Behind the Lens – Island Time Music Fest

Three Days, Five Venues, Countless Moments – Capturing the Heartbeat of a Festival with Purpose

There’s something about February on Isla that feels different. The air still carries that off-season calm, but there’s a slow build — a current — a feeling that something big is coming. If you know, you know.

For me, it hits the moment I start charging batteries and clearing SD cards. That pre-show electricity that hums just beneath the surface. Because when the Island Time Music Festival rolls into town, this quiet little island turns into something else entirely.

This was my second year covering the festival with Shivermedia. I signed on again to shoot video, snap photos, and manage social media for the festival — posting live, capturing energy, and sharing moments in real time while also preserving them for what comes after. Sounds simple. But behind the scenes, it’s a full-on sprint.

The Build-Up Begins Long Before the Music

Before a single note gets played, there’s a small crew working stateside, making sure the whole thing can even happen. Shellee (the champion of the festival), Skip, and Taylor — they’re the heartbeat of the production team. Every flight booked, every artist wrangled, every wristband counted, every fundraiser coordinated — it’s them. They’re not just event organizers; they’re miracle workers with day jobs, pulling this all together out of pure passion and a deep love for both this island and the cause that drives it.

What most people don’t see is how much happens before anyone ever steps on a plane. It’s weeks, sometimes months, of coordination. Of spreadsheets, shipping snafus, phone calls, and last-minute pivots. And they do it not for glory, but for something much bigger.

What We’re Really Here For: The Little Yellow Schoolhouse

This isn’t just a music festival. Island Time exists to support the Little Yellow Schoolhouse — a nonprofit here on Isla Mujeres that provides education and therapy for children with disabilities. It’s a special place. Quiet, powerful, and deeply loved by the community. And it’s the reason artists fly in, volunteers sign up, and venues open their doors.

When you walk through the school’s gates, it’s impossible not to feel it. The walls are painted bright, the classrooms are small, and the work being done inside is life-changing. Therapists, teachers, and staff stretch limited resources as far as they can — but the need is always greater. That’s where the festival comes in.

And this year, when a few of the artists visited the school and played for the kids? That was it. That was the moment. The kids danced, clapped, beamed. Pure joy. No stage, no ego, just a shared moment. A reminder that the music matters, but the mission matters more.

5 Venues. 3 Days. One Island-Wide Pulse.

This year’s lineup spanned five unique venues across Isla Mujeres: el Borracho Burro Cantina, Hacienda Caribe, Tiny Gecko, KinHa, and Zama Beach Club — each one adding its own personality to the experience.

el Borracho Burro Cantina is like the island’s version of Cheers — tucked into the jungle with an open-air bandshell and daily good vibes. It’s welcoming, relaxed, and absolutely alive when the music kicks in. The kind of place where the bass feels grounded in the dirt and every face feels familiar.

Tiny Gecko kicked things off with a proper launch — a street party with the stage on the street outside the venue the crowd danced spilling over to the malecon. Artists and attendees moved together like one current, music echoing off the buildings, people dancing wherever they could find space. That night set the tone: loose, loud, and completely in the moment.

Hacienda Caribe brought a slower, breezier rhythm — a pool party set against a Caribbean backdrop, casual and intimate, with DeNuccio’s providing food for the VIPs and that unmistakable ocean breeze rolling through the space. It felt like a secret spot you were lucky to be invited to.

KinHa turned into an all-day beach club jam. With plenty of space, solid food, and room to lounge, dance, or float, the energy rolled from midday sun into golden hour without missing a beat. You could feel the music without ever leaving your chair — or dive into it headfirst.

And finally, Zama Beach Club closed it all down. The last night of the festival, under a velvet sky, the big stage glowing, the sea just steps away. You could feel the whole crowd exhale as the final notes rang out — a kind of joyful exhaustion wrapped in gratitude and salt air.

The Nashville Vibe, Isla Style

There’s a soul to this festival that goes deeper than the palm trees and the playlists. It’s the Nashville thread — that raw, heartfelt, unpolished realness that runs through every set, every lyric, every busted string. And this year, the lineup brought it hard.

Clayton Anderson, Runaway June, Izzy Malek, Jimmie’s Chicken Shack, Tenille Arts, Filmore, Tera Lynne Fister, Jon Stone, Love & Theft, Logan Mize, Nakessa, Maggie Rose, Emily West, Trent Tomlinson, and Leah Turner — each one showed up, not just to perform, but to give. They volunteered their time, brought their gear, their grit, and put on a helluva show at every stop.

Some are familiar faces — the ones who come back year after year because they believe in what this festival stands for. Others were new to Isla, wide-eyed and maybe a little unsure, until the crowd wrapped around them and they found their groove in the sea air. By the end, they were family too.

This isn’t a commercial gig. There’s no red carpet, no massive rider. Just island vibes, barefoot stages, and an audience that’s close enough to touch the sound. That’s what makes it work. That’s why they keep coming back. And why we’ll keep showing up, year after year, to hear them play.

Working the Festival: Behind the Scenes, Behind the Phone, Behind the Lens

My role is a strange mix of autonomy and immersion. I’m not front and center, but I’m everywhere — moving fast, posting live when possible, catching the right angles while staying invisible enough not to interrupt the moment. There’s no one directing. No headset or checklist. Just the camera, a content plan, and the instinct to capture what feels true.

There’s no tent, no media lounge, no production trailer. It’s just me, my gear, my instincts, and a deep sense of responsibility to do this justice. Sometimes it meant filming while pressed up against a speaker stack. Other times, crouching behind tables or halfway into tree beds just to stay out of sight and get the shot. Water bottles left behind. Sweat dripping. Airdropping clips between devices while uploading content from shady corners of courtyards with barely-there WiFi.

This kind of work doesn’t come with applause — it’s not meant to. It comes with presence. With trusting yourself to show up fully, work independently, and let the story tell itself.

You learn to work fast. To stay loose. To find beauty in imperfection. You miss meals, miss the show while you’re shooting it, and miss sleep reviewing the days content, cleaning thecardsand setting up for the next days venue.

You don’t miss the meaning. You feel it, even when you’re exhausted.

The Volunteer Force That Keeps the Wheels Turning

If you’ve ever wondered how a festival like this actually holds together — with artists moving between venues, volunteers showing up in the right place, credentials getting checked, people getting fed, and content going up close to live — the answer, in two words, is Laura and Karen.

They coordinate the volunteer team here on the island. From organizing passes to assigning shifts, making sure artists get where they need to be, and even getting me better internet mid-show so I could keep posting in real time — they don’t stop. They’re in constant motion, solving problems before most people even notice there is one.

And the wild part? They make it look easy.

But what really makes it work — what makes the volunteer crew such a solid force — is the relationships Laura and Karen have built on this island. People show up for them. Again and again. Because they’ve earned that trust. That respect. That kind of leadership isn’t loud — it’s rooted. It’s consistent. It starts long before opening night and doesn’t end until everything’s packed up and done.

This festival doesn’t run on luck. It runs on people like them.

What the Camera Caught — and What It Didn’t

The reels you’ve seen? The highlight videos? Those are just a fraction of it. What they don’t show is the downtime between sets, when artists laugh and share stories. Or the quiet way someone hands over a donation envelope without needing recognition. Or the family who comes every night, dancing at the edge of the crowd just to be close to it all.

You don’t always film those moments. Sometimes they’re meant to be felt, not posted.

The Real Work Happens After the Applause

After the last song fades, that’s when my work really begins. The island sleeps, but I’m sorting through thousands of photos and clips, logging files, organizing timelines, and building something that reflects the truth of what just happened. It’s not just about the perfect shot. It’s about the rhythm — the story — the thread that ties it all together.

I sit in my studio, sandy gear still unpacked, editing until my fingers go numb. Because this deserves care. This deserves attention. This isn’t content. It’s community.

Why I’ll Keep Coming Back

Every year, I wonder if I’ll be able to keep up with the pace. If the tech will cooperate. If the shots will land. If the stories will be told right. But every year, the people remind me why I show up.

This is the kind of work I want to be doing. It’s not about followers or reach or polish. It’s about heart. About capturing something real — something that helps support kids, connect artists, and keep a beautiful tradition alive on this little stretch of sand.

And to the crew, Much appreciation @cisnesFotografica

I live here. This is home. And being able to document something this real, this good, right here where I swim every morning and work every day — that’s not lost on me.

I’ll keep showing up. Camera in hand. Still sweaty. Still grateful.

Still telling the stories that matter.

⸻

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