The Battle of Better Together
This story is much like every story, in the way that I have no idea where to start, or what story I am going to tell. For now, let’s build some context. Better Together is a new two day EDM music festival (rave), produced by Relentless Beats here in Arizona. I stumbled upon it as one usually does, with some targeted ads and a killer line-up. My intent in attending this festival was altogether unique, however. I bought a VIP ticket over the summer, hoping to reignite a dying flame, only to find that by the time the day had finally arrived, that I was already too late. Too late to do all of the right things, to give my all, and to fix what was beyond repair… Which left me with the ticket. Now, I could have sold it, and trust me, I considered it about a hundred times. I mean, with a dreadfully ironic festival name like that, and considering the circumstances, I don’t think anyone would have blamed me. No one but myself anyways. See, I was torn because part of me wanted to turn away from festivals, possibly for good, but the other part, my truest self, knew that this was all a part of it. We don’t get to write the script for this thing we call life, we just get a small part to play, and sometimes, if we’re lucky enough, we get to share the experiences with a few beautiful people. The chapter of my life that drove me to this festival in particular has come to a close, but a new one is right around the corner, teeming with excitement, ready to be explored.
The night of the show had finally arrived after what felt like a lifetime of anticipation. I was nervous and felt drastically unprepared for what might come (and terrified that I would run into her), but that is just the cost of admission. We have to stare down these demons, dead in the eye, and keep going. And man, did this experience throw me into the deep end. See, I had shown up early in the evening, hoping to avoid that chance encounter, but of course when we strive to cheat our fate, it has a way of realigning itself. Before I even processed through the gates I saw her. There about ten feet in front of me, in a matching outfit with the guy I was told not to worry about. At first, I smiled, because I was just happy to see her excitement, and he and I had been friends, but it wasn’t until later that I realized what I might have seen (I have nothing but my suspicions, not that it matters). The line moved quickly, and I found myself back-to-back with him at the bag check. “What’s up man?”, I said. He didn’t hear me. His check finished up and I caught his eye for a moment. We exchanged smiles and a brief hello before going our separate ways. As I entered the festival and passed by, I overheard him telling her that we had run into each other just then, and then I sped off before hearing the rest. I didn’t want or care to hear what more there was to say, let alone see the expressions they wore while they talked about me. I was determined to not let this weekend become another wasted experience dwelling on the past, or other people who just aren’t a part of my life anymore. At least for right now.
I rounded the corner and ducked into the tent of the main stage and was greeted by a bath of lasers, accompanied by some groovy beats provided by the one and only Neil Frances. An immediate sense of relief sets in, and I stop and take a moment, a deep breath, and just let it all wash over me. I cozy up into a corner near the production booth, duck down and set down my backpack. It was here that I counted my blessings for the man back at security. I was too caught up in my head about everything going on back then that I had forgotten to say thank you. This saint had friendly and casually breezed through my bag search, and in the last moment we locked eyes as his hand reached down beneath the hydro pack. We both knew exactly what he had found. He pulled out his hand, smiled, and said “Alright, everything checks out, have a fun night and be safe!”. That was my queue to grab my things and get the hell out of there. Now here, in my hiding place, crouched down with my bag on the ground I reached for what I had so desperately tried to hide. My camera.
Of everything to come from the fallout of my relationship, I had chosen to invest in a compact mirrorless camera. This was my first leap into the hideously expensive world of digital media and photography, and I had decided that I wanted to capture experiences and people in their best moments, to be able to share it with them. My only experience with cameras consisted of Mr. Adam’s class in high school over ten years ago, followed by a cinema productions course at the university I dropped out of in my first semester. The passion was still there though, after all of these years. On a whim I had brought a retro Polaroid camera with me to Coachella this year, with only sixty shots to get me through the weekend. At first, the camera was to capture the memories of my festival family and myself, but throughout my time on those magical polo fields, I found myself more eager to capture intimate moments for others, and coincidentally this came with the ability to (more or less) immediately give it to them before scurrying away into the crowd. I would find a target, sneak a shot with the best angle I could, and hide the photo in my bag until it developed. I waited near the subject and danced until the film had developed, and made my way over with a surprise in store. Each time I pulled this off, the smiles on their faces were priceless. I even started signing the shots with my Sharpie!
This time, the game had grown up, and I would be capturing digital. With that change came a whole world of responsibility. Sifting through stills and video, editing, tracking down the subjects through social media if at all possible, and, you guessed it, more editing. In spite of or perhaps because of, that struggle, this art had become that much more rewarding. I strapped the camera around my neck, sprang up from my hidey hole and went to work.
The next hour flew by as I jotted around the venue, trying to capture different angles and moments around the pit. I ran into friends, and compared rig sizes with a member of the media team. They asked who I was shooting for and chuckled when I would answer by saying myself and recounted my good fortune getting through security. It was one of these conversations that reminded me that my battery life was running low. I dropped my bag and began rummaging through to find my spare, casually at first, before the sinking realization had set in that I must have left it in the car in my rush to get inside. The team member smirked and shook his head before calling out a “Good luck!” as he returned to work. I begrudgingly checked my remaining battery life; 38%. 38%?! That’s it? I had loaded the one battery that was not at 100%, assuming it would be fine because I had my spare, and now that whole plan was out the window. I groaned for a second before the conviction of a second wind kicked in. You can do a lot with 38%. It only takes one second to capture the entire world for the right person. This was a new challenge I would gladly take. Being unprepared was nothing new to me. If life had prepared me for anything up until this point, it was the danger of the unexpected. I dug in my heels, and got back to it, significantly more selective each time I flipped on that power switch.
Weaving my way into the crowd, I reached the rail and basked in the glory of the remainder of the set, feeling the vibrations of the music reverberate in my soul. The camera was tucked away for now. I was drawn here by some unseen force like a moth to the flame. My eyes were closed, and it was all I could do to really hear the music and feel the energy in the pit. These strangers here with me on the rail were all that I needed. Nothing else mattered at that moment. I danced in the lights like no one was watching, and let out a howl as the beat dropped one last time. Neil Fucking Frances. Thank you. The brights flipped on as the set changed, and it was like coming up for air after diving into the deep end of a cold pool. Eyes shot around as people looked to their friends and to their strangers, each and every one grinning from ear to ear. A few minutes passed by as a man with pink hair took the stage to prepare the next set piece. Who Made Who was coming up, and I took the opportunity to snap some pics from where I stood before turning to leave. As I ducked and dodged out of the masses I saw it. Two strangers clad head to toe in red, dancing in the crowd. “He-”, I started, as I lifted my sunnies to greet them. My world stopped. I knew these people. Not only did I know these people, but the realization finally dawned on me what was happening. There was no denying it now. The truth was staring me in the face. I dropped the shades back down, pulled up my pashmina and darted off. I wouldn’t realize it until a friend gave me some much-needed words of wisdom.
“That’s all just a part of the process. You have to feel it.”
I ventured outside to kill some time as I waited for the headliners to start. It was quickly getting dark as I roamed the vendors. I stopped by the Kandi stall and picked up a few pieces, one for me, and two that represented the two at the gate. You could say that they spoke to me in a way. I think the idea at the time was to give them their respective pieces as an attempt to bribe my way back into the fold, but as the weekend went on, the intent shifted to trade them away through PLUR moments in an effort to finally let things go. It’s something that can’t be forced though. I had my fair share of these moments with strangers throughout the weekend, and even traded Kandi, but these two pieces didn’t manage to find their way off of my wrist. They live on in my reliquary box at home now, tucked away for another day. As I turned back toward the main tent, I noticed something lying there on the ground. I locked eyes with a stranger who saw what I saw. “That wasn’t there a second ago," he said. I meandered over and scooped up the fabric from the floor. “It’s going to be at lost and found in case anyone comes looking for it.” I told him. He nodded in approval. It took me a minute to find the guest services tent, but when I did, something about the cloth I held in my hand caught my eye. It was a clip ring. I asked the attendant if she could open up the knotted-up fabric that I had just turned in. We both gasped and our eyes lit up as she unfurled the artwork. It was an enormous flag, with a beautiful peace sign and tie-dye backdrop. Our eyes met and I gave a half-hearted smile. Turning this in was the right thing to do. “I’ll be back to check on it tomorrow. If no one claims it by the end of the festival I would like to have that to hang up if that’s alright with you.” She agreed that that would be an acceptable accord. Of course, by the nature of nights like these, I was swept away by the experience and only remembered that glorious flag on my drive home. I reached out to the production team via email, but as it was the inaugural celebration of this festival, no formal Lost & Found page had been established yet. It’s one of those things that if it’s meant to be, it will be, like so much else in life, and I have no choice but to be okay with that.
The time had finally come to head back in. The moment I had been waiting for. Disclosure. I all but ran to the front of the VIP section. They had the grace to set aside a viewing area on the floor for us this time where we were able to stand about fifty feet from the dj’s on stage. More importantly, we had room to dance and ask ourselves those important questions:
“… How do you feel your momentum? And how do you get into your zone, right? I’m glad you asked. There’s three things, and you better catch it. My mama used to tell me that people Looove to watch the fire burn. If there’s one thing that I know about life, one thing that I know about life… It’s a guarantee that change is inevitable. As much as you want to be in your comfort zone, as much as you would like to be stable, as much as you would like to have a comfortable environment, the realization is: Everything Changes. Here’s my last one. My last one. (You gotta give me that term again, uh, spontaneous combustion, right.) AND WHAT HAPPENS IS… WHEN A FIRE STARTS TO BURN, right? And it starts to spread. She goin’ to bring that attitude home. You don’t want to do nothin’ with your life…”
- Disclosure, “When a Fire Starts to Burn”
This was what I came for. To release all of this tangled up energy dance with my strangers, capture these moments, and share them with new friends and found family. Life is about finding connections, and nourishing those relationships. If they are left unattended, they will wither and die, which is something I think we have all learned the hard way from time to time. Here in this moment though, I met Caroline and Robert, discovered their love, and found an air of importance to it. They were recently married, and just moved to town. They knew no one else here, but just like so many of us, they found a home in the rave.
The rest of night one was a blur of excitement. The crowd was buzzing and everyone left everything they had out on the dance floor (quite literally for some people). I ended the night lost in the parking lot with the realization that I forgot to drop a pin. It proved to be a necessary walk to cool off and shed the post-game jitters. By the time I found my car the traffic had died down and I made it home in no time. Luna was there to greet me. There was a covered plate prepared for me, waiting on the dining table. I started my uploads, flagged any usable stills, filtered through video, and drifted off to sleep, excited for the next day…
Day broke sooner than expected, tailed by a mountain of footage to comb through. I started slowly, remembering to get breakfast and water, and by editing some photos. There were a few that I had highlighted to be finished immediately and sent off. Caroline and Rob’s photo for one, a cowgirl’s slo-mo video for another. The girl was a part of the Festival Babes group. I realized this after-the-fact when I recognized another member of the party. It wasn’t long before I put two and two together and figured my ex wasn’t far behind and had to dip. Working with their group could be a great opportunity, but that’s a door that must remain closed for now. That’s her niche. I’ll stick to mine. We both could use the space. I spent the remainder of the morning editing what I could and before I knew it, it was time to get back to the festival. Actually, I was running late. Luckily the venue was only five minutes away. I rushed to get ready, but paused to ensure my camera gear was in the bag this time. Security on day two was a bit more thorough, as it always is. I was turned around by the VIP line due to them discovering the camera, so I rounded the corner, adjusted my outfit a bit and sleuthed through GA with another guy that passed the vibe check. He actually took out the camera, looked at it, looked at me, then looked around to see if anyone else saw before throwing it back into the bag and stuffing my pashmina over it. I swear the life of this thread either lives or dies by the decision of gate security. Chad, if you’re reading this, I promise I’ll submit a request for a media pass weeks in advance next time. Respectfully though, running the risk of being found out is a part of the game. The cost of admission. Thankfully, this time, I made it through by the skin of my teeth.
Out the gates and off to the races; night two had begun without me. I was just in time to catch the end of the opening sets. I was invited to the Festival Babes day two meet up by their coordinator, but politely declined, not trying to cross that line in the sand. I spotted her in the crowd, and I figure she probably saw me, considering the way she and her friends flew to the furthest corner of the venue. Nothing wrong with that. Seeing each other had become a bit of a waking nightmare, and yet we both still had the need to report to the rave to heal, each in our own way. I proceeded to the opposite end of the tent and found myself visiting Kristina at the VIP bar. “Just water for me, thanks”. I must have had that look on my face, because she knew something was up. More was said in the silence than the few words we exchanged. A mark of a great bartender is knowing when to speak, when to listen, and when to just let things be, and she always hits that nail on the head. I swear there must have been some magic in the water she gave me, because one sip helped me that much better.
Wandering through the crowd on my side of the pit, I connected with some boys that were around my age who noticed me receding into my pashmina with the sunnies on. They implored me to dance, and even got a few steps out of me. It wasn’t long before the hood was down, glasses were off, and a smile had crept its way onto my face. The rhythmic beats of Bonobo had sent me in the right direction spiraling up into a temporary euphoria as I worked to release the negative energy from my being and back out into the universe. Just like that, I ran into old friends of mine, who I hadn’t seen in over a year. Trailing behind them…
Something new. Our eyes met and we both quickly looked away. I smirked as the idea sauntered into the back of my mind. My mind was running a mile a minute, telling me “Not yet.”, and that I wasn’t ready, while my heart struggled to surface once more, out from behind the shadow of the past. My friends made introductions, but I kept a careful distance. I decided to stick things out with them for a while and see where the night would lead. Kaytranada was coming on, and anything could happen. This solo traveler had been adopted.
We locked hands as we navigated the mob, sifting through the endless masses to find a spot to enjoy the show. In our search, we stumbled upon another friend of mine. I had intended on meeting up with him originally, but things tend to happen in the rave only if the rave wills it, and it did. Finding him was like being gifted a pocket full of sunshine. We had yet to rave together, but as fate would allow, tonight was the night. His aura radiated throughout the group and together, with this newfound family, we ruled over our corner of the ballroom. Nothing in the world would stop us from having the time of our lives tonight, and we did just that. As we danced, I noticed a common thread that connected nearly all of us. Our pashminas. Each of us had our own, but the one person who had caught my eye. I asked her if she had one, and she shook her head no. “Do you want to see a magic trick?”, I asked. Her eyes widened and she nodded in anticipation. I reached down into the depths of my bag and found what I had in store. It was a pristine silk pashmina, filled with radiant purples and pinks, detailed with camels that shimmered in the night light. She was still wrapped up in the original packaging from when I found her on my recent trip to Africa with my mom, so this was my first time seeing her in all of her splendor as well. We drew the attention of all those around us as she let the colors fly. The look in her eye as she took in its beauty confirmed that this was the right decision to make, in the right moment, with the right person. When the fuss died down and people resumed dancing, she asked me to dance. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask”, I told her, as we broke away.
“There’s a story behind this.” I said, gesturing to the scarf. She agreed to listen as we let the music take control. I filled her in on my recent traumas, and my journey to Kenya, and told her that I was strolling through some street vendors, trying to shoot some coverage for my travel vlog, when the light caught this pashmina. The prismatic display of colors reminded me of someone that lifted me up out of darkness, so I picked it up with the intent to return this to them. Only, by the time I returned I discovered she was doing just fine without me. But still, I held onto it everywhere I went, hoping that one day we would run into each other and reconnect, and I would be able to give her that magical moment. The girl stopped dancing and looked at me. “Oh my god, do you want it back?” she asked. “Hell no. That thing is yours. You couldn’t make me take it back if you tried.”, I laughed. I explained that giving it away was like cutting an anchor that was tying me down and keeping me from moving on. “Please keep it. It looks perfect on you.”, I told her. She smiled and nodded quietly. As we looked up we noticed the set had shifted from Kaytranada to Black Coffee, and as if it was a sign, he was playing the most primal, tribal, deeply African set we could have ever imagined. Hues of blues and orange flashed through the rafters above as we resumed our dance in this hall. I was no longer worried about anyone else in the room, or who might be watching. This moment was ours.
“Awh, I’m so happy you guys! This is a good match.” Our mutual friend came up from behind and hugged us both as we danced, shortly followed by her partner. We held that embrace for the time being. Then I remembered. I looked around for my buddy in the crowd. I didn’t want him to be left out as a fifth wheel, even though I know damn well he was perfectly okay to wander alone. He was just a short ways behind us, vibing on his own. I made my way over and as we danced I told him that I felt like I was holding on for dear life to this silly little bottle of bubbles I had strapped to my wrist from a Kandi trade earlier in the night. I told him how in my mind, it had become a representation of my past experience with my ex. How it was like our time together was something to be cherished, and I am trying to bottle it up, not to put it away, but to protect and cherish it. That one year together was just another slice of life that woke me up and made me feel alive again, and regardless of the outcome, that deserves safeguarding. Like the bottle of bubbles. “That’s beauti-” He was interrupted as a trio shoved out of the pit, dragging a brother out of the tent. “GET OUT OF THE WAY! GET OUT OF THE WAY!”, my friend called out, as he divided the sea of onlookers to allow the injured to pass through. He came back and I just latched onto him with the biggest, tightest hug I could provide. “That was awesome man.” I said, patting him on the back. “Sorry, everyone was just standing around staring. Anyways, that’s beautiful man. This is all part of it. Just gotta get through it.” I grinned and thanked him. I crouched down to retrieve my camera from my bag one last time. The Fish was about to come on. Right on cue, a girl rose above the crowd, taking the shoulders of her companion. My bread and butter. “It’s time to go to work!” I yelled as I raced to get the shot, and exchange socials so that I might later deliver the goldmine of memories that only a camera can capture. That was the last time I saw him, or the rest of the group that night, as I found myself lost, both in the crowd, and in my work.
Bobbing and weaving through the mosh, I pushed forward, camera strapped to my wrist, searching for this mysterious shoulder rider. I spotted a big man with a hat that I thought looked familiar. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a girl. She was just on someone's shoulders during the last song of Black Coffee’s set.” He looked at me, looked at the LCD display on my camera, looked at his neighbor and extended his arm above her head and pointed down. “That’s her.” She turned and looked, and I explained how I had just fought the mob to get to her and deliver this video. “Put in your socials and send yourself a message. Put “Black Coffee Shoulder Girl” and I’ll be able to find it for you. She bounced with excitement, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed. “Do you want to go up next?”, asked the big man. “Yeah, I can hold your bag and record you while you get good footage.”, said the girl. I looked around as if to verify they were talking to me. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I used to do it for my photographer friend all the time back home, let’s do it.” “Alright hell yeah let’s go!” “What’s your name?”, he asked, dabbing me up. “Nate!” Everyone cheered. “No way I’m Nate too!” “No way!” We laughed together, the music came on, and up I went! Nothing could stop me now. I was on top of the world.
I may or may not have blacked out for a bit at this point so forgive me if I missed some of the details! What I do know is that this was my third time going Fishing and every time I have left satisfied. I came down from that high and found myself immediately claustrophobic in the mob, surrounded by people I didn’t know. I fought my way back to where I last saw my crew to discover that they were lost too. Naturally, I did the only thing left to do at this point. Go back to work with the camera. I skirted around the pit, catching what I could. I spotted so many captivating characters around the vendors outside on my way back to VIP. Not least of all was this small man with a big Boston accent, scarfing down a pizza, wearing half of it on his shirt, with not a care in the world. Watching him, I could tell he was starting to spin, and about to keel over. He actually quite literally fell into my arms as I watched him stumble around. “Hey man, you good?”, I asked as I stood him back upright. He spun around rather abruptly, and through bloodshot squinted eyes he yelled “WHAAAT? Who are yah?” “I’m no one, friend, just another face in the crowd… You thirsty? Let’s go find you some water.” “Watah?” “Yes, water”, I repeated slowly, like I was talking to one of my kids. “Okay”, he said as we walked off. We found the nearest beverage station and I checked to make sure he was still with me, physically and mentally, making note of where the medical tent was. “Just two waters please.” “That’ll be $10.” I hand him a bottle and tell him to very carefully take small sips, or else he’ll throw it up. I set down my camera and backpack for just a moment, rummaging through my bag of tricks. After a few moments, panic starts to set in… “Uh, where’s my wallet?” I thought to myself. Seconds turned into minutes, and my rummaging spun into a frantic search. I looked up, let out a nervous laugh, and proceeded to dump the entire bag. All my camera gear, candy, back up pashmina, jacket, extra sunglasses… no wallet. What the fuck. I look up at the bartender, she sighs, and waves me off, “It’s fine.” I shake my head, refusing to accept defeat. I reach in and rip out the hydro pack bladder, and there the damn thing is. I found the damn thing. I pull it out and pay the bill with the last of my allowance for the night, turn to celebrate my success with my new friend, only to find that he’s gone. Off to who knows where. And that was okay. I left him better than I found him and that’s all that really mattered. Well that, and the fact that I found my wallet. Thank you Ilsee for hanging in there with me. You have the patience of a saint.
Climbing the stairs to VIP one last time, I cozy up to a corner of the rail to catch the tail end of Fisher’s set. From my vantage point I can see just how alive the crowd really is; like electricity ripping through the tent. It wasn’t long before the culmination of the entire weekend came to a head with the final rise and fall of the last beat drop. We all knew what was around the corner. Bright lights, followed by silence, and then the slow uproar of the crowd as everyone discussed the night. I had spent the majority of my time shooting subjects and helping strangers outside (not that I regret it). When the lights finally did flip on, I watched as the masses were slowly herded toward the exit. I stopped by Kristina’s bar one last time to extend another hello and farewell. Immediately she could tell that something was different. “How was it?”, she asked, smiling. “Amazing. I am feeling much better than when you saw me earlier haha.” “Good, I’m glad you had fun!” “Thanks! I hope you made a ton of money.” “Yeah me too! Gotta pay for these festival tickets!” We both laughed as we exchanged a brief hug and said our goodbyes. I turned to leave, but not before snapping a few shots of the crew on stage starting their tear down process. Before I knew it, it was my turn to be ushered out as well, and then I remembered… I had one last surprise in store for everyone.
I made sure to park near the entrance tonight to get this opportunity. I charged my batteries, and loaded her up in the boot of my car. My dragon poi. I all but sprinted to the finish line, cutting a path straight to the dirt lot where I had parked. Nearly out of breath by the time I got there, I fired up the engine, dropped the windows, opened the sun roof, and threw on the brights so that they would shine on the spot near the path. In the thick of all of the madness, somehow, I remembered to set up my camera on my dash, just in case I could catch some decent static shots of my performance. I popped open the trunk and there she was, right where I left her, folded up and ready to go. I grabbed the toy and raced out about thirty feet in front of my car, flipped on the light switch, took a deep breath, and let her fly. And oh man did she fly. Cars nearby started blaring their horns, passersby were cheering, but I didn’t have time for it. This was my first time performing this incredibly complex poi live in front of an audience. I had to get a good run in. My first launch was a decent throw, but I wound up tangled up in the tail. I refused to let that tilt me. I gathered my bearings, and started again, wider this time. I eased into my flow, starting with big motions, allowing for room to move. I found it. Gradually, I started to weave more intricate patterns, throwing the rope behind my back, in quick loops, sweeping close to the ground, and higher up into the sky. The cheers grew louder, cameras came out, and people had actually stopped to watch the show! I carried on for what could have been a lifetime (but was probably only about five minutes). I nailed the dismount, with one final beautiful toss, looked around, and almost bowed as I crouched down to catch my breath. I’m not sure who I was bowing to; I couldn’t see much beyond the fringes of my blurred vision. All I could think about was how good that run was and the fact that I was doing the damn thing. This is what I had been practicing for. Practicing my poi performance for weeks on end, practicing familiarizing myself with this camera, and practicing what all it took to start healing my heart…
It happens slowly at first, and then all at once. This was why I fell in love with festivals. Because this kind of magic can only be found here. And I am starting to become an active part of it. For that, I will be forever grateful. This weekend was the perfect reminder I needed to keep going. And I’m starting to think that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
~ Nate Burk
