Four days. Endless beats. One enchanted forest. If you’ve never been to Electric Forest, let me take you inside one of the wildest, weirdest, and most whimsical weekends of my life. As an avid music lover, what initially caught my eye about Electric Forest (hosted by Double JJ Resort in Rothbury, Michigan) was the stacked lineup with headliners like Justice, WORSHIP, and Zeds Dead. Don’t get me wrong, feeling deep basslines rattle my brain from some of my favorite artists of all time was certainly an experience I will never forget. Still, nothing will compare to the moment I stepped into the Sherwood Forest in the darkness of night. It felt like I crossed into another dimension where glowing lanterns hung from towering pine trees and sculptures stood bathed in light and color, gently pulsing to the echoes of wonks, wubs, and wobbles.
So, let’s rewind to where it all began: the music, because Electric Forest is a sensory-driven, nature-inspired playground celebrating the sounds that bring thousands of strangers together. With seven main stages and tons of hidden stages throughout the venue, I was constantly stumbling into something or someone unexpected and fantastic. At first, I meticulously planned my schedule, down to the minute, to make sure I saw every musician I could. I quickly realized that it would not be physically possible to see every single artist I wanted to see, as the venue quite literally spans hundreds of acres. I changed course once I crossed security into the festival grounds and took on a more relaxed philosophy: “I will go with the flow and see what experience the forest provides me with.”
Drawn in by the sounds of drum and bass, I found myself drifting toward the Ranch Arena just as Dimension, dressed in his signature all-black, dropped his popular Rhyme Dust remix. His set moved fluidly between heavy, club-driven basslines and airy, melodic interludes, giving the crowd moments to breathe and soak in the pastel-painted sunset above us.
Having barely glanced at the venue map, and with my terrible sense of direction, I let the crowd guide me down a winding footpath into the heart of Sherwood Forest. The first stage I stumbled upon was the Observatory, tucked between towering trees and glowing installations. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Mersiv was already deep into his set, easing the crowd in with a slowed-down, introspective energy. Live edits and ambient basslines melted into the atmosphere, syncing effortlessly with the forest’s twilight stillness.
One of the most memorable moments came when he dropped his track “Slowdown,” a blissed-out wave of sound that washed over the crowd under the dim, shifting Observatory lights. From there, he worked in seamless transitions through dub-reggae and old-school dubstep textures, keeping the groove low and hypnotic without overpowering the moment. Then, in classic Mersiv fashion, he flipped the energy completely by dropping his remix of “Neverender” by Justice & Tame Impala. The DnB-infused snares and warped melodies lit a fire under the crowd, snapping everyone into motion as heads bobbed and feet shuffled to the beat. It was a perfectly curated moment—one that captured the in-between energy of nightfall in the Forest.
With my spidey senses tingling, I weaved through the crowd until I caught sight of a familiar face behind the decks at the Honeycomb Stage. There he was, Culture Shock, commanding the booth with precision. Every twist of the EQ knob, every glide of the crossfader had me completely entranced. When he dropped “Discotheque” into his “Afterglow / Make Me” remix, the transition hit me like a wave. Unlike Dimension’s set, which surged in bursts, Culture Shock delivered a steady, unstoppable build that carried the crowd higher and higher. I only stopped dancing long enough to wipe tears of joy from my eyes. In that moment, the weight of it all sank in—I was fully, completely there.
Now fully immersed in the night, I made my way back toward the Ranch Arena as a kaleidoscope of synchronized lasers and visuals lit up the forest canopy and the path beneath my feet. Just as I arrived, the silhouettes of Justice appeared on stage, still, focused, and prepared to unleash a set that would define the weekend. From start to finish, they delivered their signature blend of gritty electro and funky disco, perfectly channeling the art, fashion, and culture that defines Electric Forest. Their set blended fan favorites like “Safe and Sound,” “D.A.N.C.E.,” and the newer anthem “Neverender,” a track that rippled throughout the festival in other sets. What truly set this show apart was the production. The setup featured dynamic light structures that adjusted in height and rotation throughout the set like something from another planet, leaving everyone utterly hypnotized. I was so caught up in the moment, I almost forgot to reach for my phone, capturing only a few quick clips before giving in to the magic.
Before diving into WORSHIP’s set, I need to pause and recognize something important: the decades of grassroots culture that laid the foundation for drum and bass in America. Long before WORSHIP ever touched a U.S. stage, local DJs in cities like Cleveland, Chicago, and Detroit were spinning jungle and DnB not because it sold tickets, but because they were obsessed with the sound. They built this community from the ground up—one basement party, dive bar, warehouse rave, and vinyl crate at a time. That’s not to discredit what WORSHIP has done. Their sets have been a powerful gateway for new fans, and they’ve undeniably helped bring DnB to bigger festival stages worldwide. But it’s crucial we don’t forget where this all started.
From the moment WORSHIP took the stage, it was like watching four minds operate as one. The transitions were so seamless that it felt like a single, extended track gaining tension and velocity by the minute. The BPMs pushed past 174, and the crowd reacted, moving as one body, pulsing with the beat. Then, out of nowhere, Culture Shock grabs the mic and asks: “Do any of you guys like jungle music?” What followed was one of the filthiest jungle drops I’ve ever heard. I still don’t know what track it was, but the moment it hit, I was transported to the days of Aphrodite, Remarc, and the jungle-fueled chaos that first made me fall in love with this sound. The crowd absolutely lost it, bouncing around like we were in some primal ritual. I flung my hands toward the sky, tears rolling down my cheeks in full gratitude. This wasn’t just a set—it was a spiritual experience. And just when I thought it couldn’t get more cinematic, raindrops began to fall. Cool and scattered at first, then a loud crash of thunder split the sky, followed by the dreaded “ATTENTION FESTIVAL-GOERS…” echoing through the system. By the time I made it back to my tent, soaked, buzzing, half-delirious, I was grinning like a fool. WORSHIP? Yeah. That’s exactly what I did that night.
After chatting with a few seasoned Forest veterans, I quickly learned something: the big-name headliners, while exciting, aren’t really the point. And honestly? That shift in mindset changed everything for me. I stopped chasing familiar names and started following the energy, letting myself be pulled toward artists I’d never heard of, some playing in genres way outside my usual SoundCloud bubble. One name kept popping up in conversation: String Cheese Incident. “You can’t miss their set,” people kept saying. So, I listened and I’m glad I did. As I arrived at the Ranch Arena, I immediately noticed the shift in atmosphere. It felt like a family reunion. Blankets were scattered across the grass, friends and strangers mingled, sharing kandi, trinkets, snacks, and blunts like old pals. And then the band took the stage. The moment SCI kicked things off, the entire stage lit up in green. The set was a joyful, genre-blending trip full of psychedelic grooves and four-twenty-friendly covers like “Hits From the Bong,” “Smoke Two Joints,” and “Legalize It.” The vibe was effortless—jazz, rock, and reggae flowing together in a way that felt both spontaneous and intentional. It wasn’t about showing off, it was about feeling good. And the surprises didn’t stop there. A saxophone-wielding Bigfoot (yes, Saxsquatch) appeared to jam. Mike Posner showed up to sing a dreamy rendition of “Mr. Brightside.” Oh, and a towering, smoke-blowing prop affectionately dubbed the “Shebong” took center stage. It was chaotic, hilarious, and magical all at once. Now, after experiencing SCI for myself, catching their set has officially become a non-negotiable for next year.
I caught so many incredible sets over the weekend that trying to review each one would be a full-on project of its own. So instead, I’ve focused on the moments that truly stuck with me, the shows that shaped my Forest experience in unforgettable ways. That said, there are plenty of honorable mentions that deserve love: Whethan, YDG, Wreckno, Gorilla T, Infekt, Ray Volpe, CRANKDAT, Tape B, DOGTAGS, and countless others I’m still trying to ID from shaky video recordings and hazy memories.
The music may have drawn me to Electric Forest, but it was far from the whole story. What elevated this festival to a lifetime memory was everything that happened in the spaces between sets: the glowing art installations tucked between trees, the winding forest paths that felt like portals, the impromptu dance circles, and the overwhelming sense of connection that pulsed through it all.
The art at Electric Forest felt like it was alive; colorful, vibrant, and deeply rooted in nature. Everything from the sculptures to the stages seemed to breathe with the forest, using natural textures and materials that blended right into the environment. At night, the whole place transformed. Trees lit up with shifting patterns, sculptures blinked with animated facial expressions, and every surface seemed to glow and move with the beat. One of my favorite moments was watching live painters hand-paint intricate designs while music drifted through the air. Each brushstroke felt like a visual echo of the sound. Performers wandered the woods in forest-themed costumes, fully in character, interacting with the crowd like we were all part of some living fairy tale. Most installations included some kind of interactive element, encouraging maximum engagement from the viewers. Of course, the most standout example is the Dream Emporium—an art installation turned fever dream with themed rooms like a neon roller rink where ravers could rent roller skates and a wrestling ring with full wrestling matches. It was weird in the best way. Every corner of the Forest had something to discover, and the art made it feel like I was stepping into someone else’s dream.
If I had to sum up the culture of Electric Forest in one phrase, it would be: The Forest giveth, and the Forest taketh away. It’s a place where you can lose a water bottle, your schedule, or your sense of time and, in return, gain a hug from a stranger, the perfect kandi bracelet, or a moment that sticks with you for life. PLUR isn’t just a phrase here; it’s alive in every trade, every compliment on someone’s outfit, and every kandi exchange that ends with a hug and a smile. Creativity and self-expression are everywhere, from the wildly inventive fashion to people dancing like no one’s watching (because honestly, no one is judging). The Forest truly feels like home, a judgment-free zone where everyone is welcome, no matter how you show up. Bartering is a whole language of its own; I saw stickers, trinkets, snacks, even handwritten poems being traded like currency. One of the most beautiful moments was at the Luminaria installation, where people quietly wrote down messages, dreams, and memories, placing them in glowing lanterns under the trees. It’s hard to describe the feeling, but being surrounded by so much intention, kindness, and openness made me feel more like myself than I have in a long time.
As I packed up my things and drove away from my campsite, I was hit with a wave of exhaustion—sunburned cheeks, sore muscles, and a pounding headache (thanks, dehydration). I collapsed into my car, cranked the AC, and chugged water like it was liquid gold. But even through the discomfort, a heavy wave of nostalgia started to creep in. All I wanted was to turn the car around and disappear back into the trees. Leaving Electric Forest didn’t feel like coming home; it felt like leaving it. My time there wasn’t a vacation; it was a return to a place I never knew I was missing. A place where time becomes irrelevant, where the outside world melts away, and where dancing in the dark with strangers somehow feels like reconnecting with old friends. From the earth-shaking basslines to the softly glowing lanterns to the unspoken bonds formed in passing moments, everything carried weight. The Forest didn’t just give me memories; it gave me clarity. A reminder of who I am beneath all the noise, and a glimpse of the world as it could be. Until next year, Forest. I’ll be dreaming of you.