There’s a moment at Electric Forest when time feels like it unravels. Maybe it’s 4 a.m. Maybe it’s dusk. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Somewhere between the flicker of LEDs suspended in the trees and the thud of basslines carrying through the pines, I forgot what day it was—and it felt incredible.
This year’s Forest was the most immersive I’ve experienced in a decade of covering festivals. It’s not just the music, though the lineup delivered: FISHER brought his usual emotional precision, closing Ranch Arena to a teary, swaying crowd. DJ HEARTSTRING’s late night set at felt like a lucid dream—organic, glowing, impossible to look away from. And countless others turned Tripolee into a nightclub in the middle of a psychedelic fever dream, drawing thousands into nonstop jams.
But Electric Forest isn’t just about sets—it’s about moments. It’s the feeling of wandering into the art installations at 2 a.m., only to find a hidden poetry reading in the woods. It’s trading stickers with a stranger who later hands you a frozen otter pop when you need it most. It’s laying on the ground beneath the canopy while robotic birds chirp above you and a distant stage pulses through the earth.
Sherwood Forest itself continues to be the heart of the experience. This year, the lighting design was subtler, more organic, with lights moving like wind through the trees instead of flashing chaos. It made the late-night hours feel quieter, more sacred.
Electric Forest 2025 didn’t try to outdo itself. Instead, it leaned into what it’s always done best—create a liminal world where art, sound, and community melt into something timeless. I left dirtier, glowier, and more grounded than I came in.
And I can’t wait to get lost again next year.
