Festival Season: From Dust to Design

The tents are up. The music’s thumping. The bassline is vibrating through your chest, and somewhere between the sunrise sets and the LED madness, you start to wonder—what happened to the soul?

From the cracked earth of Burning Man to the forested flow of Northern Nights, festival season is alive, but it’s evolving.

What used to feel like ceremony now flirts with consumerism. And just in time, Saint JHN’s new album Festival Season drops as the perfect mirror—luxurious, chaotic, raw, and conflicted. The same way the scene feels right now.

The Sacred Got Sponsored

There was a time when Burning Man was pure desert magic. No signal, no spectators—everyone was involved. Whether it was an elaborate outfit put together by @aumi, or something mechanical you built and drove through the dust and fire, it was the kind of art that could never be replicated. Now? The installations are still awe-inspiring, but the budget’s corporate and the vibe? Less spiritual, more strategic. Same as the stars—light spreads as the universe expands, and with it, so does dilution.

Lightning in a Bottle still feels like a dream. Sun salutes at dawn, fire spinners by night, impromptu jam circles vibrating under starlight. The lakes still fire at sunset. The workshops still run strong. But now? “Instagram moments.” It’s beautiful—but it’s filtered. Pun intended.

BottleRock and Stagecoach, while always a little more polished, ironically seem to hold truer to their posh roots. They still showcase real musicians. They still support the art between the stages. They don’t pretend to be something they’re not—and in this new era, that authenticity, corporate nonetheless, is honest.

Add to the mix Coachella, Outside Lands, EDC, Desert Hearts, Shambhala, Envision, and a dozen more, and you’ll see the full spectrum—from the hyper-polished to the dust-covered mystics still clinging to the roots. The ones who jumped the fence or buried an ice chest a week before with dry ice. Every one of these festivals is feeling the shift. Shit—even the price of dry ice has gone up. The tension now lies between experience and performance. Between community and commodity.

The Pay’s in the Pressure (On the Ones Who Play)

Let’s talk numbers.

Artists aren’t getting a cut of the merch. Not from drink sales. Not from parking. They’re expected to grind, promote, and pray their ticket link pulls in enough to justify their presence. Their only “compensation” left? A shrinking list of guest passes and a couple free wristbands.

When love from fans becomes your only paycheck, the art suffers. Because love doesn’t pay rent.

Inflation is rising—but artist pay isn’t. And it’s not just limiting how people spend on creativity—it’s strangling the ability to be creative. Stress kills inspiration. When your nervous system is shot from trying to survive, the art changes. The music shifts. The entire atmosphere of a festival starts to echo that stress.

So what’s that doing to the art? To the sound? To the vibe?

It’s all shifting.

The River Used to Talk

If you know, you know: those renegade festivals in the forests, on the rivers—Northern Nights, backwoods gatherings, the off-grid gems. They had a language. The floaties were duct-taped. The solar rigs were homemade. The tags on the rocks weren’t for content—they were coded prayers. Rebellion. Ritual. Poetry.

Now the banks are looking branded. Less soul. More sponsorship.

It’s not all bad. But it is different. Artists today have more reach—but also more pressure. You’re not just creating. You’re performing for the algorithm. You’re negotiating clout. You’re fighting to stay relevant in a world where art is expected to be free and endless, in festival season.

Some adapt. Some burn out. Some vanish.

Saint JHN: The Prophet of the Feed

Saint JHN’s Festival Season isn’t just music—it’s documentation. It sounds expensive, but you can feel the weariness underneath the gloss. He’s been to the VIP tent. He’s seen the machine. He’s still in love with the energy—but he’s calling out the game.

It’s hype and heartbreak. Fire and fog.

It’s festival season, but it’s also filter season.

So What Now?

If you’re an artist: don’t quit. Just remember your why.

If you’re a festival-goer: go deeper. Find the weird art. Talk to the person who built something just because it lived in their head. Stand next to the sound system at the side stage and feel something real.

And if you’re wondering where all the modern-day Deadheads and Phish kids went—the ones who used to ride buses, trade bracelets, and float across a whole season of shows—they didn’t disappear. They just got priced out. Hitting the full summer circuit today would cost tens—if not hundreds—of thousands of dollars. Unless you’re an artist getting paid to be there, the dream of following the music feels more like a luxury than a lifestyle.

Because the real thing?

It’s still out there. But access is shifting.

And the spirit?

Still glowing. But fewer can afford to carry the torch.

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Written and witnessed by Justin Kerson

www.JustinKerson.com | @ToTTGlobal

@justinkerson