You may have heard the name Nick Sullivan on the lips of some of your favourite artists. The Newy-based director has created music videos for some of the country’s biggest musos, alongside shooting ads and commercials for a bunch of brands you probably know, too. But none of that has anything to do with the trip he took at the end of last year, when he returned to Europe to attend and document three festivals in three weeks. These are his words:

2025… A bunch of my favourite festivals in Aus had been flushed down the toilet, so when the chance came up to cover a festival in Europe I jumped at the opp and then decided to stretch my crumbling Australian dollar as far as it could go. I’ve been feeling bummed about AI in the creative industries so it was the perfect opportunity to reset with real people and real noise.

The loose plan was to tear around three of Europe’s coolest festivals in three weeks. Amsterdam Dance Event aka ADE. Club2Club in Turin aka C2C. And Iceland Airwaves, aka probably the best festival in the world.
Like a poor man’s Humans of New York, I set out with a camera and urge to sit back and take it all in.

After a few trains, some planes, some temazapam and a few blurry rewatches of the new Naked Gun (can recommend), I landed in Amsterdam. First things first, the dutch are all about eight feet tall. Second, they seem to like culture. Maybe a direct correlation?

ADE is basically five days of electronic music where everywhere you turn you hear the thud of a bass drum. There’s big festivals. Coffee shop pop ups. Window gigs. Conference talks. People fang around on bikes from dusk till dawn. Basically grimey creativity and organised chaos. Rinse and/or repeat for a week.

I’d been told Australia produces more dance music per capita than anywhere else, so I jumped into a writers camp run by Aussie label Sweat It Out Music for a first hand look. I watched a bunch of Aussie and international artists from different genres come together, make some uncomfortable small talk, then eight hours later play the room some absolute bangers.

I snapped some school portrait style shots of the artists, then disappeared into a week of talks, gigs and pop ups.

The first talk I went to was something about AI and EDM. Eh, I’m so sick of hearing about AI, I didn’t put my hand up to tell the speaker this, as he’d clearly worked very hard on his Canva preso. But, I enjoyed the human interactions, I think we call them conversations, that followed with like minded people after that talk.

Aussie producer Juno Mamba was wrapping up a European tour and let me tag along to his final show. An arvo slot at DGTL supporting Ben Bohmer, in a very cool warehouse just a boat ride away. He absolutely killed it. As he walked off, the stage manager said, “The Dutch are a tough crowd to win over and you nailed it.” What’s the opposite of tall poppy? I felt that for him which was nice.

From there we ducked off to an Anjunadeep house party slash livestream. After climbing a staircase to everest, I gravitated toward one of the DJ’s proud dad, who ran canal tours and enjoyed a beer, much like myself. I’m sure if you scrub through the live stream on youtube you can see me quoting Naked Gun and him laughing with me, not at me… probably. That’s the thing about ADE. Eighteen or eighty, you jump on a bike, follow the music and talk smack with randoms.

Between events like Into The Woods, Club Train, Breakfast Club and drinking my body weight in ginger shots, everyone I bumped into was there for one of two reasons. To enjoy the music or to network. And I think I did both to varying degrees.

Off the back of ADE I hightailed it to Turin. I’d experienced Amsterdam largely from a backstage perspective and wanted the punter experience this time. Some buses, some standing in lines, some security frisking. Ciao bella.

C2C is a four day festival spread across massive warehouse spaces. The music was great. Four Tet was brilliant, Floating Point and AG Cook were an absolute onslaught of visual and aural mania. But coming off the vibrancy of ADE, the whole thing felt a little soulless. No spontaneous fun. No sense of chaos. And too cool for school.

The city here itself was the real winner. (also my hotel room that seemed to have been plucked straight from a wes anderson film). But, How good is pizza and pasta. I had the best meals of 2025 in Turin and would return as a tourist in a heartbeat. Looking back, C2C was a nice recovery before airwaves.

From Turin I went on to Iceland.

I don’t want to jinx it by saying it’s the best festival in the world, but it is. As I said somewhere above. Iceland Airwaves is fucking sick.

The closest thing we’ve got in Australia is probably Dark Mofo. Both push the boundaries of what a festival can be. But Airwaves is a different beast entirely.

Bands from all over the world make the trek to Reykjavik to play for what might be the planet’s most enthusiastic music fans. Tickets are cheap, but the country is exy, which weeds out a lot of the riff raff. The official program runs across pubs, museums, churches and galleries. Then there’s the off venue stuff popping up in bars, bookshops and record stores across town. Look up between gigs and you’ll probably see the northern lights. Say hi to the person next to you and odds are it’s Björk, Jónsi, or someone playing later that night. Not a joke.

I’d been once before in 2022. I shot everyone from Amyl and the Sniffers to a bloke playing Daft Punk’s Discovery on a church organ. I was blown away but overwhelmed. Five hours of daylight and too much to see. This time I wanted to do it properly.

I hit up a mate I’d met my first year. Steven. An audiophile – allegedly. Coming up on his tenth Airwaves, he was basically Icelandic by now.

First tip. Kaffibarinn. Once partly owned by Damon Albarn. Start the night there for happy hour. End it there for a surprise DJ set. Steven once saw FM Belfast play there. The place got so packed the band had to be crowdsurfed across the room, passed out a window, and carried down the street. So that’s what I did.

I popped into Kaffibarinn early and made the most of the four till eight window. Otherwise you’re paying twenty five bucks for a pint. I got chatting to locals and seasoned Airwaves vets who threw a bunch of advice my way.

Take a flask. Fill it with duty free booze.

Live off pizza from their version of 7 Eleven. Cheap and filling.

Have no plan. That is the plan.

Hit karaoke at Gaukurinn or Bird. Not official, but it should be.

Try the big lagoons, but the local pools are where it’s at. Forty degree baths. Saunas. Ice plunges. Recover daily.
Be open. Always.and go off venue. If you hear music, follow it.

And lastly, as a bloke said to me while standing nude next to me at the pool, through his thick Icelandic accent, “Get there early. The first band is usually Icelandic and usually the one you remember most.”

I followed all of it and fuck, what a week.

Everyone you meet is chasing the same thing. Good music. Good people. A good party. On the last day, an English dad of two in my hostel dorm woke up at ten after getting in at seven and said, “Fuck, I had this nightmare I’d slept in till midday.” I agreed.

I picked up conversations I’d left three years earlier. Met new mates. Found bands I’ve been rinsing on repeat ever since. All in a country that genuinely supports its local arts and culture scene.

Seeing Fat Dog bring the art museum to the ground within ten seconds. Locking in at Kaffibarinn for an afterparty. Being jostled by a bunch of vikings and / or Icelandic teenagers for Ian. Getting lost in hypnotic sets from Lupina, Mani Orrason, Farao, Spacestation and Saya Grey reminded me why this festival is like no other.

There ya go. 3in3. After three days flying home in cattle class on the cheapest airline I could find, somewhere between forgetting to press the bell and worrying the plane driver had missed my stop, I came back with a strong desire to open an experimental pop up store that plays ambient Australiana noises and hosts slam poetry nights. So yeah, I’d call the trip a success.

MORE PICS FROM NICK’S TRIP IN THE GALLERY ABOVE!