I Discovered the Meaning of Life at Day of the Dead

Photo by Erik Voake. All other photos courtesy of author. 

Los Angeles is a cliquey place, which means it's hard to get everyone together for one party. But this past weekend, the scene kids, ravers, frat boys, cosplay freaks and total fucking squares converged on the LA Historic State Park to damage their ears and seratonin receptors together. One thing to remember about HARD events is that they are not raves—as evidenced by a strict "no kandi" policy and up to a half hour's wait time between main stage acts. Day of the Dead is an electronic music festival, so don't get it twisted.

When I walked through security and into the park, the festival was off to a classy start in the shadow of the Downtown skyline, as Kastle served a sophisticated appetizer of future garage with subtle hints of of dubstep, hip-hop, and Baltimore club. It was one of the few trap-lite daytime sets (thank god) and it says a lot about a DJ when he can get a crowd doing the dutty wine even before they're good and drunk. While remedying my own sobriety as quickly as possible, I ran into some childhood heroes in the beer garden and was scarred for life.

THUMP: A case of sweaty grundle is always something to worry about at a festival like this. Aren't you hot in those?
Tigger: Hell yeah, dude. We're burning up. But it's worth it. Later tonight, it'll be good.

Do you feel that these outfits make you more or less likely to get laid?
[In unison] Way more likely.

Winnie the Pooh: Look at us. We're fuckin' awesome.

Eeyore: This is every girl's fantasy. Probably every guy's fantasy as well.

As I tried my best to repress visions of being sodomized by Eeyore, Canadian bass-pop journeymen Zeds Dead warmed up the dusk crowd on the main stage. They're undoubtedly great producers, but after seeing them live on a couple of occasions, I've realized that they're not so adept at mixing and prefer to just knock out their hits one by one. As the crowd around me broke into an "ooah ooah" chant, I decided to ditch the soccer hooligan vibe and wandered over to see UK duo Jack Beats, where I nearly got my ass kicked by this posse:

I can't tell if you're here to play Dungeons and Dragons or to rave.
We're rave warriors. We also play dungeons and dragons. You got a problem with that? Hey, I think this guy has a problem with us.

Whoa, whoa, let's change the subject. You there, with the abs, who do you get told that you look like?
Thor. All the time. It's been like eight times today. Are you sure we shouldn't beat this guy up?

Okay, please don't hurt me. I'll leave you alone.

Jack Beats was followed by Nero, making a rare appearance in Los Angeles for this headlining spot. Around this time a year ago, their LA set was cut halfway through due to a technical failure, so the anticipation for their performance was redoubled. Their apocalyptic pop-step was well received, and everyone agreed they were the highlight of the evening. The one upside to HARD's near-vigilant rejection of drum & bass DJs is that whenever any artist drops some, the crowd goes batshit like they've never heard breakbeats before.

As the sun fell from the sky and the party kicked into high gear, moombah masters Nadastrom took the main stage, providing a master class in the art of mixing.

Dave Nada and Matt Nordstrom could have walked to the festival grounds from their apartments, but we were glad they saved their energy for a set that progressed from moombahton into 20 minutes of tropical bass and ended with old-school rave breaks and jungle. Nadastrom's designer drug visuals, replete with morphing sugar skulls, were a highlight. The duo deserves endless props for always pushing dynamic sets.

The night was rounded out by that kid Skrill trampolining atop a pumpkin for 90 minutes. It wasn't his finest set but he still gets a lot of hometown love and rightfully so. Finally it seems that the hipster imperative to reject everything the guy does has died down a little and people can appreciate his contribution to electronic music. And like that, at midnight, the first day was over. Thousands of wide-eyed revelers were released onto the streets of Chinatown to fend for themselves until the party started again the next day.

On day two, I fell in love.

THUMP: What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?
Laura: You could say I'm a cool mom. My daughter got me into the music. She couldn't afford to come today so we're here. I like Calvin Harris, Deadmau5, Nero, and Skrillex.

How do you feel about the fact that most people here are on drugs?
Chelsea: They should share!

How do you feel about being the sexiest ladies here?
Laura: [Laughs]. In our dreams. We're fine just the way we are. To be here and to watch.

Amtrac gave the subs of the petite Underground Stage an early evening workout with some of the deepest techno I've ever heard. I mean, this shit was rocking some borderline brown note kind of bass. I'm still vibrating. Elsewhere, Skream gave the disco tent something to groove to despite Sgt. Pokes' weird spooky MCing, and Pretty Lights deserves props for playing the only glitch-hop track I heard all weekend. That said, Sunday in particular suffered from a case of Main Stage myopia. From Prydz to Calvin Harris and onwards, the main stage was packed while the other areas were underpopulated.

Amtrac

By the time Baauer and RL Grime went B2B, things were getting a little creepy. I can't figure out if they were going for an homage to gangsta rap or an intentionally offensive caricature of it. I'm not sure if they know either. The vibe was kind of evil and the visuals were jarring: clip-art uzis rotated in front of pixelated flame graphics. I saw a gaggle of teenagers, one dressed as a sexy nurse, struggling to carry an unconscious friend out of the crowd. Moments later an Asian dude dressed as Batman began laying into his date with such abusive classics as, "Fuck you! I hate you!" and "No! I don't fucking love you anymore!" All the dystopian imagery and Malibu's Most Wanted antics must have had an effect on the crowd. As I wandered off I saw ambulance lights flashing. It's all fun and games until somebody gets dehydrated.

It was around this point that I made the begrudging trek to the awful hellhole that is the main-stage beer garden. Every festival has one, and by the time night falls, they're like the worst frat party ever, populated by Ed Hardy-ites giving each others wedgies and daring each other to smell their fingers because they "just fingerblasted some bitch during Cut Copy." The first Deadmau5 performance in LA for three years will bring out that kind of uninspired knuckledraggery and dross, though, so par for the course.

Deadmau5 sets are so fucking boring and self-indulgent that I cannot understand the mainstream's continued obsession with him. It's amazing how far a gimmick and good timing will get you. His Hellraiser-inspired Mau5head was by far the most entertaining aspect of his presence, and you'd be amazed how many Deadmau5 shirts rushed past me as I literally ran away from his set after 20 minutes. The dude seems to resent being famous so much that he's lost any interest in actually entertaining his fans.

Despite the festival's final hours, it was a pretty astounding event. HARD has their aesthetic figured out and their shows always balance EDM chart-toppers with artists on the come-up. The midnight curfew was a bummer, but hosting a nearby afterparty until 6AM does a lot to allay those grumbles. The HARD brand has become an important meeting ground for the mainstream and the underground in electronic music and we'll be there again next time round.