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Some came in neon outfits emblazoned with slogans about molly or raging or some combination of the two, while others wore crisp white tank tops with the same catch phrases in neon rainbows. A few showed up in tie-dyed T-shirts (lots of Grateful Dead logos), and one intrepid attendee wore a tie-dyed button-up onesie. People caked their bodies in multicolored glitter; they dressed up like unicorns, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, nuns, and clowns; they dressed down in skimpy bathing suits or neon bras. A couple folks rolled through with Deadmau5 masks stylized after the design of the Chicago flag, and a few seapunks showed up, as did Sharkula.
At times it looked like many folks were more focused on getting fucked-up than on listening to music—not a state of affairs unique to North Coast by any means, but it was much harder to ignore here than at most festivals I’ve attended. Fortunately many of the festival artists ended up benefiting from all the allegedly entertaining chemicals in people’s systems; crowds would greet performers with jubilation regardless of the time of day or size of the stage. North Coast has evolved from its party-music template (EDM, jam bands, rap) to include a broader palette of sounds (soul, blues, Purity Ring), and people seemed to approach acts outside the fest’s familiar territory with open minds, taking in, say, the richly funky sounds of New Orleans’ Dirty Dozen Brass Band. The throngs of kids brought with them an infectious youthful exuberance that made it easier to deal with the fest’s irritations.
