“Load error.” The nightmare of DJs worldwide. Is there anything worse than when your primary music source fails?

Yes.

When that same error pops up on your backup USB stick - the one you’d only ever used once before. Burning Man conditions will quickly teach you not to trust statistics. Especially when it comes to technology, Burning Man plays by different rules.

I Need an Adult

I love camps that don’t take themselves too seriously, where curation is loose and the vibe is playful. Think: crispy bacon as a midday snack, a morning mimosa, a genre-free music policy, and a tower of “games” referencing all forms of sexuality. That was I Need an Adult - the camp where, in 2022, I played my most recent desert set.

The DJ booth was literally an idle van - or more accurately, playing from an idle van. Honestly, I don’t get why more camps don’t do this. The dance floor, i.e., the space in front of the van where there was otherwise nothing, stayed dramatically empty for most of the time. And that’s fine. Us seasoned veterans don’t kid ourselves that people show up just to hear us. No need to pretend we had 100 people dancing, when in reality it was more like 100 people checking if they could hop onto an art car before disappearing again (at night, the equivalent is 30 seconds of testing your luck).

And still - I played.

Years ago, I once drafted an article titled “Playing at Burning Man Is Hell.” I think it was right after my first time in 2018, and maybe I jinxed myself. Fast forward to 2022: I booked myself exactly one gig at exactly this camp… and my USB sticks betrayed me? The poor guy wrapping up his set before me wasn’t thrilled either. On this fine afternoon, in 40°C heat, I couldn’t really blame him.

As the subtitle suggests, I solved it. Back at my own camp - about a kilometer away - I had a third USB stick. Not updated, though. Quite the opposite: many of the tracks had aged gracefully, a few even into classics.

A kilometer each way isn’t much. Unless you’re in a temporary desert city with 80,000 people on bikes, brutal dust, and blazing heat. I made it back in 15 minutes - and nearly wanted to die. But at 1:15 p.m., I pressed play. Rinat, who had been hanging on by a thread, sighed in relief and shuffled off toward the bar.

I questioned my life choices, downed my first mimosa, and suddenly things felt better. I played.

Is This What I Signed Up For?

Many people romanticize Burning Man. Some even after they come back. But I swear: literally anyone who wants to play there can (if they sell a kidney or their soul to a corporation to cover the costs). I’ve written about this before. And no, playing isn’t five-star luxury. That’s Coachella.

Landing this gig wasn’t hard. I stumbled across a post in a Tokyo Sector Facebook group (that’s the part of the city where both my camp and this camp were located). It had an Excel sheet. I signed up. You realize later how binding that method really is.

Clouds weren’t rolling in, but the wind and sand were. I snapped a photo of the view from my temporary booth, and minutes later I was surrounded by a near-whiteout.

Visibility Drops

Right then, the diesel generator died. The music director told me I was running off a battery charged by solar panels. And solar panels don’t love sandstorms. He expected I’d have to stop in 15 minutes. I queued up Roy Rosenfeld’s Rumbala and sipped my mimosa. Life was slightly more bearable again.

The storm cleared, they realized the generator had simply run out of fuel, and soon my camp friends appeared on the dance floor. The theme of the day was “Canadian tuxedo,” and honestly, it looked beautiful. One friend danced with a bottle of mezcal in hand, yelling that my music was healing his soul. That’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. Another mimosa, and life was good. The thermometer read 106°F (just over 41°C).

Out of my planned two-hour set, I had about 30 minutes left when Alex, the next DJ, climbed into the van.

None of his three USB sticks worked.

The Good Moments Are Unexpected

He and his friends wiped sweat off their brows and tried to think of something. Normally he plays Balkan minimal techno, but I was very keen for him to try some techno from my working stick. He didn’t dare, so we went back-to-back. While he recovered, I dropped the first techno track, and the bar gave instant thumbs up. After 40 minutes, though, he admitted it wasn’t his vibe, apologized, and walked back out into the scorching sand. Short but refreshing. I knew I’d be playing until someone rescued me.

The music director came over and asked if I was okay. I said no. He sighed, said it was a pity, but fine - he’d put on some reggae instead.

I rolled my eyes. He mixed me a mimosa right on the DJ booth in a very unhealthy ratio and set down a bucket of ice water. We pretended that conversation hadn’t happened. I kept playing.

By then the bar was hosting a legit party. A bike rolled onto the floor, with a girl who looked exactly like Lisa Kudrow. She vibed on the dance floor, on the bike, for about half an hour. Whether it was dehydration, mimosas, or actual Phoebe Buffay - I’ll never know. I was dumb enough to focus only on the music in that moment.

It was past 4 p.m. I didn’t care much about anything anymore, including my health, when the music director approached with the camp lead. That never means good news...

“We’ll Do Anything If You Keep Playing”

The recorder was running. I realized I was heading for a personal record. Five hours isn’t short even in an air-conditioned club. In this dry heat, it’s a marathon - and I love a challenge. I pretended I didn’t want to, but it was all theater. The camp had a local DJ slotted, but...

The director promised me endless mimosas (as if they hadn’t already been endless). I cursed myself for not negotiating better. The temperature was finally dropping, the weather softening, and I was starting to enjoy it. I queued up tracks I truly loved. Life was still damn good. I stopped counting drinks - my day was ending soon anyway, and I took it as a gift.

I shared smiles for the next few minutes until Red, the DJ after me, climbed into the van. He showed me his three USB sticks. The first one loaded instantly. I found it a little unfair, maybe hated him just a tiny bit in my head. But finishing my set at sunset was pure magic. It was pleasant, bikes and people started glowing, and the city bathed in golden hour light.

Red and I hugged. I walked to the bar for compliments.

I was utterly drained. Physically and mentally.

This Ending Was Happy

This day is one of my strongest memories (I’ll share more someday). I barely noticed the kilometer walk to my unventilated tent. In the camp kitchen, I found a packed dinner. I really loved my campmates.

On the way, I wondered if it was all worth it. Probably yes. But I couldn’t stop thinking about updating my life path. Burning Man has that effect - people in the desert often end up in conversations with themselves. A month later, my partner and I were expecting our long-awaited child, and I sensed that music might not be part of my medium-term future.

I absorbed the last sensations of the day and, at a beautiful 6:30 p.m., fell asleep - not waking until sunrise.

👉 Recording of the set here