And what that taught me about people, gift-giving and love

JOURNALIST’S LOG: DAY ONE 

In Search of a Story 

You could feel the energy of North Coast music festival before you could even see or hear it. I was on a shuttle heading south of the city with around 50 other strangers, all uniquely clad in an assortment of scarves, jangling jewels and psychedelic prints, when something began stirring among the rows of seats. Excitement. Anticipation. Jubilance.

I was on my own in the front seat, blessed with a panoramic windshield view of the road ahead of me. I had no idea what to expect. I was heading into the festival completely solo, carrying with me only a pen, a battered composition notebook and a bundle of curiosity. And then I saw it, rising out of the horizon– stages, sculptures, and even a Ferris wheel. We had made it to North Coast. 

Weeks earlier, the festival had sent me an invitation to be press, which had never happened to me before. As a student journalist, most of my coverage opportunities came from an onslaught of desperate emails or carefully worded pitches. But now, hurtling towards the festival grounds, things felt different. There was a touch of pressure, a charge of verve, but mostly, a sense of unknown. 

It would be my first time at the festival, and I didn’t know a thing. Although, this was the most exciting part of my journalistic venture. In my eyes, the best stories were crafted from this place of not knowing. When there is no guide or expectation, curiosity takes the reins, leaving me no choice but to examine it all. 

Like any interview or subject, I would have to get to know North Coast before I questioned or spoke about her. I would find my story by nature of noticing. That I was not worried about. After all, there are always compelling narratives all around us – most of us just don’t take enough time to notice them. And so, my first day was scheduled for pure observation. 

I walked into the festival with my mind and eyes entirely open. I investigated every question that waited on my tongue and got to know as many passing strangers as I could. They had seven different stages, and I moved through the corners of each dance floor. 

Photos of the Color Playground. Photos used with permission from North Coast Press, Patrick Grumley.

Between vendors and walkways, the festival had built a village of colorful sculptures, tubes and archways. It was a playground for the people, and festivalgoers crawled through them like bugs. They even had a classic circus tent, lined with bookshelves full of trinkets and knick-knacks. Festivalgoers approached with gadgets of their own, bartering their items with the theatrical man behind the trading countertop. 

All of it was so elaborate, so outrageous—I had to take part. I was only in the Seat Geek Stadium, yet somehow North Coast felt otherworldly. Between fantastical outfits and celestial art installations, everything seemed to be designed for some sort of anarchic exploration or radical self-expression.

In my free-spirited agenda, I embodied the experience the festival had directly crafted for me. I felt authentic and enthusiastic about how I went about things, and it looked like others had picked up on that from me, too. 

Festivalgoers Rain (left), Elexis (middle) and Terry (right) rock a garden of sprouts on their heads. Photos by Meredith Bach.

Throughout the day, festivalgoers began to gift me things: tiny plastic flowers and leaves that I could clip into my hair, otherwise known as “sprouts.” They also gave me handmade beaded bracelets called “Kandi,” among other trinkets; everything seemed to be some sort of token of appreciation. 

It started in a yoga session I had signed up for, when I made friends with my partner in the group. After our stretch, the girl held her hand out to me, and I shook it. She told me that she appreciated my energy. When she released her hand, a small sticker lay softly on the surface of my palm. “For you,” she said. “Thank you.” 

Photos from the Deep House Yoga Session, hosted in the “Chill Dome” venue. Photos used with permission from North Coast Press, Patrick Grumley.

Minutes later, with a different stranger, I was quietly handed a small trinket: a tiny axolotl animal, embellished with a cartoon smile. The man said it was his gift for me, smiled, then happily trotted off.

I didn’t know what to do with my items, or if they were supposed to really mean something. But I felt warm, welcomed even. I was a solo festivalgoer, but somehow, in some small way, I was beginning to feel a part of something else. 

I had been to festivals before where folks wore sprouts in their hair as an indicator of good energy and positive vibes. I had even received one in the past, and it made me feel proud. But the gifting at North Coast had a different feeling to it; it was as if the interactions were a part of an unspoken game or ritual. Slowly, I felt as if I was being let in on a system larger than myself, and I liked it. I wanted to know more.

I came home that night, full of high spirits and gifts from the strangers of the day. Even better, I had found my story. I wanted to understand these sprouts and trinkets. I sought meaning behind the beaded bracelets that now hugged my wrist. All of them were so artistically done, so unique. What compels someone to put so much effort into something like that, only to give it away? What did all of it mean?

JOURNALIST’S LOG: DAY TWO

Sprouts, Kandi, and all things PLUR

On day two, I boarded the bus with a mission. This time, I brought a microphone along with my notebook and pen. I had a set of questions swelling in my head, a burning inquisition. I couldn’t wait to talk to people at the festival that day to learn more about this system of gifts. 

Walking around the festival, I found folks beautifully festooned with Kandi bracelets, sprouts and tiny toys. When we sat down for a conversation, I asked them about the decor. How did they receive it? Did they make any of it themselves? What did it mean to them? 

Sisters Vicky and Lindsey (left) sport matching duck sprouts. Photo by Meredith Bach.

Festivalgoer Courtney and her partner (right) wear a bit more duck merch. Photo by Meredith Bach.

The festivalgoers often lit up at the opportunity to talk about the accessories that adorned them. They explained that the essence of giving a gift suggests a contribution without expectation or something in return. Sharing these handmade things is a practice in selflessness, but even more so, a true sign of appreciation. Even if it may take a festivalgoer hours to bead one Kandi bracelet, the reward is not in the completed object but the way it makes someone feel when it is given away. 

To better describe the ideology behind the system of gifting, most folks referenced the acronym ‘PLUR,’ which stands for Peace, Love, Unity and Respect. Within the rave community, PLUR serves as a guiding philosophy to a way of life and interaction. Using the four pillars as a shared set of ethics and values, entire festival communities can ensure a collective coexistence of Peace, Love, Unity and Respect.  

It’s all about PLUR. I realized this when I was taking a photograph for a festivalgoer and her partner and she offered me a Kandi bracelet of her own afterwards. Even the way she transferred the bracelet to me aligned with the four defining values. 

First, she would extend a peace sign towards me, initiating a commonly seen handshake within rave communities. I responded by mirroring her with a peace sign of my own, touching my fingertips to hers. Peace. Then, we formed two halves of a heart and held it there for a moment. Love. Lastly, we collapsed our fingers, uniting with a handhold. Unity. By rolling the bracelet over to my arm, she left me with a valuable item without asking for anything in return. Respect. PLUR!

For many ravers and festival goers, Kandi bracelets often represent the bonds and friendships formed with the people who gifted them to you. Typically, “Kandi Kids” (frequent gifters) will reserve bracelets available to trade for their right arm and keep the gifted Kandi on the left. In rave culture, it is urged that one does not trade any Kandi on the left arm, or they may be breaking the bond the bracelet symbolizes. Instead, the Kandi stays there to memorialize the moment and friendship tied to it. 

It was thrilling to uncover such delightful details behind such a seemingly simple bracelet. A combination of multicolored beads and comforting words, the Kandi bracelets already looked undeniably adorable. But there was something even more earnest and cheerful about the plastic jewelry… something virtuous and rudimentary that I couldn’t quite articulate yet. 

Interviewing the folks who had devoted hours of their life to these festivals and gifts, the ideas began to formulate for me. 

Here is what they had to say: 

Perspectives from the People Behind PLUR:

Cole

Photo by Meredith Bach.

Long-term festivalgoer Cole Smith believes that gift-giving is the most important part of the rave community. For Smith, North Coast is all about making people feel welcome. 

“Even though you’ve never had a connection with someone, it’s great that someone notices your contribution to the scene and is like, ‘Hey, I’m so happy you’re here. I appreciate you. Here’s something, too, to commemorate this moment together,’” said Smith.

“I think that’s so special. And you don’t get that anywhere else you go.”

Tony

Photos by Meredith Bach.

When I approached a friend group in the grass for interviews, most suggested I speak to Tony. As they mentioned him, a smile spread across their face. Clearly, there was a warmth and infectious energy that radiated from Tony. 

For him, gift giving was not taken lightly. Tony kept all his trinkets and sprouts in what he called his “mystery bag.” Whenever he met someone who he wanted to appreciate, he’d let them reach inside the bag and pull a trinket for themself. 

“I love the smile that it brings to people’s faces when I give them gifts … which is why I always go out of my way to buy extra [gifts] to bring to festivals to give out,” said Tony. 

“It feels good that strangers can just be so nice and kind. And it gives you hope for humanity in the world.”

As someone who believes that humans crave to belong and be authentic, finding the right people to spend the festival with is the most important part for Tony. When you find a group that accepts you for who you are, you can inspire others to be their truest selves, too. 

“Why dim your brightness when your brightness can help other people be bright as well?” Tony said.

Charles

Photos by Meredith Bach

Charles Mitchell was a first-time staff member at North Coast, working the entrance to one of the festival’s stages. As people entered, Mitchell made it a point to greet everyone, spreading well wishes and a happy festival to all. 

Before he knew it, people began gifting him sprouts to wear on his head. He had received his first sprout on day one of the festival and didn’t know what it was or what it meant. By the end of the weekend, the festivalgoers had crowned him some sort of sprout king. 

“It made me feel great, it made me feel loved,” said Mitchell. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. And I’m 60 years old.

Sophia and Noah

Photos by Meredith Bach

I met Sophia McGann and Noah Tropp while wading through a dancing crowd. The couple had set up a blanket with Kandi as a trading station for the people around them. 

McGann explained that they had spent the entire summer making Kandi, in preparation for North Coast. As experienced ravers and Kandi-makers, the more traditional bracelets in the bunch would take her and Tropp around 30 minutes to an hour each. 

“We love trading because they are personable pieces of art that lead to new friends,” said McGann.

Emily and Matt

Photos by Meredith Bach.

Emily Torbleau and Matt Trush both explained that gifting Kandi or sprouting others can be a great way to form festival friendships. 

“I think just if you can share a moment like that with someone in the crowd, that can be the start of an amazing friendship,” said Trush. “I would have never met so many really crazy, cool people if it wasn’t for doing stuff like this.”

Torbleau agreed, and added how gifting can be a helpful way to meet others for shy people like herself. Especially in such a noisy and crowded music scene, simply giving out a gift can say so much. 

“If you’re a little too scared, a little too introverted, or you’re just having so much fun, you can’t get those words out there,” said Torbleau. “And the love that goes into trinkets speaks volumes when you give them away, because you’re passing on the best energy you ever could.”

In the right photo, Torbleau points out the first piece of Kandi she ever received. Now, she makes it a point to never take it off and has worn it to every festival since. 

Lemonade vendors proudly display all their sprouts/trinkets on the stand counter. Photos by Meredith Bach.

All around the festival grounds, people everywhere were spreading cheer. Many of the vendors were showered with toys and sprouts from the festival folk, as a way to say thanks for their service.

Even the DJs received tokens of appreciation. Here, a crowd member takes a picture of DJ ABAE with the new gifts he has left for her. Photo by Meredith Bach.

At the end of the day, I had witnessed an overwhelming amount of joy from the people I had spoken to. I felt excited to be there. I was feeling love for a place I had only spent two days in and warmth towards people I barely even knew, and I was finally understanding why.

JOURNALIST’S LOG: DAY THREE

The Humanity Behind it All

Main festival grounds. Photos used with permission from North Coast Press, Patrick Grumley.

On the third day, something interesting happened. I was at another yoga session—the place where this all began—when the instructor lowered the music and asked the crowd a question. 

She asked if anyone was at the festival by themselves. If so, they should stand on their mat. 

For some reason, this question took me off guard. Through the flight of the past couple of days, the notion of my solitude at the festival didn’t seem to be a huge factor in my experience. I guess I hadn’t thought about it as much as I anticipated. 

As I slowly rose to my feet, I watched dozens of others do the same. This really took me by surprise. I had been interviewing so many friend groups and couples over the weekend that I hadn’t realized how many folks were solo travelers like me. 

She asked us to find a partner, introduce ourselves, and congratulate each other for bringing ourselves to the festival. She encouraged us to make eye contact. We danced together in an exercise, mirroring the others’ movements. It didn’t feel awkward or strange. In fact, it was totally on brand. 

The reason why I hadn’t thought of my solitude much over the past couple of days was because I didn’t feel alone. Looking at the others around me, it didn’t seem like they felt that way either. For god’s sake, we were all dancing together! What made North Coast different from other festivals was this exact sense of community it harbored. Everywhere, the attitudes and behaviors of the festival blossomed with inclusivity.

Under PLUR ideologies, the idea of gift giving also begs participation from everyone at the festival. Not only did these gifts allow folks to express personality and creativity, but they also made them the protagonists. Giving out such valuable things for the sole reason of belonging makes everyone feel good. It gives everyone purpose. 

Especially in a social setting as large and chaotic as a music festival, people have more reason to stand out too. They can identify with one another, introduce themselves, and form relationships, rather than listlessly existing in a crowd. 

That must’ve been the larger system I had been feeling a part of on my first day. Raving culture and festival traditions encourage a sort of active participation from everyone; they’re a massive movement. Under PLUR, we are all on the same page, and we knew it. 

Sure, I had attended the festival solo, but North Coast was far from an isolating experience. I rode home on the bus that night with pockets jangling full of trinkets and a few more clips in my hair. When I looked down at the Kandi bracelets on my arms, I was able to associate them each with a person and a comforting memory. A bunch of new friends! This is what it is all about. 

I’m already planning on bringing my own beaded creations next year! 

(Hey! P.S.! Did you know that House music originated in Chicago? It is because of historical DJs and musical pioneers that things like North Coast exist. To read more about the figures behind PLUR and rave communities, click here and here!)

Header used with permission from North Coast Press, Patrick Grumley.