This Ex-Rave King Is Building the Anti-Tulum Festival (With Zero Influencers)

This Ex-Rave King Is Building the Anti-Tulum Festival (With Zero Influencers)

How a burned-out promoter found his soul again by going micro

This post was written by Community Partner and founder of Seeds of Love, Anthony Middleton.

I’ve been producing music events for close to 25 years now. You might say im a veteran. And I’ve been lucky enough to throw some that really mattered. Back when Resident Advisor still had real journalistic weight (around 2012), my event Sacbe was listed as the second party in the world you had to experience before you died—right after Berghain. That one hit different. It wasn’t just a party. It supported charities, gave a platform to acts who now headline global stages, and—whether intentionally or not—helped shape a culture that’s still rippling outwards today.

But let’s be honest. I was also part of the rise of the electronic music juggernaut that eventually swallowed itself. The same wave that turned places like Tulum from sacred hideaways into algorithm-driven influencer runways. I saw it happen in real-time. I contributed to it. We all did, in our own way.

Eventually, I stepped away from Sacbe. The art was gone. The magic had drained out. And although someone else kept the name alive, I couldn’t fake it anymore. I’ve been searching ever since, for a project that feels meaningful, that feels real and alive. That search took a lot longer than I expected.

The truth is, we live in a time where the music industry—this thing I’ve given most of my life to—has been fully absorbed by the machine. Festivals are everywhere now. Week after week, city after city. Same names, same formulas, same “experiential” buzzwords, just repackaged for the next round of ticket sales. They serve the beast of consumerism more than the culture they claim to represent.

But finally, more than a decade later I’ve found something real again. A project that feels like it’s got a soul.

It’s called Seeds of Love.

S.O.L is a micro festival born from rebellion but matured into something more,a desire to rebalance. It’s about community first, always. At its core, it’s a response to what’s been happening in places like Baja: beautiful towns being gentrified at warp speed by waves of global nomads and tech entrepreneurs who, intentionally or not, disconnect from the local culture that made these places special in the first place.

You can’t stop change, but you can guide it, so the event has become about preserving culture while making room for growth. It’s a mission of re-integration where we can create meeting points, not divisions where we can build bridges between the local and the international. That’s what S.O.L is about.

So why a micro festival? What even is a micro festival?

To me, a micro festival is an event that grows organically from a community, rather than being imposed on it. Big festivals are driven by the pockets of investors and the algorithms of ticketing platforms. Micro festivals are driven by the hearts and hands of the people on the ground. They don’t have mega budgets or flashy sponsors—but that’s the point. That limitation frees them.

Without all the noise and pressure, you can actually innovate. You can experiment. You can take risks. You don’t have to fit into a predefined mold. That’s why micro festivals have become breeding grounds for new formats like integrating wellness, sustainability, and music, not just to tick off the boxes or as a vibe, but as a lifestyle.

I’ve always said I’m not a huge fan of festivals. What I meant was, I’m not a fan of festivals that exist as a financial product. I am a fan of gatherings that emerge because there’s a cultural need. A spark. A hunger for connection. When that’s the driver, everything shifts. These events don’t pretend to be “transformational”—they are, simply because they’re real.

SOL is intentionally intimate. It’s small enough that people can meet each other, talk, share, build something. It’s a space where local artists and international guests sit at the same table. Where water is free. Where kids run around barefoot while someone gives a sound healing session under the trees. Where you can dance to a world-class DJ set at night but spend your morning listening to panels on Community and Creativity. It’s messy and raw in all the right ways.

And the impact is real. These kinds of festivals aim to circulate money ‘locally’. From the food vendors and craft artisans to the drivers, and guest houses—everyone should benefit. Instead of extracting value, we reinvest it. We give local creatives a stage and a voice, not just a vendor booth tucked in the corner.

But more than the economics, it’s about reclaiming space. When done right, grassroots festivals allow a community to define itself on its own terms, instead of being overwritten by whatever aesthetic is trending on Instagram. They’re a quiet resistance. A soft but powerful “no” to homogenization.

And yeah, there’s an emotional side to this too. Seeds of Love is a personal project. It was sparked by my wife, Chanel Deberge a local powerhouse who lives for a brighter vision of her community. Together, we pulled in friends who’ve been with us through the years. Event producers, DJs, healers, artists, thinkers. No one’s doing this for status or clout. We’re doing it because we believe something better is possible.

We believe in culture that’s not for sale. In parties that mean something. In music as medicine. In family—not just blood, but one you Choose. In regenerating what’s already here, not replacing it.

So yeah—I guess I’ve got the bug again. And this time, it’s not about the high of a peak-time drop or seeing your name on a flyer. It’s about creating a container where people feel seen, heard, and held. Where something real can unfold.

Episode 1 of Seeds of Love happens on May 17th in San José del Cabo, BCS. It’s small. It’s wild. It’s got edges. And it’s built on the principle that when the right people come together for the right reasons, magic happens.