1998 was the first time (and last) that I felt cool at a concert. A friend and me went straight from work at Cuyahoga County Republican Headquarters (not a joke) to a Beastie Boys concert at Cleveland State University’s Convocation Center. The young attendees glared at us pre-show, as if they knew we were conservatives. In a strange turn of events, the Beastie Boys came out wearing exactly what we were: light gray shirts and dark gray chinos. As we walked out I overheard comments like “Are they with the band?” and “How did they know?” My friend looked over at me: “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
Fast forward 27 years to my latest venture into the world of hip-hop: the Earl Sweatshirt “Live, Laugh, Love” tour stop at Miami Beach Bandshell on November 25th, 2025.
I know of Mr. Sweatshirt because of my very cool half Albanian son, Daniel. He introduced me to Earl’s world via Tyler the Creator, who once had a sketch comedy show on the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim called The Loiter Squad. One of Tyler’s cast mates was an aspiring 18 year old rapper, stage name Earl Sweatshirt.
For his 13th birthday in September, Daniel wanted nothing more than to see Earl live. So I bought 4 VIP tickets, and then promptly forgot all about it, half hoping my much cooler wife would take him. No such luck.
It was billed as an all ages show, so I thought there’d be plenty of middle-aged dads there with kids my son’s age. Nope. My son, apparently, is a trailblazer, so much so that Mr. Sweatshirt himself asked one of his friends, “How old are y’all? 12? 13? Mad props!”
Despite my being among the oldest of the ticket holders, my crew of 7th graders were the youngest fans, by a lot. However, we were made to feel very welcomed by everybody – vendors, security, talent, and other fans.
Standing in line I struck up a conversation with Heaven, aged 21. If I hadn’t learned she was from Daytona Beach, with a southern drawl and plans to join the Air Force in 10 days, I would have assumed she was a Ukrainian model trying to make it in America.
She had driven to Miami earlier in the day and planned to drive home after the show. This concert was her last hurrah before giving her life to the service of Uncle Sam for the next six years. Earl, she said, is her favorite rapper.
Considering her sacrifices, I gave her my coveted Live, Laugh, Love hat that was part of our VIP swag bags. She graciously accepted, and I wished her well as she struck up a conversation with a nice young man from Miramar.
Getting there by 5 pm to pre-register for a 6:30 p.m. meet and greet with Earl was taking its toll. I wanted to go home and re-watch the Sopranos. But the excitement was building.
Thanks to my Shazam app, I figured out that Levelz from Birmingham, U.K. was the fun pre-recorded pre-show music thumping throughout the Bandshell (and the rest of North Beach). Because we were VIPs, we managed to get front row access, but the sound mix was perfect. No need for ear protection.
Both of Earl’s openers led the crowd in chants of “Fuck the Police!” and “Fuck ICE!” The crowd largely seemed to oblige. One performer tried a chant of “Fuck Cigarettes!”
“Whoa! That’s where I draw the line – I like cigarettes!” joked Emmanuel, a 42 year old fan of Mr. Sweatshirt, who learned of the concert just a day before, thanks to a targeted online ad. We struck up a friendly rapport that would benefit me greatly later on.
All of the performances were really good, especially Earl’s. A young and attractive Latina next to me seemed like a nerd – glasses, dressed very conservatively. However, I noticed she was sneaking hits of marijuana, using her phone as a shield. The higher she got, the more she invaded my space.
Being a gentleman, and not wanting any misunderstandings with her male companion, I somewhat froze. This was a mistake. She ended up using my left shoulder as a stabilizer for her phone. My son’s friend in front of me was wearing a hoodie, and I could feel the heat emanating from him. Heat from my own body was intensified from having Latina Mia Khalifa breathing on my neck. The whiffs of corporate vape /smoke were also closing in on me. Am I going to faint? Is this physical or anxiety? Both?
“Boys, after this song, we’re going to the cheap seats,” I announced. A couple of us used the restroom, and I bought some Pepsi and water for my crew.
My son protested, “Dad – what’s the point of getting VIP if we’re not in the front row?” I couldn’t argue. “I’ll stand right here by the bathroom, and you boys go back and see if you can reclaim your spots.” They did, thanks to Emmanuel. He muscled them through the inhospitable crowd, taking care of what I couldn’t.
Just a week before, I had been at the Van’s Warped Tour in Orlando with my eldest to take in the musical stylings of Yung Gravy and the artist formerly known as Machine Gun Kelly. Why was I doing this to myself again? It’d be one thing if I was a drinker or a weed man. I’d have tangible coping tools at my disposal. But to navigate these scenes old, chubby, and stone cold sober reveals just one fact: I’m a pretty good dad.
One boy in our crew is a preacher’s kid. All throughout this night, including the drive into Miami Beach and back, I felt like the preacher and his wife must have said some prayers for us. Nothing went wrong logistically. Getting out of the parking lot across the street was eventful, however. A “gang” of very colorful roller skate enthusiasts had kinda taken over the parking lot. To not accidentally hit one was yet another feather in my cap.
So it’s not my thing, this hip-hop Miami lifestyle. I did it for my boy, and I’m glad I did. One of my son’s friends even told me it was “the best night of his life.” If I can survive, nay, thrive in that environment, then perhaps I can fly up north for Christmas without the usual sweating and anxiety?
