This piece is a reflection on my first time attending Lost Lands. It’s not so much a review as it is a glimpse into the thoughts that spilled into my journal throughout the weekend (yes, I journal during festivals!). Through bass, dinosaurs, and moments of collective catharsis, I explore how Lost Lands becomes a sanctuary for creativity, emotional expression, and the childlike wonder that still lives within us. If you’re curious to see the festival from other perspectives, here are two of my favorite review-style TikTok videos that capture its energy and magic by @delorradadoberman and @jiaorgeo.
Stepping into Lost Lands felt like returning to childhood, a place both nostalgic and familiar, filled with wonder like a giant playground. For a moment, my adult self stood beside the younger version of me who once sat wide-eyed in front of the TV, watching The Land Before Time and believing in a world where imagination ruled and every creature had a place in the story. Towering dinosaurs rose above me, neon lights painted the night sky, and the sound systems rumbled like sleeping giants stirring awake. That same childlike wonder is what festivals like Lost Lands continue to nurture.
As I stood surrounded by lifelike dinosaur statues, grinning at the sheer realism of it all, I felt that familiar spark of childhood awe. In that moment, I thought of The Little Prince and its timeless reminder that “all grown-ups were once children… but only few of them remember it.”
At Lost Lands, curiosity is welcomed with open arms, and creativity knows no limits. The night glows with sparkling costumes and playful, handmade totems. Stage lights and lasers swirl across the sky, reminding me that imagination flows through all of us and rises effortlessly when we’re surrounded by like-minded souls.
The Lost Lands Vision
Jeff Abel, the mind behind Excision, built this gathering with that same spirit. His vision reached far beyond bass music. He wanted to create a world where bass lovers could feel safe to be creative, playful, and unapologetically loud in ways everyday life rarely allows. From the towering dinosaurs to the intricate stage designs and themed sections, all the way down to the PK Sound that rattled our bones, every detail felt intentional. I came across a review from the very first Lost Lands in 2017, which described how “every barrier in the festival was lined with ivy leaves to entice a feeling of being in the jungle,” and how “with just a few steps into this enchanted land I was already blown away by the amount of imagination and work that had gone into it.” It’s endearing to realize that, eight years after that first review, the feeling remains the same. Every detail still invites wonder and transforms Lost Lands into a true sanctuary for imagination and belonging.
Check out the video below from PK Sound, showcasing the subwoofers powering the main stage!
And within this sanctuary, something sacred unfolded. Festivals like Lost Lands feel like modern rituals. Surrounded by ancient echoes and modern, futuristic sounding music, time itself seemed to fold. Dinosaurs that once roamed the earth towered overhead while thousands of us danced below. The present and the past collided in rhythm, creating a collective ceremony that felt as old as firelight and as new as LED lasers & intricate drone shows, cutting through the night.
If this topic is of interest to you, check out my article titled, “From Ancient Rituals to Modern Rave Culture: How EDM Connects Us Across Time“
Excision envisioned Lost Lands as the bass capital of the world, the “Dubstep Super Bowl,” or as some like to call it, “Dubstep Disney.” And it truly felt that way! I met people who had flown in from across the pond, along with many who traveled all the way from the West Coast just to be here in Legend Valley, Ohio!
The Lost Lands Community
Connection and community became the medicine. Strangers who had crossed oceans stood shoulder to shoulder, transformed into family by the first drop. Belonging revealed itself in the simplest moments: a hand reaching out to lift someone in a mosh pit, a stanky bassface exchanged when the bass hit just right, a tear shared when the melody turned tender. For a weekend, we lived inside proof that connection doesn’t need years to grow… it only needs presence.
What made Lost Lands truly special were the intentional spaces for connection woven throughout the weekend. The many meetups and artist-led activities created opportunities for everyone to belong. There was a ladies-only mosh pit group and Instagram chat, where women shared meetup times and cheered each other on. It became a reminder that even if you came alone, or found yourself solo after side questing too hard, you always had a crew ready to rage with you.
Alongside those were the fan-led Flowstar meetups, a community-driven celebration of flow artistry. Every day at Lost Lands, there was a Flowstar meetup open to anyone who wanted to join. Watching it unfold in real time was incredible. I remember walking up to Wompy Woods and seeing a sea of flow artists spinning in unison, their unique fabric twirling in patterns through the air. What struck me most was knowing that many of them were complete strangers, yet all it took was one shared passion to dissolve the distance between them. For a moment, it felt like movement itself was the language that united everyone
Artist-led events added another layer of heart. Zingara’s vision board workshop was especially wholesome, offering a quiet pocket of mindfulness amid the chaos. It was a moment to breathe, set intentions, and manifest good energy before diving back into the storm of sound. Across the festival grounds, artists hosted pop-up meet-and-greets at spots affectionately named “Triceratops” or “Meet at Becky” (the towering brachiosaurus). Each one felt intimate and grounded, proof that connection isn’t limited to the crowd, it’s also nurtured by the artists themselves. Even though the artist-fan meet and greets weren’t part of the official daily schedule, fans stayed tuned through social media to catch them. Many artists announced pop-up meetups on Instagram, sharing when and where to gather. See Phocust’s meet-and-greet announcement below for an example!
Every corner of Lost Lands seemed to encourage belonging, reminding us that community is something you create, not just something you find.
The music mirrored our emotions.
Music and art give voice to the feelings we can’t always explain. At Lost Lands, we were free to express every emotion fully, surrounded by people who made it safe to do so. Dubstep especially holds a raw honesty. It makes space for rage, joy, grief, tenderness, and play all at once. A drop can unleash anger, a melody can dissolve into tears, and both are welcomed equally. Emotions at Lost Lands are not contradictions; they are harmonies. My heart carried sadness for past relationships alongside gratitude for their beauty. I felt longing for what was gone while also opening myself to what was possible. When Illenium played Good Things Fall Apart, I cried, not because I wanted back what I had lost, but because grief has its own way of lingering. That grief is not proof of weakness. It is proof that love was real.
I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve seen countless videos on TikTok of people describing the catharsis they feel on the dance floor. The video below even went viral for its raw vulnerability, where someone shared their heartbreak and how they found healing through dancing with their rave fam at Lost Lands.
Being at Lost Lands reminded me that our hearts are elastic. They stretch to hold contradictions without breaking. They bend with grief and gratitude, with desire and release, with endings and beginnings woven together. That elasticity is nothing to fear; it is what makes us human. It brought to mind a line from The Little Prince: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.” Festivals like this are living proof of that truth. What matters most is not the spectacle of dinosaurs or lasers, but the invisible bonds that form between us, heart to heart. Although, the lights, lasers, and drones are pretty cool too (hehe).
Some might say festivals are escapism, but what I experienced felt like the opposite. The outside world often demands conformity. At work, on the street, even in friendships, we are told to quiet our colors and moderate our emotions. But at Lost Lands, the freedom to be fully expressive became a mirror of what life could be if we chose compassion and creativity first. The subwoofers shook like tectonic plates beneath our feet. Every drop loosened grief from my ribs. Every cheer lifted me higher. For one weekend, art and community created a pocket of sacred safety.
The dinosaurs reminded me that even giants fall.
It brought to mind another truth: even giants fall, yet their stories remain. The dinosaurs left their memory carved into the earth, their footsteps fossilized in time. Though their bodies have long turned to dust, their essence lingers in everything that came after. The same atoms that once formed their bones now move through us, through the lights that ripple above the crowd, through the bass that shakes the ground beneath our feet. We are made of that same ancient energy, reborn and dancing again. Nothing ever truly disappears; it only transforms. Like love, like art, like memory, it returns in new forms, echoing across time with every heartbeat and every drop.
What do you mean “the same atoms that once formed their bones now move through us”? (click to read more)
Watch this TEDx Talk that explains this in simple, easy-to-follow terms. In his talk, Tom Chi shows that “everything is connected” is grounded in science. The iron in our blood was forged in the explosions of ancient stars. The oxygen we breathe exists because microscopic organisms transformed Earth’s atmosphere billions of years ago. The creativity of our minds expands with every human invention, adding new “colors” to what he calls the Palette of Being. Together, these stories remind us that our bodies, our breath, and our imagination are all part of the same cosmic fabric.
The dinosaurs left their memory carved into the earth, their footsteps fossilized in time. Though their bodies have long turned to dust, their essence lingers within us, carried in the same atoms that once moved through their bones.
By the time the final set came to an end, gratitude swelled. Gratitude for Excision, who created more than a spectacle and built a true sanctuary for wonder. Gratitude for a community that continues to show that inclusivity is not an idea but a practice, lived moment by moment. And gratitude for the heart itself, an ever-expanding vessel that holds both grief and joy, remembering that endings never erase the beauty of what once was. As the lights faded and the last echoes of bass dissolved into the night, I felt it… the quiet magic of knowing that even when the music stops, its resonance lives on within us.
Lost Lands reminded me how to listen to my own compass again, the one that leads to art, love, and the brave, bendable heart inside us all. Even giants fall, yet joy endures. When the bass hums through our bones, it stirs something ancient and innocent within us, the same wonder we knew as children. It reminds us that imagination never fades; it only waits patiently to be found again beneath the lights.
Even Canabliss felt like a kid again! Check out her Lost Lands Instagram caption below.
With lots of love and light,
Liezl