Carnaval on the Mile

I recovered from pink eye(s) just in time to make it out to Sunday Carnaval on the Mile this year. I’ll skip over what I didn’t like (distance between stages, lack of signage and information in general, Kiwanis groupies) in favor of what I did like.

Three words - Locos Por Juana.

I had read the reviews, the stories about the Latin Grammy, the Best of New Times awards, the BBC love (named them the “Best Latin Rock Band in the U.S.), etc, etc. I had also read about the band’s musical influences.

And that’s exactly why I had never really gone out of my way to check them out.

I’m usually very skeptical of bands who cite salsa, timba, ska, reggae, merengue, cumbia, hip hop, punk, funk and dub as the influence to their sound. I mean, isn’t that the same “sound” shared by all other 482 local bands?

I stumbled upon Locos Por Juana at the Le Jeune stage as the sun was setting and the breeze felt cooler. The crowd gathered around the stage seemed younger, hipper and more artistically-inclined than the rest of the folks wandering aimlessly on the mile (no offense). So I hung out.

Good thing I did.

Locos Por Juana’s (Crazy For Jane - as in Mary?) sound might seem trite at first - “a poor man’s Ozomatli minus Chali 2na” was my initial thought.

However, well into their first song it was easy to recognize that these guys are serious musicians eager to spread their message, have some fun, and shake some a*ses in the meantime. This is Miami after all. For every person in attendance actually listening to the lyrics coming out of energetic crowd mover and lead singer Itagui Correa’s mouth, there were a hundred others shaking their a*ses shamelessly.

It’s clear to see why my love/hate relationship continues (by the way, this is the most PG these two ever got).

Although I enjoyed Locos Por Juana’s vibe and energy tremendously, the moment I enjoyed the most was sitting next to the window inside the Barnes & Noble Cafe and watching the multitude of pedestrian traffic outside while reading the front page of Sunday’s Miami Herald and sharing a conversation with one of the regulars.

One day, Mr. Merrick. One day.