LOST LAKE MUSIC FESTIVAL Lost Lake arrived in Phoenix like a boss, but only lasted a single year. In October 2017, powerhouse festival promoter Superfly transformed Steele Indian School Park into a three-day hub for indie kids, EDM diehards and foodies with disposable income. The lineup was a flex with The Killers, Chance the Rapper, Major Lazer and Run the Jewels, while the setup included art installations and local restaurant heavyweights. For one weekend, Phoenix felt like a national festival city instead of a flyover afterthought. More than 40,000 people attended and the following year was set to feature SZA, Future and The Chainsmokers. Then, Lost Lake evaporated. In July 2018, Superfly pulled the plug on year two, citing a crowded festival market and shifting priorities. Translation: The math did not math. Phoenix’s splashy new marquee event became a one-year wonder. WET ELECTRIC Wet Electric transformed Tempe’s Big Surf into an annual waterpark rave. The EDM festival co-produced by California-based promoter Activated Events and Arizona company Relentless Beats mixed big beats with beachside party vibes. During the 2010s, Wet Electric was one of the Valley’s biggest music festivals of the spring. The main stage was located in Big Surf’s iconic wave pool. Headliners like Tiësto, Diplo, Dillon Francis, Flux Pavilion and Adventure Club played the event. When the pandemic hit in 2020, Wet Electric was postponed. Big Surf, which went dark due to COVID-19 and never reopened, was sold in 2022 and later demolished. Activated Events and Relentless Beats still stage music fests in metro Phoenix on the regular, but Wet Electric has never resurfaced. APACHE LAKE MUSIC FESTIVAL Apache Lake Music Festival was a paradise for local music fans. For a decade, Arizona bands caravanned to the Apache Lake Marina resort northeast of Phoenix every fall to perform on the shore as attendees camped out and rocked out. Co-founded by Last Exit Live owner Brannon Kleinlein and local bassist Paul “PC” Cardone, the festival grew a tight- knit following among locals. By 2019, ALMF had achieved iconic status in the Phoenix scene. Then the waters started getting choppy. The pandemic caused the event’s postpone- ment in 2020. The following year, the marina was sold to new owners. Prospective plans to bring the fest back ran aground over issues of money and control. A social-media spat over rights to the Apache Lake Music Festival name turned ugly, and the marina owners briefly tried claiming it themselves before shelving their own version. Kleinlein says the event will likely never return, largely due to Cardone’s death in 2022. “PC was such a big part of it,” Kleinlein says. “That was kind of a nail in the coffin for me, really. Personally, the way I feel right now, I wouldn’t have an interest in doing it.” LUNA DEL LAGO MUSIC FESTIVAL Luna Del Lago aimed high and ran into reality. Kleinlein launched the festival at Lake Pleasant in November 2023 as a bigger, bolder follow-up to ALMF. He brought in an eclectic mix of local and national touring bands across rock, reggae, soul and alt-country. Monophonics, Black Joe Lewis, Ballyhoo! and The Brothers Comatose headlined amid against sweeping desert views and open water sunsets. The vibe felt expan- sive and laidback. Then the market pushed back. Scottsdale’s Dreamy Draw Music Festival debuted the same weekend and chased a similar indie and alt-country crowd. Kleinlein also had to build Luna Del Lago from the ground up at Lake Pleasant. He brought in fencing, power, stages, restrooms and security. Post- COVID price hikes drove costs even higher. “It’s unfortunately a result of today’s festival market, which is oversaturated right now,” Kleinlein says. “Cost is also what makes festivals so difficult to put on now nowadays, because everything’s gotten more expensive now in the last five years.” He hasn’t staged Luna Del Lago since, but doesn’t rule out a return. “There’s always a possibility,” he says. “But I think without some backing, some investors and things like that, it’s just too much of a risk financially.” THE VANISHING SHOW The Vanishing Show wasn’t a festival in the traditional sense. Forget stages and barricades. The yearly DIY showcase turned Tempe’s Maple-Ash-Farmer-Wilson neighbor- hood into a walkable indie rock feast every March from 2015 to 2019. DJ and community organizer A Claire Slattery booked local bands and built its reputa- tion on chaos, curiosity and word-of-mouth. The gimmick was the genius. Each year, the first location dropped online. Fans showed up for a short set inside a house or backyard. Then came the next address and the crowd moved. It was loose, lawless and entirely local. You didn’t just watch. You followed. The Vanishing Show captured a scrappy DIY spirit bigger festivals couldn’t fake and Tempe cops tried to squash. Police shut down a few editions over noise complaints, but the show kept moving. Then, fittingly, it disappeared. COVID wiped out the planned 2020 edition and it never returned. Slattery says a comeback is possible, but only if someone else takes over. “What started off as something fun morphed into something I could no longer handle, mentally,” Slattery says. “Every year my anxiety around the event increased.” She’s hoping someday the Vanishing Show will reappear, though. “I’m always rooting for a comeback, but I’m not the right person to resurrect it,” Slattery says. “If you think you’re the right person and want to give it a go, let’s talk about it.” EDM fans go wild in Big Surf’s wave pool during Wet Electric 2016. (Benjamin Leatherman) The main stage at Wet Electric in 2015 at the now-demolished Big Surf in Tempe. (Benjamin Leatherman) Killer Mike, left, and El-P during their set at the Lost Lake Festival in 2017. (Melissa Menzinger) Festivalgoers gather on Walter Productions’ Big Red art car at Lost Lake Festival in Phoenix during its only edition in 2017. (Benjamin Leatherman)
