The corner store by my apartment gets a great deal of tourists, and last week I overheard one checker say to another, “I don’t do drugs and I’m not actually into the music, but I ‘d like to go to EDC, just for the experience.” A similar thing took place last night, as I was getting supper prior to heading out to cover the final night of the huge Electric Daisy Carnival music celebration. At the bar, I satisfied John, a fan of craft beer and punk rock. It’s safe to presume that John, like most of us, will never ever attend EDC. Yet he was genuinely curious about the celebration. He wanted to know exactly what it resembles firsthand. John, this post is for you.
On behalf of all armchair ravers, I’ll be your slack-jawed townie with the golden ticket. Donning earplugs and walking shoes, I came down into an unusual other world. Today, I’m battling excessive exhaustion and sipping on a car-warmed Red Bull to inform you exactly what you missed:
A magnificent first blush. After a long voyage to Las Vegas Motor Speedway, the full view of EDC knocks your glowsticks off. It’s hotter and windier than Vegas, and more remote. So the bonanza of sound and light appears to be the only thing left on Earth. You will discover an extreme need to record everything. Pictures become irresistible, if ineffectual. Your mind will search for glittery descriptions of the apocalyptic visual. I came up with “Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome satisfies Alice in Wonderland.” I have actually never ever seen the movie Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. This did not matter.
Enema by soundwave? No point in analyzing entertainers or sets. The music originated from all over, all the time. It was teeth-chattering loud, even with earplugs. Touch any surface, such as a railing, a concession stand or your own belly, and it vibrated to several contending basslines. Unless you were watching a specific DJ set, sounds from all instructions overlapped, developing a sonic taste that resembles when you blend all the sodas at a hamburger joint. The music didn’t care about your favorite band. It was merely unrelenting, moving you forward and further.
The crowd. According to a post-event release, “over 400,000 fans from all walks of life came together to dance from dusk till dawn.” If “all walks of life” describes hardly clothed millennials, this statement holds true. The people-watching was epic. My preferred sighting was a young woman carrying a totem that checked out “F * ck the Real life” in reflective bubble letters (the kind that kindergarten teachers tack onto bulletin boards). For these few hours, escape velocity is possible. The rainbow fantasia collapses all of time and area into this one hyper-intense moment– even if you’re sober.
The meaning of everything. In an effort to suss out the occasion’s deeper appeal, I went to the source and asked some “headliners” (that’s occasion producer Insomniac’s name for attendees; real headliners are described as “artists”). Because the music was too loud for discussion, I gestured for partygoers to write their thoughts on my notepad. The very best action came from a woman in face paint and French braids. She pondered for a minute then stated, “It’s truly odd to aim to utilize a pen today.”
Sunrise. Around 4:30 a.m., I saw an unwanted hue to the east. At first, I played it off as one of the stated “2,000 moving lights, 40 flame systems and/or 1,200 pyro units.” However ohh gawd, it was sunrise. How do you feel about enjoying Monday morning bleach the fun from an LED playground? That is for you to imagine. Me, I’m still recovering from the shock.