A Tale of Two Cities

Over the past few years, I’ve been part of the team responsible for producing two special experiences that happen to occur on back-to-back weekends: EDC Las Vegas and Electric Forest. While the festivals take place in two very distinct locations, the continuity between them runs strong. It’s not just their common threads—electronic music, mesmerizing environments, beautiful people, peace, love, community and respect—but that more and more people seem to travel straight from Vegas to Rothbury, Michigan. I’ve become part of a migration. This two-weekend pilgrimage is the highlight of my year, where I refill my spiritual gas tank to overflowing.

Last year at EDC Vegas, that feeling was punctuated with the sentiment that music is our religion. We didn’t simply erect a DJ platform; we built a cathedral, filling it with our collective spirits. We didn’t just construct stages; we created massive structures that orbited the Speedway like a solar system. In the midst of the desert’s dry summer heat, EDC becomes a utopia. Among the grandstands and asphalt looming large beneath the sky, the green grass of cosmicMEADOW serves as a natural oasis. Technology and art re-create nature in the form of giant owls and gardens of large-scale, multicolored mushrooms. The lights of EDC shine so bright that I can feel them in my ocular nerves with eyes closed. And then there are the performers, the fireworks, the carnival rides, the !!! moments, the ?@#% happenings, and all the rest… for three seemingly endless nights.

But by Monday at 11am, everyone retreats—away from the sun and back to air-conditioned hotel rooms, after-parties and refreshing swimming pools. As fast as it became a metropolis, EDC reverts to its component parts: bamboo poles, LED screens, light fixtures, steel scaffolding and truss. Trucks leave in all directions, many somewhat lighter than when they arrived. Remnants of exploded firework shells twist in the desert wind, and precious few traces remain of the celebrations that took place.

“Remnants of exploded firework shells twist in the desert wind, and precious few traces remain of the celebrations that took place.”

The transition back to reality takes time—the emotions, exhaustion and experience linger for days after it ends—but I have just two days and nights of sleep before I set out again. One stop at Chicago’s O’Hare airport, and then a few hours later, I’m heading to a small airport deep in Michigan. As the plane comes in for landing, the ocean that is Lake Michigan gives way to lush, green forests.

The temperature sits at a perfect 76 degrees, the sun shines, and this strange feeling hits me: HUMIDITY. My skin drinks the moisture from the air as if it has been wandering the desert for weeks (oh, wait…). Trees line the roadside, their rustling leaves singing a welcoming song. A short drive later, and I’m in the Electric Forest, rushing to join 35,000 friends (about 100,000 shy of EDC’s daily attendance).

The defining characteristic of Electric Forest is its namesake woods: The event is surrounded by trees, mingling with the masses and defining the skyline. Some Forest denizens reveal their tied-dyed heritage, showcasing an abundance of colored fabrics, bare feet, dreadlocks, sundresses and optimism. Everyone camps, and everything is walkable. The memory of driving here fades fast. The stages blend into the forest, because that’s how it is meant to be. The magnificence of this city needs little more than people and music to come alive.

The labyrinth of Sherwood Forest, the heart of this woodland, features attractions you might miss if you don’t let yourself wander aimlessly: hammocks, stages of bizarre musical theater (Psychedelic Bingo, anyone?), and a speakeasy built from recycled materials. Sherwood could be a destination all its own.

Bands matter in the Forest, but so do the DJs, and the different frequencies and timbres ebb and flow throughout the weekend. Each day is a play in three acts. The first starts in the campgrounds, as people awaken and wander down Shakedown Street to grab a burrito or the obligatory Spicy Pie slice, or to hit up the notoriously good egg spot. Act two spans from when the music begins until the Forest closes for the night. In act three, back in camping, the party lives on for hours ‘til the sun rises.

Over the course of two weekends, I’ll see the sun rise six times. At EDC Vegas, each sunrise has a different impact; but the final one, on Monday morning, feels warmer than the previous two. The hyper-speed moments of the last three nights have come to an end, and my eyes fill with tears of gratitude as I reminisce on one more journey Under the Electric Sky.

While the same sun rises over Rothbury, those magic hours look different in the Forest. It takes a moment, but I realize the absence of EDC’s fire. Perhaps that’s what makes the sunrise so profound in the Forest. Light breaks through the trees, illuminating vast fields of techno-hippy campers. It restores energy to those remaining awake to receive it—but also to those who sleep, dreaming of next year’s adventures.

Illustration by Traminal + Wojciech Pijecki