves. Ev- erything is considered when planning a Proibidæ event, from the flyers and the stage lighting to book- ing the artists and getting them to and from the venue. Usually, that venue is Domicile, a hub for underground music in Little Haiti, where Proibidæ has a residency. Though she’s been involved in Proibidæ since the group’s first event, it was only around the time of the third party in March of 2022 that Rodrigues started to help Caval- cante more with artist curation and bookings, day-of tasks, and Concreta Sala, Cavalcante’s indie record label, music lab, and artist man- agement project. For Rodrigues, who is Brazilian and sees baile funk as something that has always been a part of her life, finding a welcoming and in- clusive space to engage with the genre was critical. Though she often frequented baile funk and Brazilian parties while growing up in Broward County, Proibidæ offered a new take on the familiar format. “I would go all the time,” Rodriguez says of the Brazilian parties in Broward, “but it’s not the same. Even though they play the same sound up there, it’s all Brazilian, so the crowd is different. There’s older men, there’s more girls in heels.” Proibidæ, on the other hand, by being part of the underground, is an open space accepting of everyone. Rodrigues cites a more significant queer presence and the intimacy of the under- ground scene as major factors in creating this welcoming space that Proibidæ fosters. In a city where there have been historically few places for baile funk music, despite Miami’s sizeable Brazilian population, Proibidæ’s mission becomes all the more important for fans and artists like Rodrigues. “Baile funk has always been part of who I am as a person growing up, just because I’m Brazilian and baile funk is in our culture,” Ro- drigues says. “It’s kinda like, how can some- body be Hispanic and not know what reggaeton is?” That’s the beauty of Proibidæ, too. Palo- mino cites Cavalcante and Proibidæ as pri- marily responsible for bringing baile to Miami. Indeed, when Rodrigues and The Miami Accent from p7 >> p10 Scenes from Proibidae Sept 2022. CENTER: Proibidae’s founder, House of Pris Betty McGhee
