Further Future isn't your average transformational festival, and it isn’t trying to be. It doesn’t push recycling, nor is it bogged down by a hollow message to save the world. It’s not ordained with source-organic art installations or large-scale productions as its contemporaries or like the gaudy mega nightclubs sitting 30 miles away on the Las Vegas strip. Yet, at $500 a ticket with parking or camping-passes included, the hefty price tag would automatically assume laser-eyed robots, debaucherous carnival rides and a headliner list that would make Coachella fans salivate. Rather, Further Future’s goal is simple: Break the idea of the ‘festival.’
Creating a musical playground targeted towards burners, techno heads, techies and entrepreneurs, Further Future’s mixed audience targets seemed frantic. Lavish-ergo-expensive amenities such as Vitamin IV drips, facials, topped off with pop up restaurant tents from the ultra-fine dining joints like Nobu make it easy to get turned off on what Future is trying to be. At the end of the day though, the basics of a frenetic music gathering are what saved the day.
The red carpet wasn't pulled out for me when I arrived and I didn't get a spa day at the fest. I ate whole avocados and took cover from the infrequent but always looming thunderstorms in my RV Jucy camper. I didn’t even get into Nobu. The FF crowd was one of the least obnoxious and most-fashion forward groups I've ever come across at a festival with both sexes decked to the nines in chic glimmering futurist wear.
Even after a 72 hour non stop music schedule and mother nature against us, the crowd’s resolve, their will and even their joy could not be broken. How could it when you have the essential elements like superb sound systems, world class electronic musical acts and an intimate desert setting? What else can you gripe about? Asshole bouncers, barricades and concentration camp-like campgrounds were absent. VIP sections, blow horns or bottle service, annihilated. It was good ol’ fashion dance party.
Predictable, yet infrequent stage and logistical issues aside, the performances were on point.
The mind blowing minimal and experimental live performance by Nicolas Jaar, the soothing electro pop of Caribou and throwback feels of hip hop artists, The Pharcyde had sonically punctuated an already strong environment. After dancing around the Mothership stage I wandered off back to Robot Heart's where I fell in love with a producer from the Netherlands named Satori. Satori's blend of dark, deep, minimal techno sounds with tribal world-house beats had possessed my body and soul like no other.
The 4 a.m sunrise sets for Dixon and Lee Burridge had tested my fortitude. I managed to power through and experienced the most precious moments of weekend for myself. Standing atop the double decker Robot Heart art car, I glared at the gleaming, Martian-like sunrise over the gorgeous mountains above the Moapa Indian Reservation with bright red sands punctuated by the epic majesty of the Southwest desert. It was under this scene of dirty serenity then where I felt further and had thoughts of my future.
In retrospective, it's easy to dismiss and talk down a function and experience you've never experienced and it's easy to believe whatever you read. And yeah, even though I didn't participate in the sound baths or meditation and refused to incorporate words like "vibes" and "universe" in my vocabulary, as I stared into my future like so many others did in the harsh, torrid and potentially dangerous-yet sublimely beautiful conditions, we all shared something in common: A love for music and a love for the future.