I still remember the moment it began. We were sitting around a flickering campfire at 3 a.m., the last echoes of bass still vibrating somewhere in our bones. It was one of those post-festival comedowns—exhausted, blissed out, wired from too much music and too little sleep. Someone (probably Tom, who always had the wildest ideas) said, “What if we just made our own festival?”
We all laughed. Of course, we laughed. It sounded insane.
But the idea stuck.
Maybe it was the afterglow of a weekend full of connection and music. Maybe it was that strange cocktail of ambition and naivety. Whatever it was, within a week we were seriously talking about it. Within a month, we were scouting locations.
We had no money, no experience, and no connections in the industry. What we did have was a deep love for electronic music, a tight-knit group of friends with oddly useful skills (shoutout to Dan for being both a DJ and knowing how to rig lights), and a collective sense of “why not?”
Googling Our Way Through the Dream
One of the first things we did was type “how to start a music festival“ into Google. It sounds ridiculous now, but it was our first real step. We found a few scattered blogs, some YouTube videos, and a handful of guides—some helpful, some wildly out of touch for anyone without a six-figure budget.
Still, they gave us a rough skeleton: permits, sound, lighting, insurance, vendors, toilets (we underestimated this part), ticketing, safety plans, first aid, and—of course—the lineup.
We divided up tasks like a weird startup. I handled the branding and social media. Rachel tackled logistics. Sam, who worked construction during the summers, built half our infrastructure with salvaged wood and sheer willpower. Every Sunday became our “Planning Session”.
We’d sit in someone’s kitchen surrounded by whiteboards and half-eaten takeaway, arguing about stage layout and worrying about whether anyone would actually show up.
From Dream to Dirt
Our first real breakthrough came when we convinced a local farmer to rent us a patch of land just outside town. It had everything we needed: space, trees for shade, no neighbors close enough to complain about the bass, and most importantly, someone willing to give a bunch of music nerds a shot.
We didn’t have the budget to book big names, so we leaned into the underground scene. We tapped into local DJs, producers, and performers who were hungry for a space to experiment. Some had never played to more than 50 people before. Some had followings we didn’t even know about.
Word started to spread—not fast, but enough. People liked the DIY vibe. The idea of something raw, personal, built from scratch. We printed posters at a friend’s print shop and flyered every music venue and café in town. Instagram became our second job.
The more we built, the more real it became. We borrowed, begged, and built everything we could. One friend designed the stage using repurposed scaffolding. Another built a solar-powered chillout dome. A friend of a friend ran a vegan food truck and offered to show up for a cut of the ticket sales.
It wasn’t polished, but it had heart.
The Festival Itself
It took place in late August, after nine months of absolute madness.
On opening day, it rained. Of course it did. But people still showed up—ponchos, umbrellas, boots and all. The mud became part of the story. And when the sun broke through during our first headliner set, it felt like the universe was giving us a nod of approval.
There were a thousand tiny moments I’ll never forget. A guy proposing to his girlfriend during a sunrise ambient set. A 12-year-old breakdancer stealing the show on the open mic stage. The way the lasers cut through the fog on Saturday night, making it feel like we were inside a dream.
Of course, not everything went perfectly. Someone unplugged a generator by accident. One of the portaloos tipped (don’t ask). A nearby farmer got confused and almost drove a tractor through our camping zone. But somehow, we kept it together.
We had first aid. We had a plan. We had walkie-talkies and a bunch of very tired volunteers who somehow kept smiling.
What We Learned (and What We’d Do Differently)
If you’re reading this and wondering how to start a music festival, my first piece of advice is: don’t do it alone. Our team was our lifeline. We leaned on each other hard, and every person brought something essential to the table.
Second: research everything. Those guides and forums saved our asses more times than I can count. Whether it was understanding how to file for temporary event permits or how to negotiate with sound techs, we learned from people who had done it before.
Third: be flexible. You’ll plan everything down to the last detail, and then something will go sideways within the first hour. That’s okay. Roll with it. That’s where the magic often happens.
And finally: do it for the right reasons. We didn’t do this to make money (though breaking even was a miracle). We did it because we believed in the music. We wanted to create a space where people could dance, connect, and feel like they belonged.
That weekend, under the stars and strobes, it felt like we did exactly that.
If you’ve got the itch, if you’re dreaming about it—start Googling. Start building. Start asking yourself what kind of world you want to create.
Because with the right crew and a little courage, it might just be possible.
