If there’s anything I’ve learned after attending EDC twice, it’s that ravers will always find a way.
Take, for example, the woman I saw inching along Las Vegas Boulevard in a rented U-Haul pickup truck on the drive in—dishing out an equal measure of PLUR and road rage as the moment saw fit. Or the chains of dozens of people, hands linked, bulldozing their way through crowds with tactless abandon, leaving spilled drinks and bruised ribs in their wake.
The sheer logistical chaos of hosting a three-day, 200-artist festival for more than 150,000 attendees is audacious in its own right. To do so while keeping performers to irregular start times like 1:47 a.m. is a testament to the longevity of EDC, which was celebrating its 30th anniversary in the same month I reached my 32nd.
Inside, a sea of neon—and more yellow than I’ve ever seen in one place—flooded the gates. There were hundreds of people dressed as Minions from the Despicable Me franchise as part of a coordinated viral meetup, along with dozens of banana-suited baddies ripping vapes, and SpongeBob SquarePants getting turnt with the entire Mario Kart roster. On the perimeter of the infield, Tony the Tiger napped face up on the grass—seemingly oblivious to the blankets of scorching basslines that captivated the rest of his crew.
There were plenty of surprises to discover throughout the Speedway’s nine main stage setups and assorted micro venues. Noizu pulled a rare Pokémon card from a pack in front of an audience of 20,000. Illenium made a secret guest appearance at a Griz and Wooli set on the heels of his successful Sphere residency. John Summit polarized EDC veterans, commanding a gargantuan crowd that unfortunately included a sizable group of ruffians. Whethan was unexpectedly joined by friend and collaborator Oliver Tree, who went on to thank “Coachella” with a grin.
This year, my experience began at Salvage City Supper Club, where guests nibbled on a family-style menu designed by Chopped champion chef Matt Rolnick while an acrobat swayed from the top of a 20-foot pole as jazz musicians serenaded us from balconies. It was the only dinner where you might come back from the bathroom and become a part of an elaborate dance number. The moment I turned back for a bite of my miso-glazed sea bass and mushroom ravioli, one performer shot an arrow with her feet.
My journey to see as many sets as possible began at the Wasteland stage, where German DJ Cloudy's full-throttle techno remix of Daddy Yankee's “Gasolina” provided the initial surge I needed to push through what would become a very long night. Moving over counterclockwise, I hit the Basspod stage as Ghengar—the stage name of a man who grew up on a goat farm in Arizona—pummeled audiences dressed in Pokémon ears with sinister, suffocating bass that echoed the series’ own eerie Lavender Town theme. He was followed by another set of masked marauders in ATLiens, who kept the ghosty, wrenching trap vibes going over sampled staples like “Feel Good Inc.” by the Gorillaz.
At Circuit Grounds, French producer DJ Snake channeled his dark techno alter ego, The Outlaw, to deliver a rowdy, thumping remix of “Woops,” weaving in his 2015 smash hit “Turn Down for What” alongside a barrage of pyrotechnics for good measure.
I then moved along through the calm-quiet side quest that is the Pixel Forest arcade area—where some button-mashed through the original Super Mario as others caught up on sleep in the corner—to make my way to the Neon Garden stage, where Swiss duo Adriatique sprinkled shimmering melodic techno beats across the floor as we danced to fireworks shining through the venue’s translucent roof.
Adequately warmed up by 2:50 a.m., I made my way past grinning maintenance workers with plastic sprouts clipped to their hats toward the hulking, spaceship-inspired Kinetic Field stage. Here, the eclectic, North Carolina-based virtuoso Porter Robinson carried the wee hours with a diverse mix of his classic, pulsing house stompers like “Language,” and shinier, anime-infused electro-pop entries like “Shelter,” “Divinity,” and “Flicker.”
Robinson's 70-minute set—a seminar in balance—drew liberally from his influential 2014 album, Worlds, threading familiar melodies into reimagined cuts and remixes. “Sad Machine,” in particular, was a triumph. From the first tease of its iconic robot protagonist, the song whipped the crowd into an explosion of goodwill as fans locked arms and swayed to the blooming synthscape. He hopped effortlessly between those beloved nostalgic signatures and high-octane anthems like “Easy,” as drones assembled into the silhouettes of neon aliens overhead.
As he closed the night on his 2024 single, “Cheerleader,” some lingered for a moment, while others hoisted their totems—one featuring a jacked-out-of-her-mind Mona Lisa, another an illuminated Check Engine light—and filed toward the grandstand to get a leg up on the departing hordes. Ignoring my blistered toes, I maneuvered through them to embark on my own mile-plus walk to my car. There, I proceeded to duke it out with an insufferable Cybertruck driver who was trying to wedge himself into the exit line with no regard for pedestrians.
In the end, he realized I cared far less for my 2009 Hyundai than he did for his automotive abomination. A pair of horns honked in apparent solidarity with my moral victory as I wheeled out toward the open sunrise. Even after my second year of EDC excursions, I’m still not sure I qualify as a raver. But I sure as hell found my way.
