Rüfüs Du Sol concert review: House music fest meets party in the jungle

It’s already past late.

Now, early in the morning, my friends and I pass beneath the Zamna sign and step into the underbelly of Quintana Roo’s jungle. We’ve timed our arrival at the venue around Rufus Du Sol’s ambiguous promise to play until sunrise.

The alternative Australian dance group is made up of Tyrone Lindqvist, Jon George and James Hunt, and while the trio is known for their Deep House hits like “Innerbloom,” “You Were Right,” and “Next To Me,” everyone in our group is more excited to see them perform an anything goes DJ set — a rare opportunity to freely express their uncapped musical genius.

But “concert” does nothing to describe what happens at Zamna, aka Tulum’s premiere electronic music festival. As seasoned ravers and first-time ticket holders trek into the rainforest, they’re transported into a temporary universe unbeknownst to them. The crowd isn’t just paying for a concert, they’re purchasing an exclusive experience that only a few of us are lucky enough to be part of in this life.

Staging begins immediately. We’re led through a narrow passageway encircled by drooping vines and woodsy vegetation resembling a cenote. The path is lit with golden-red strobes that shine down onto Ancient Mayan actors standing against trees. Their bodies have been painted shades of aqua and cobalt. They’re draped in delicate skirts and elaborate feather headdresses. Despite our enchanted smiles and wide eyes, they remain still as statues as we pass them.

The group stops briefly to admire replicas of carved stone ruins and art installations floating in pools of water alongside the trail. There are no signs, but our bodies are pulled to the intensifying beat of the music and the dewy, aromatic smell of copal, an incense burned from a tree sacred to the Mayans. It is said to purify the energy of spaces, people, and objects, and I am now looking to see how fast it ships to New York City. The mood has been set.

People watching at Zamna is arguably more entertaining than the festival’s expertly manicured props. Nobody is underdressed; there is no such thing as being overdressed. Festival wear is an electrifying fusion of universal influences and futuristic inspiration drawn from Tulum’s up-and-coming music scene: crochet beachwear, glittery sets, fringed-leather cowboy hats, and steampunk glasses. Think relaxed bohemian meets friendly space cowboy. “I just want to meet everyone,” my friend whispers.

The path intersects and brings us to a hodgepodge of food vendors — everything from juicy sliders to spicy street tacos, and café con leche, which is mandatory for eight plus hours of dancing your heart out. I grab a paloma and patatas bravas while my friends jump into line for other delicacies. Full disclaimer: this single transaction drained my allowance of pesos for the night (boxed water alone costs around $12 at Zamna).

To our left, the early birds have already retired to the designated zone for refuge — a makeshift nest of throw blankets and pillows laid alongside the lazy river where bodies tangle and spread out for brief interludes — sort of reminiscent of a cult overdose or the best night of your life. We bypass the chillaxers and rush excitedly toward the main stage.

Beaming blue, yellow and red lasers greet us first, slicing through the black sky in carefully orchestrated patterns. The DJ’s have situated in front of a magnificent large screen displaying visuals; melting colors and shapes slowly transform into abstract images of what could be fires, bodies, snakes, or flowers (I decide on the latter). The power of the music here can only be understood alongside such a soul commanding venue. 

The crowd moves like a wave, some dangling from trunks of palm trees, others dancing solo, but all tapped in to the same rhythm — a dynamic blend of snare drums, bass, snaps, and claps that all hit between 115 and 130 BPM. The perfect synthesis of this type of house music produces a near euphoric state. It scratches a part of the brain rarely visited. It’s ghostly, romantic, tribal — but, most importantly, deeply human. You don’t hear it, you feel it. You are it.

We’re in a trance as the lyrics of the song “Eyes” reverberate through the army of dancers: “To the sun to the sea/Crystal hair in the breeze/Wanna let it fall over me.” As the DJ’s beat drops for the first time, thousands of voices sing along in harmony: “I see myself in your eyes.” Right beside me, one of my best friends wipes a waterfall of tears from her cheek. “I’m just so happy to be here,” she tells me. “This is so special.”

Of course, Rufus Du Sol could not have been a better pick for this magical performance space. The trio knows exactly how to tease, taking their sweet time building up the anticipation of the drop again, again, and again. The sound is magnetic and we want to be at the source of it. Making our way to the front is not difficult, despite the large turnout. I’ve been told house music fans are not rowdy, rude, or pushy, and that impression was absolutely correct. There is a collective sense of humanity — what ravers would call good “energy” or “vibes.”

The true magic comes as the group begins playing “Innerbloom,” easily their most anticipated song of the early morning. I watch as hundreds of now familiar strangers place their hands over their hearts, others reach out as if to grab the lyrics, spirit fingers fluttering as Tyrone sings “If you want me/If you need me/I’m yours.” We sway back and forth unapologetically, clinging on to every break, noticing how each sparse lyric is picked so intentionally to craft something never been done before. It’s a musical experiment and we were all a part of it.

And then suddenly, just before the beat drops, a light shower of warm rain begins washing over our salty bodies. Cracks of orange light peak out from beneath the moon. The darkness evaporates. There is a sense of wholeness. We hear other people murmuring about God being part of the production team. It’s hard to argue with that. “It’s purifying,” my friend shouts, her face freckled with drops of rain. “It’s paradise.”

Want to experience Zamna for yourself?

Now you can.

Zamna hosts festivals in premiere music venues across the world, from Bali and Barcelona, to Sao Paulo, Dubai, and Brooklyn.

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