A contentious EXIT: The last dance of Serbia's biggest music festival

There’s a full moon for the opening night of EXIT Festival 2025, and instead of the usual fireworks, it kicks off with silence. All 70,000 attendees in the Petrovaradin Fortress in Novi Sad, Serbia, stand with their phone lights on, heads bowed, in near-perfect silence for a full 16 minutes. Couples hug one another, tears glisten in the corners of eyes, grief hangs thick in the air. It’s not what you might expect from the final edition of the country’s most celebrated music festival. 

But this year’s EXIT is different, Serbia is in crisis. In November 2024, a roof collapsed at Novi Sad’s nearby rail station, killing 16 people and sparking nationwide protests. The station was supposedly newly refurbished, and in July the president declared it safe and open to the public. The rebellion is led by the country’s students, decrying President Aleksandar Vučić's corrupt government and demanding accountability.  The country’s been swept back into revolution mode, with a scale of protest not seen since the Yugoslav war — the very same protests that birthed EXIT Festival back in 2000. 

EXIT is Serbia’s largest cultural institution. It originated from a pro-democracy student-led protest movement against the Slobodan Milošević regime in the summer of 2000. What began as a 100 day sit-in has since grown to become one of the most iconic and celebrated music festivals in the world. “The UK has Glastonbury, we have EXIT,” a bucket-hatted punter says while dancing to Amelie Lens on Thursday night.

EXIT put Serbia on the global cultural map. The Prodigy have played EXIT six times and Serbia nine. Solomun’s 6:AM sets have become legendary. Indira Paganotto describes it as her temple, and Paula Temple says EXIT 2002 was the best gig of her life. The festival jetted The Cure, Martin Garrix, Faithless, and New Order into the country for their Serbia debuts, and it’s served as the training ground for local talent, too. Every year they book scores of new Serbian artists to play their first shows. Tijana T’s played just about every EXIT, including this one, and the EXIT Echosystem platform supports and promotes emerging Serbian talent, launching the careers of Space Motion, Innēr Sense, Lanna, Ece Ekren, and many more.

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When EXIT began in 2000, the country was under such strict sanctions due to the Yugoslav war that no one could go in or out. Serbians couldn’t see the world, so EXIT brought the world to Serbia. It attracted global attention immediately. Ravers were curious to learn more about the country and inclined to support a festival rooted in protest and democracy in the midst of a brutal war.

But a lot has changed since those early, DIY days. Now it’s sponsored up to its eyeballs. Revellers lounge around on Heineken branded beanbags, techno pounds out a Coca-Cola stage, and a long line of teenagers wait to spin a wheel to win free make-up. There are VIP areas galore, and every few meters Johnnie Walker reminds you to Keep Walkin’.

Protesters have obstructed the road to get into EXIT, so all attendees must walk over a bridge covered in banners and full of people handing out flyers. One reads “While you enjoy the music, students are blocking universities in protest. We are standing up against 13 years of corruption, injustice, and violence under the ruling SNS regime.”

Protesters are angry that EXIT didn’t speak up for the students until two months after the protests erupted. The reason for the delay soon became clear; when EXIT did publicly align itself with the student protests, the government promptly withdrew all funding and asked its sponsors to follow suit, forcing EXIT to announce its withdrawal from Serbia, with plans to relocate to the pyramids in Egypt. On top of that, just one month before the festival opened its gates, the co-founder and CEO Dušan Kovačević’s beloved wife Ivana passed away, leaving behind three young children.

“One of the things the government did in the last eight months is sew division in the student movement,” Dušan tells Mixmag. "There were attempts to paint EXIT in a bad way and put students and EXIT on opposite sides, but their attempts failed. If the front is divided it’s easier for them to win, but we stand with the students and the students stand with us. That’s all that matters.”

The protesters outside don’t seem to agree. A protester called Milos, who holds a sticker that translates to 'EXIT can go to fuckville’, says: “We’re trying to raise awareness that we’re actually struggling while the party is going on. The country is fighting against a tyrant who is ruining our country.”

“The foreign media is not covering any of this,” says fellow protester Tanja. “Horrible things are happening here and nobody knows, not even in Serbia, because the media is manipulated by the government, so this is how we raise awareness.”

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Milos and Tanja are furious that EXIT didn’t stand with the students as soon as the protests broke out. “EXIT Festival started with a student revolution 25 years ago,” Milos says. “But it took them two months to support these protests. They didn’t stand with the students, they were neutral. That’s why we’re here, letting them know that we disrespect them as they disrespect us.” Dušan has refuted this, saying "EXIT has publicly supported the students from the beginning of the protests in multiple ways".

Vanja Manic-Matic is a Serbian artist and university lecturer who’s performed at EXIT Festival every year since its inception. She was at the sit-in in 2000, protesting alongside the founders to overthrow Slobodan Milošević’ government. 

“This is the real EXIT,” she says gesturing to the protest. “This is the first time I haven’t crossed the road into EXIT. I’m here with my students as a professor, as a citizen. We’re living in a war against corruption. We want new elections, to change the system. I think that EXIT should leave Serbia. It’s like evolution. This protest is the real EXIT Festival, and the students are preparing something new, something fresh.”

Although this protest is calm, many others have been met with unspeakable violence. Protesters are being beaten, dragged into prison and held without trial. Last month, a young female student was surrounded by police while putting posters up and beaten so badly her jaw broke in three places. Illegal ultrasonic weapons are allegedly being used to disperse peaceful protests.

In Serbia, supposedly safe infrastructure regularly collapses and injures people. Resources are scarce and barely work, and if you want public health services like an MRI scan you need to know someone in the government to get it. The weekend of EXIT, wildfires rage in the South, homes burnt to the ground despite residents begging authorities to send firetrucks. Two weeks ago, the president opened a tunnel highway that even the construction company warned the public not to use because it’s so unsafe.

Despite the high stakes, the protest outside EXIT has a carnival energy to it. People stand around in groups, breaking into chants and dancing every now and again. Everybody is smiling, and a man in a hi-vis vest organises a relay race for parents and their kids. Two young girls sell lemonade on a bench. There’s a sense of camaraderie in the air; of purpose and defiance, but that energy is mostly lost once you enter EXIT. The only place it feels present is at a newly introduced Free Students stage, which rarely has over 50 people in it. 

Throughout the weekend, the organisers take steps that make it clear they stand by their original values, but the mood at the event feels diluted and confused, not steadfast and resolute like the protests outside.

The festival is full of moments of support for the students. After the 16 minutes of silence on Thursday evening, Gala performs her 1997 Eurodance anthem ‘Freed From Desire.’ Serbian students from the protest movement dance on the stage behind, while the entire audience sings “My love has got no money, he’s got his strong beliefs” in euphoric, pogo stick unison. This isn’t just a club banger; the track has become the rallying cry for Serbia’s revolution.

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The Prodigy play an electrifying headline set on Friday night. Old friends of the festival, they’ve played ‘Firestarter’, ‘Breathe’, and ‘Invaders Must Die’ many times on the main stage. Maxim, standing statuesque against a backdrop of smoke and slime green lasers, laments that this will be the last. “I’ve played here nine times and I want this time to be the fucking loudest,” he bellows to the crowd. “Is this Serbia or fucking what?”

At that moment, the crowd starts chanting “pumpaj” – which translates to “pump it” in English. It’s the official war cry of the revolution and comes with an arm gesture that even Serbian tennis player Novak Djokovic has started to incorporate into his celebrations.

EXIT’s 2025 line-up is stacked. Tiësto, Eric Prydz, Hot Since 82, I Hate Models, and Bosnian-born Solomun, who was forced to leave his home country as a child due to war. Tens of thousands of locals and internationals descend onto the fortress each night, with around 20 stages tucked into its folds. Some between walls of the moat, others at high points overlooking the River Danube, and a couple hidden away behind trees decked out in fairy lights.

Dušan says organising this year’s edition was  one of the most challenging experiences of his life, but among all this turmoil, EXIT puts on a beautiful show. Tijiana T and DJ Gigola’s B2B at the gargantuan Dance Arena is nothing short of soul-warming, the two friends hugging and laughing as they play sledgehammer techno to a jam-packed stadium. 

Serbian DJ duo Inner Sense plays a powerful set on the same stage, blending tech-house with melodic techno and throwing in a ‘Welcome to London’ remix for the UK visitors.

The Latina stage plays irresistible Latin house, dancehall and reggaeton, while the NSNS stage is best described as a techno vortex, nestled between moat walls to create a sound tunnel that could blow your head clean off. There’s a reggae stage where artists like Deepstoned, Bush Mad Squad and Mak Floss play dub-heavy sets; an Explosive Stage for the punk, hardcore and metal crew; and a silent disco perched on a hilltop. The atmosphere is buoyant, celebratory and good-natured, and apart from the odd young raver being violently sick it seems like everybody’s having a good time. 

Serbia’s Space Motion can’t quite believe that EXIT is leaving Serbia. He grew up in Novi Sad and the festival shaped his artistry. “EXIT means everything to me,” he says before his Dance Arena performance. “I ran away from home in 2003 to see Carl Cox and Green Velvet and got up in time for school.”

But that aforementioned diluted, confused energy comes up on Saturday night. Earlier that day, a group of unidentified men entered the festival site and tried to dismantle the Free Students stage along with a gallery of images of the protest movement. No damage was done, and the stage was reassembled and the posters put back up. 

In response, the entire EXIT team walks on to the main stage on Saturday night with balloons that read “PUMPAJ.” 

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“Because of government funding being cut, because of the opposition, EXIT almost didn’t happen, but because of perseverance, because of sacrifice, because of love, we’re all standing here today, so make some noise for the EXIT team,” the host says to the crowd.

“We cannot let the opposition win, we have to let freedom and love and truth win every single time, so we have to come together and keep this movement going for love,” he continues. “So we’re doing a campaign for you to support. It’s not just for EXIT, it’s because freedom for one person is freedom for everybody. So if you can, you can buy future tickets, buy merchandise, there’s a website up here. This is for the movement to continue.” The website, save.exitfest.org, links to a page where you can donate up to 10,000 Euros to EXIT Festival. But one can’t help but wonder if those donations might be used instead to support the protest movement. 

Later, at the student stage, a DJ called Mîau drops ‘Freed From Desire’ to a gaggle of delighted dancers, followed by a tech-house remix of Danzel’s 2004 track ‘Pump It Up’, another anthem of the protest movement. Backdropped by a red banner reading “FREE STUDENTS NOW”, the atmosphere here feels defiant, the unity palpable, similar to the protest outside.

The weekend holds many beautiful moments; the circle pit generated by Frank Carter during the Sex Pistols’ show; Indira Paganotto giving Dušan a long, heartfelt hug and dedicating the closing track of the festival to his late wife Ivana; Imaginarium’s hard, fast, hypnotic cyber trance set; young couples watching the sun rise over the River Danube soundtracked by Solomun; thousands of people spontaneously breaking into chants of ‘Pumpaj’. 

There’s clearly friction between the festival and the protest movement outside, and there’s no doubt EXIT’s caught between two worlds – its DIY roots, and its success as a business. But the festival has done immeasurable good for Serbia, for its citizens and for its culture. And if it does leave Serbia for good, some of the protesters believe something else, perhaps more closely aligned with the origins of EXIT, will take its place. 

Alice Austin is a freelance writer, follow her on Instagram