Majed's Worst DJ Debut Nightmare Turned Into a Career-Launching Festival Breakout

Majed’s transition from social media star to festival DJ began with a USB drive that decided to quit the moment he took the stage, proving that sometimes your worst nightmare becomes your origin story.

With 14 million followers across TikTok and Instagram, the popular content creator is now pursuing a career as a DJ and electronic music producer. His pivot reads like a particularly anxiety-inducing episode of The Bear, complete with technical disasters and existential dread.

After weeks preparing for his first-ever festival performance, a DJ set at ILLfest in Austin, the “Live Music Capital of the World,” a USB malfunction transformed his carefully curated set into confetti—not the fun kind. The situation recalls every nightmare scenario where technology betrays you at the worst possible instant.

“All I wanted was to literally get up, go back to my hotel room, crawl into a hole and never do this ever again,” Majed said of the moment he realized both his USB and backup drive were corrupted. “It was actually traumatizing. It was really bad.”

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Majed, however, managed to flip the script of this DJ disaster story, a tale as old as time. While he mentally composed his retirement speech, festival-goers flocked to his stage in droves.

Using whatever random tracks that happened to remain on his thumb drive, Majed winged it and ultimately drew the stage’s biggest crowd of the weekend, his publicity team tells us. ILLfest’s organizers took notice, extending a mainstage invitation for next year.

He’s proof that sometimes our best performances emerge from our worst fears. There’s something poetic about succeeding precisely when you’re convinced you’ve failed spectacularly.

We caught up with Majed about his experience at ILLfest and his foray into the electronic music scene.

EDM.com: Your journey from learning to DJ to playing a festival stage is remarkably fast. What’s been the hardest part of the pivot?

Majed: Honestly? Learning to trust myself. I built this massive world online where I control everything—angles, cuts, captions. But standing in front of real people, it’s raw. There’s no “retry.” That shift from curating moments to living them live… it broke my brain at first. But it also reminded me I’m a performer, not just a creator.

EDM.com: Many content creators and influencers who transition to music hit a credibility wall. What’s the specific moment you realized you’d broken through from “TikTok guy making music” to “artist who happens to use TikTok”?

Majed: It was after my first remix dropped. A bunch of DJs started hitting me up asking for stems—real DJs, not TikTokers. I saw videos of people playing my song in different countries, and none of them tagged me for clout—they were just playing it because they liked the track. That’s when I knew: I wasn’t just being watched. I was being heard.

EDM.com: The music industry is increasingly fragmented, with artists needing to be creators, marketers and performers all at once. How do you prioritize these roles, and what’s one unexpected skill from your content creation days that’s given you an edge as a DJ and producer?

Majed: I’m a story architect. Whether it’s a video or a set, I know how to build tension, when to drop, how to leave people wanting more. TikTok taught me that—you have seconds to earn someone’s trust. I use that instinct now to structure sets, to design music that moves. I don’t separate the roles anymore. Everything’s the stor —I’m just switching mediums.

EDM.com: You’ve mastered TikTok’s feedback loops, but now that you’re creating original music, how do you balance what you know will perform well on social media versus what you actually want to say as an artist?

Majed: It’s a war. Some days I want to scream into the void and make nine-minute emotional opuses with zero drums. Other days, I’m like, “Yo… this drop would smack on Reels.” The balance comes from asking one question: Does this feel like me, or just the algorithm version of me? If the answer is “just the algorithm,” I either push it or pivot.

EDM.com: Take us through your mind ahead of ILLfest, your first-ever festival set.

Majed: I thought no one would come. I kept saying that to myself. I even texted my team like, “Let’s just be ready for an empty field.” That fear wasn’t about numbers—it was about being seen for me, not the edited version. But I showed up anyway. The USB crashed. The set glitched. And somehow, it became the most powerful hour of my life.

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EDM.com: You’ve been open about your fears of bombing at ILLfest, yet you drew the biggest crowd at your stage. How has that emotional rollercoaster shaped your confidence as a performer, and what’s one vulnerability you’re still grappling with as you prepare for next year’s mainstage?

Majed: That night rewired something in me. I didn’t win because the set was flawless—I won because I stayed. I kept going. I smiled through the pain. That showed me I have presence, not just followers. But I still struggle with believing I “deserve” the big moments. That little voice saying, “You’re just the guy who reacts to stuff.” I’m working on silencing it.

EDM.com: Thinking back on your experience at ILLfest, what did you learn about the differences between crafting a story online versus curating an arc for a live crowd?

Majed: Online, the story is built in cuts—it’s hyper-fast, attention-hacking, twist-ending energy. Live is slower. It’s breath and pacing and silence. I learned you can’t just go viral on stage—you have to connect. It’s not about being “louder”—it’s about being more human. That’s been the biggest lesson: connection always wins.

EDM.com: As you move into this new era, how do you define success for yourself beyond streams and festival bookings? Is there a specific artistic or personal milestone you’re chasing that might surprise your fans?

Majed: I want to build a world where every misfit feels like they belong. Sonically, visually, emotionally. I want to create a show where you walk in and say, “I didn’t know electronic music could feel like this.” Success isn’t numbers. It’s resonance. If one kid cries in the crowd because they finally feel understood, that’s everything.