I ask the adults what they think about seeing kids on drugs.

“I don’t know, drugs,” Brown says. It’s a subject she’s perhaps grown weary of, since her daughter is in recovery. “I don’t judge. To each his own, right?”

I watch another shirtless kid behind them cradle his hands, eyeing them lovingly, tracing the air in slow motion. Just his bare hands, he eyes them with wonder. This is how rave dancing started, over 20 years ago, a guy playing with his hands on drugs.

Juan MacLean takes the stage and begins playing house, and the kids clear out.

“It’s not an age thing, it’s just a totally different genre,” Juan says after his set. “I just mystified an entire group of people.” I ask what he thinks about attending music festivals sober, something he has been doing for almost a decade now.

“I never really think about it that much,” Juan says. “I actually like music. There’s a whole world of people who actually like the music, and that’s more the world that I come from.”

I also like the music, sober or otherwise, but I feel like I may have struck a sore spot, so I switch tacks and ask Louisa how it feels to have her mom attend her show.

“I was thinking about it this morning, because we were meditating together just before we left. It was awesome,” she says, laughing. It sounds so nice.

“I didn’t get successful doing this until I got sober. I remember the last weekend I was using drugs, it was the only time my dad came to see me play. Now [my mom’s] been to every L.A. show in the last year, and I’m unafraid to have her be there because I nothing to be ashamed of. We have real jobs, like, look,” she says, gesturing at the crowd.

We pass Bro Safari, who seems to have drawn the majority of the festival attendees for a trap set at the HARDER stage that is indistinguishable from the one that preceded it. Maybe Mike B is right, the kids don’t care about house and techno. They don’t seem to care about DJs either, really, they want performers, I conclude. Bro Safari, with his hype man and militaristic aural assault, does a better approximation of hardcore rave music for this crowd than one person behind turntables could possibly attempt. The music itself is not enough, they expect antics and entertainment.

“For house and techno DJs, there are lots of guys who are more revered as they’ve gotten older. That’s awesome,” Juan says, pondering the future of trap, the rap-inspired offshoot of EDM, a blanket term created to designate a genre of music enjoyed by people who don’t understand the term “blanket term.”

“I don’t know if this world, if it’s gonna pan out that way. I don’t know where those people land, really. What is trap gonna be? What is a 60-year-old trap DJ? There won’t be one. It’s nothing against it, I just don’t know how it’s gonna work out.”

Jesse Rose and I ponder the situation over tacos, overhearing a kid, high out of his mind, attempt to describe his location to a lost/high friend.

“Bro, I’m at Bro Safari bro. Bro, I’m at Bro Safari, bro. Bro? I’m… bro, bro, Safari, bro, bro I’m at Bro Safari. No bro, Bro Safari, bro…”

I try to talk to him, but he’s incapable of speaking. Nearby, a girl dressed as a strawberry, with a Dillon Francis-inspired strawberry hat, sits cross-legged on the dirt, frowning, in the dark throes of a bad drug trip. Her boyfriend, in an elf costume with matching strawberry hat, consoles her half-heartedly, his hand on her shoulder, his head in the clouds. He’s having a fine time.

I ask a group of kids if they’re here for the party or for the music.