Whatever Happened to PLUR? Ego Killed the Dance Music Star

Written By Stacy Morrow

Dance music saved us—the misfits, the dreamers, the ones who didn’t belong anywhere else. But somewhere along the way, the magic got lost, buried under clout, ego, and greed. This is my raw, unfiltered story of navigating the chaos, calling out the bullshit, and fighting to bring this community back to its roots. This is a cautionary tale of choosing love and hope over hate.

Here’s a shocking statement to the dance music community: Dance music changed mine and a lot of other ravers's lives. We are likely the misfits of our generation, we likely were bullied and were looking for a place we belonged, we all are probably neurodivergent in some way and either knew it or didn’t know it, and we all had varying addictions whether it was the music, the need to be around a ton of people and not alone, hustling drugs to make some easy cash to pay the bills, or, worse case scenario, you were actually addicted to drugs and it had an environment to support that addiction. 

It was a magical time, place, and space filled with completely authentic representations of individuality in the most flamboyant ways possible. There were so many subcultures within the subculture and styles of fashion you would never see out in the public at that time or still to this day. We all embodied the PLUR mentality, which stands for Peace Love Unity Respect (we even have a cute handshake), and despite our individual groups, we ALL accepted anyone from anywhere as they were and are. 

I like to view ravers as people who have intention. Seeking a rave needed intention to find it in the first place. The reason for seeking one out had an intention to either mask, survive, or heal from a person’s life stressors and traumas. Being at a rave there's an intention to authentically let go, be yourself, and accept others. And, when you left a rave, you left with the intention of continuing on the pursuit of happiness. At least, it used to be that way. 

My name is Stacy Morrow and, for better and for worse, this is my dance music story. One that is filled with the most fucked up and beautiful memories I’ll have forever. Some in my darkest hours, some in my lightest hours, and some where it’s kind of both. I’ve been around the block a few times and I think my story will shed some light on what happened to dance music. 

From Obsession to Profession

It all really started during my first weeks of my Summer semester at Fort Lewis College in 2007. I had been on punk street teams before and my new music obsession at the time was Bassnectar so, in pure Stacy fashion, I had the audacity to hit him up on MySpace to ask if he had a street team (he did). This was my beginning of a very wild ride in dance music culture that I’m still riding today.

Look, hate on Bassnectar all you want today, but the fact of the matter is that his music was and still is especially unique, his DJing skills are unmatched, he had a message that resonated with a lot of people, and his live shows were the most fun we will ever have. I mean, it was my fucking life for a good 5 years. I posted the shit out of Colorado and online with Bassnectar materials, I gained a good reputation so I became sought out by other promoters in Colorado, I met my ex-boyfriend Jantsen who I dated for about 3 years because of him, I even got my degree in Mass Communications because of his music, and overall this period of my life that revolved around his music was completely formative to my dance music obsession turned identity turned career. 

Tbh, it’s weird to discuss my professional history in dance music. The best way I can sum it up is that I had this raging insatiable appetite to go to as many shows as I could, be as intertwined with any Colorado dance communities that existed, make it known that I was queen of dance in some way involving the internet and I was gonna be THE PERSON to dominate this impossible industry, and I picked up any job I could get my hands on, which was actually really difficult at the time as a female. From 2007 to 2015, I had an epic dance music run with jobs as a radio DJ, promoter, event manager, lots of publicity work, and my entry into talent management. It was an extremely wild ride that I gave up graduating on time for cause I was so dedicated to the Colorado music scene.

The Rise and Fall of the Scene

Truly, it was so amazing and blissful until it wasn’t. As dance music broke into the mainstream, it brought bigger stages, mind-blowing visuals, and legendary lineups. At first, it felt like a victory. But with all the new and renewed popularity came toxicity. What was once a culture of acceptance morphed into a status-obsessed cesspool. VIP became a mindset, not just a section. Backstage personalities grew vapid, and PLUR was left in the dust.

The turning point? Our so-called rave champions, Pasquale Rotella and Gary Richards, sold out by selling a large portion of their company or their entire company to Live Nation, the corporate giant notorious for squeezing every dollar out of music lovers. With those few moves made here in America, rave culture was no longer ours. It became a commodity. PLUR was becoming exploited. Money talks, doesn’t it?

Social media amplified the superficiality. Manufactured aesthetics replaced authenticity, and cliques started gatekeeping the scene. You weren’t a “real” person of dance music culture unless you’d been to Burning Man a dozen times and knew the “right” people. It was no longer about connection; it was about clout.

To be frank, I was fortunate in some ways to have dipped out of the industry as a professional to enter the corporate marketing world for 7 years. I still dabbled in shows, I still kept up with some of my friends, I still read articles to keep tabs on what the haps were, and I most definitely was observing everything online throughout that time. 

During this time is when I started to open my eyes, connect the dots of my corporate and personal life experiences to what’s going on in the music industry (and mass media as a whole), and I was able to finally see the cracks in the music and wider entertainment industries. Since I have seen the evils of what this industry can do and be, I sifted through my emotions of anger, depression, and annoyance to realize the only way past is through and the only way I know how to respond is with the intention of hope and the ideology of PLUR. 

So, with that said, let me be as straight up as I can be…. There is rampant use of various forms of manipulation tactics entertainment business professionals use on their talent to keep them in their control, just for their own pockets. I have seen this all throughout talent managers, booking agencies, production companies, ticketing platforms, SaaS products, and even my own friends who turned against me. 

We have this beautiful communication medium, music, that has the greatest potential for impact to the global masses and actually create real change by allowing people to say what they need to say to begin the healing process because the world is on fire right now I’m not sure you’ve noticed. But, instead these betrayers are driven by ego, status, fame, and money. They would rather line their pockets instead of remaining on their original mission of living by example of the Peace Love Unity Respect mentality. It feels cold and dark here. I don’t like it. 

Betrayal in the Scene (Hold Onto Your Butts… this is long)

For a while, I’ve been on a quiet mission trying to figure out what I’m seeing is true, hiding in plain sight, by observing and piecing things together and came to the conclusion it’s time for me to reclaim my power by speaking up and out. Long story short, I got caught in a toxic, co-dependent situationship with someone who identified themselves as a self-proclaimed “rave lord” who I thought was my good friend, my best one at the time actually, only to find out he was using me while going around saying how crazy I am and how embarrassed he is by me. Ouch.

For context starters, I got notice that my husband wanted to divorce me in August 2023 soon after our son’s birthday. No, I absolutely will not go into any details except to say it was insanely traumatic and still is. Soon after the divorce process started, my hometown rave friend I barely knew hit me up asking me out in our hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma - I was like OMG YEAH cause it’s Tulsa. I had zero idea if it was a date or not (tbh, I still don’t) but regardless we hooked up cause that’s what tormented mid-30’s people do when they’re single. 

Little did I know I had opened pandora’s box during a time I definitely had no business in doing so. But, to be fair, I had no idea. We really didn’t see each other much, I was seeing other people, he probably was too, and he was leaving for Bali being a bit existential and I was like “yeah, I don’t think we’re really a match” cause I thought we were just friends, and then he goes off to Bali and calls me. Every day. 

He started pitching me all these fantastical ideas, name-dropping his contacts, and we bonded a bit over our shared love of travel and music. He was hyping me up, being really friendly, and, honestly, I appreciated it—I was a lonely single parent navigating a traumatic divorce that was still and is new. He knew I was working to launch Pioneer Pill, one of the ventures in my media conglomerate plans, and offered to help by acting as a sort of product manager. I thought, “Great, I really need the support.” But six weeks later, he came back with someone he likely found in Bali, quoted it as a $10K project, and casually added, “Oh, and you’ll need to pay me $2K in commissions.”

Look, I’m a people-pleaser, and giving is my love language, so when he brought up a $2K commission out of nowhere, it felt off. I thought he was helping as a friend, but suddenly the project ballooned to $20K—double my budget. Still, I moved forward, giving him tasks to manage, but he did nothing. When I questioned him, he claimed it wasn’t his responsibility. I felt used and confused, especially as a vulnerable single parent craving human connection.

Meanwhile, he kept calling daily, hyping me up, bringing vague opportunities, and talking about becoming a travel vlogger like Anthony Bourdain. I loved YouTube, admired Bourdain, and thought, “Maybe this could work.” I even restructured my plans to prioritize Ghost in the Machine, which was great because it is my largest passion project.

Things got really twisted for me right here. Many more phone calls occurred, statements of “I love you” (as a friend) were happening, then one concerning injury happened to him in Bali, and here I am on a rescue mission to bring him back home to American healthcare and be around his family. This. This is all it took for me to be warped into this crazy game of manipulation that was so distorting and, well, utterly heartbreaking that it felt like I was living a nightmare. I can’t even believe what the hell has happened. It’s still hard to process.

His name is Mohammad Khan. I truly thought he was my friend—someone I loved and cared for deeply. But the reality was far from what I wanted to believe. He manipulated me into thinking he was genuinely helping me achieve my goals, but in truth, he never made a single solid move. It really freaking sucks to realize. Here I was, pouring my heart into building something meaningful—an ethical, forward-thinking company with a moral code—and he was doing the exact opposite, using smoke and mirrors to disrupt and change my reality while pretending to support me. What the actual fuck?

I’ve had to learn so many hard lessons this past year, and honestly, I’m exhausted. Mohammad came into my life, weaving grand promises, flaunting his connections, and presenting himself as someone who could help me build my dream. He talked a good game—one of the best I’ve ever heard in my entire life. He’s incredibly charming and cute. He convinced me to trust him, but as time went on, it became clear that it was all talk. He never followed through on anything. Instead, he exploited his connections to inflate his own status, made vague promises about doing big jobs for me, and then, when he didn’t get his way or I started asking questions, his entire attitude shifted.

Burning Man was the breaking point. I helped him prepare for it with a lot of care and intention, thinking this would strengthen our partnership and it made me feel excited to make my mark on the playa before I go next year. I made his gifts, bought items, helped him pack—all because I believed in what we were supposedly building together. He even left with promises to finalize crucial legal documents and help prepare for our yacht adventure in Egypt, only to deliver nothing. Not a single thing. Instead, he came back saying it was all his idea, his dream, and dismissing my contributions entirely. Then the gaslighting became rampant to me about our plans, he was calling me crazy, and spinning everything to suit his version of reality. What was even happening?

Despite all this, I kept trying to make it work. I unfortunately gave him thousands of dollars, tons of tech and camera equipment, and countless hours of my time. For what? A couple of DJs, a failed lead with a solar company, and a mountain of unnecessary work that he later claimed he never asked for. It was insanely frustrating, confusing, and, to be frank, really hurtful. I was drowning in his chaos and manipulation, unable to claw my way out.

What he represents and the culture that enables people like him isn’t Peace, Love, Unity, or Respect—it’s toxic, abusive, and entirely antithetical to everything I stand for. It’s soul wrenching to realize I put so much of myself into someone who was only ever taking. And yet, I still feel bad for him, even after everything.

Mohammad, you know you can do better. You know you should do better. For yourself, for others, and for this community you claim to love. But for now, I need to pick up and move forward, alone. I owe it to myself to not let your actions define me or what I want to create. This isn’t the end of my story, or your story—it’s just a painful chapter I hope we both grow from.

Big shifts and major transformations

The stars shifted hard for me during ADE. I was navigating the toxic chaos of Mohammad's possessive and unprofessional behavior while pushing him out of my space completely. And, I absolutely SLAYED my first ADE completely solo. Honestly, doing it alone, especially in such a vulnerable position, was freaking terrifying—but it marked the beginning of me taking my power back. People actually got what I was talking about, and I could explain my company and offerings in five minutes. Mohammad had six months and couldn’t do the same. The disconnect was crystal clear.

At ADE, I saw hope for the future and reminders of past toxicity. Meanwhile, Mohammad used my money under my name for a boat party, launched a massive smear campaign against me, and spun a web of lies that’s so hard to track now… all to gain status. Yet, still, here I am choosing peace—but this time, with self-love and to finally stand up for myself. PLUR is for me and all other individuals to use as a guide for themselves, too. I will protect it.

Mohammad chose quick wins and status over a meaningful connection. He still has the power to make things right, but will he? People enabling him because he’s “fun” don’t see the damage, but I can’t keep being the one who’s stepped on. I’m tired of the hate and the mind games. Can we just go back to being free and having fun?

So, I’m calling it out. Greed and a lack of morals have no place here. The only way to stop it is by doing what I do best—using the media to spark change. Dance music culture needs to be a safe, authentic space again, and I’ll fight to protect that. Money is tempting, sure, but let’s rethink what we’re capitalizing on. This community was built on love, not ego.

I won’t pretend it doesn’t really fucking sting. The financial hit, the betrayal, the toxicity—it’s a lot. But even after my personal and professional setbacks, I haven’t lost hope and I won’t lose hope. I have a calling: to help others through music—artists, businesses, and fans alike. That relentless, albeit, sometimes naïve, hope drives me to keep going no matter how hard it gets. And, I think I’ve sunken pretty low right at this point while also riding high. It’s a strange and surreal transition.

ADE reminded me of the authenticity fans are longing for: a space free of ego, status, and glamor, where people can simply be themselves. I believe this is the heart of dance music and that’s why I’ll always champion alongside those who share the same vision.

I’m still salty about Mohammad, sure, but I live by a code that leaves room for growth. This isn’t about hate or canceling anyone, even him—it’s about accountability and the chance to find our way back to why we fell in love with this culture in the first place. We can’t change the world with hate. However, we can spark conversations that can start healing so please take away something from any side of the story here. And, continue to seek for a solution for a space where we all can get along, not fuck each other over, and have a good time again. 

The pandemic changed us all, but it’s time to rebuild—together. Dance music is meant to be inclusive, not exclusive. It’s about connection, not cliques. And I’m committed to holding this community close and helping it grow, even when I take a public fall. I’ve taken distance from those who don’t serve me, maybe not forever, but for now. The toxicity is not for me and my destiny is to help change this culture. I won’t stop until I do.

Moving Forward with Love

To Mohammad and those like him: I hope you find your way back to the values that make this community special. To the rave community: Let’s reject the toxicity and rebuild something meaningful. Hate and bitterness won’t heal us—but accountability and empathy can.

I choose to fight for this culture because it gave me so much. I choose peace, even when it’s hard. I choose love, even when I’ve been hurt. And I choose to lead with hope because I know brighter days are ahead. If we just hold out long enough I truly think we can recuperate our beloved community.

Let’s bring back the magic. Let’s embody PLUR, with trust and accountability at its core. Only together as a united front, we can reclaim the heart of dance music.

With so much PLUR (and Accountability), 

Stacy, the Ghost in the Machine


If you’re feeling trapped, overwhelmed, or unsure how to set boundaries, help is just a call away.

Contact Co-Dependents Anonymous (CoDA):

Take the first step toward healing, self-discovery, and healthier relationships. We all deserve it.

Stacy Morrow