The Weekend the Bass Won: Notes from a Voice Actor

This voice actor learned that youth doesn’t equal recklessness, and that listening often reveals more wisdom than judgment. Sometimes the loudest places are where you’re most clearly reminded of your past—and your faith in the future.

Miami in March, Silence in Short Supply

I hate electronic dance music. More importantly, I hate the Ultra Music Festival that comes to Miami’s Bayfront Park every year in March. Technically it’s two miles from my apartment but it might as well be next door for all the cacophony it creates across the water during this three day bacchanalia of violent sound. Young kids from as far as Germany and Japan descend on the Streets of Miami every year for the ‘love fest.’ This particular weekend poses a major inconvenience since the festival has caught this voice actor in the midst of recording a five hundred page audiobook, three chapters of which need to be completed by Monday night. The multiple sound stages start warming up at 10am so I’ve been waking up at 6:30 every day to record what I can before the bass speakers begin to blast endless hours of electronic music onto multitudes of revelers. One year the banner picture that emerged around the world was of a young woman in the grass by the convention center urinating on top of an unconscious man. Three of my relatives in Colombia wrote me asking me if I’d been there.

At 11am I head to the metro rail for my class near Dadeland since driving in the clogged up streets of downtown Miami is out of the question. I arrive at the venue and Katrina's two hours of teaching improv is a blast. Afterwards, Katrina drives me to the station. She is distracted as we are saying goodbye and points, "Look at that guy getting on the train!” I follow this bikini clad male vision with a Honduran flag draped over his shoulders going up the escalator with a group of similarly dressed oddballs. The latino superman, in his early 20s, has bozo the clown colored hair and red sunglasses to match. His red and white bikini bottom comes adorned with a Greek key motif, the package in full view. He is leaning on the handrail, trying to look cool, when it suddenly dawns on me. He’s a nerd who just wants to have fun. I pass my stop and decide to follow the freak show.

Girls Who Came to Dance, Not Disappear

The train starts filling up with all sorts of outfits: thongs, brightly colored tutus, neon wigs, onesies, wide fishnet stockings and plenty of Doc Martens. One beautiful tall girl, wearing ass hugging shorts, a bikini top and Colombian colored knee-hi socks asks me for directions in Spanish.

"Tu eres de Colombia?" I say.

“Si!” She exclaims. "De Barranquilla. Y tu?"

"Mis papas son de Ibague but I was born here" I answer. She screams, excited to meet a compadre.

Her name is Savannah and her short cute friend wearing a Madonna style bra is Celina. They are seniors in college in NY, going for their masters in communication. Savannah tells me she has a free ride to school with a GPA of 3.7. It’s their first time in Miami but they are 'rave' veterans. They ask me what I do and I tell them I’m a voice actor and write in my spare time. They are eager to answer any questions I have so when I ask if they’re doing drugs, they vehemently deny it. They usually do Molly when they go to raves but they’ve decided to only drink at this festival. I start to ask who Molly is and think better of it. Savanna and Celina are open, kind, and extremely knowledgeable about OD’ing. They tell me they saw someone yesterday having seizures. Later, I find out a U of M student has died and wonder if they were inadvertent witnesses. I ask them about men and they quickly tell me they aren't here to pick up guys, they just want to dance. They love the music and their favorite artist is Jack u. I nod and go "Ooh"  as if they were telling me Adam Levine was going to perform. Celina shows me a text from a boy she met Friday. He and his group were high on Molly and slobbering all over them. She is NOT planning on texting back.

A Voice Actor Listens to the Smart Ones

Savannah says the festival ends at 11 and I restrain myself from jumping up and down. Before midnight! I can squeeze in an extra hour of recording. The sun is starting to set and I’m ready to leave before it gets too crazy. We hug and say goodbye. I watch them go through the tall steel arches of the entrance to the festival. These are smart girls. No, they are women: they have brains and hearts and they take care of each other. They remind me of my friendship with Sarah. We used dance to disco music at Studio 54 when we were kids. She’s gone now, having passed away from breast cancer in 1999.

I get on the metro mover. When I arrive at my apartment, the music doesn’t bother me as much as it did on Friday. I send a silent prayer to Savannah and Celina, wishing them a safe trip home. I get it. They want to be part of something, like I did. I look across the water with a smile. At 11:01, the silence is palpable. I turn on my mic and begin to record.