Camp Bisco

Camp Bisco

By Rockin’ Ray Rollenback

Dawn broke on an early August Thursday to reveal bunches of gear-stuffed cars in the Indian Lookout ‘holding pen’ field. As the sun rose, people ambled out of their cars toward the ticketing tent to see if they could get in yet. Once search staff and campground security and event ticketers were in place, these bleary, eager overnighters got their wristbands and headed inside as another weekend concert got underway. Camp Bisco, an event in its sixth year of existence and its first at this fabled venue, had begun.

Camp Bisco was born as a party for the band Disco Biscuits and their loyal fans. It has grown into an event drawing thousands. For various reasons, they have had to move to new locations each year. Leading up to this year’s show, the promoters, a young crew of organizers known as Meatcamp, made no bones about their hopes: to establish a home the event could come back to year after year. The word was sent out to the fans: respect the venue and staff with that goal in mind, and we’ll have a home for the future.

Arriving revelers were greeted with a letter from ‘The Management’ that reached out across the sub-cultural divide with a sincere welcome: “We’d like to officially welcome Camp Bisco to its new home,” read the printout, “We understand that the band and their followers have had difficulties in finding a venue that will accept their unique music and fan base more than one time. We bikers have also had that all-too-familiar experience of being looked at with fear and suspicion by non-bikers. In fact, we share much common ground with the music scene. Bikers can rock, too. And we both share the desire for freedom to live life our way.” Many had already seen the message on the internet, along with Meatcamp’s encouragements. The message ended: “We look forward to getting to know you.”

Despite rains earlier in the week, the land had dried well by the time a steady stream of license plates from a wide variety of states flowed through the gates, building steadily. Music came on from the huge stage erected in Lower Campgrounds, and the first dancers wiggled and spun before the massive speaker towers. The show was officially on, with a wide array of what might broadly be called ‘dance music’ – dozens of acts featuring plenty of looped beats, electronic accents and trance-inducing, bass-heavy grooves, plus the occasional singer or rapper. This was new sonic fodder for these parts. Weeks of anticipation eased into smooth lines of entry, bustling campgrounds, and ever-present music, usually with bodies dancing nearby and glowing things shaking all over.

From early on any remaining anxieties on either ‘side’ of the venue/attendee equation seemed to melt away amid genuine respect. Several security staffers noted the politeness of the majority of guests, perhaps even bored by the good behavior of most. Waits on the search line rarely exceeded an hour despite a healthy flow coming in from the road. In the ‘Information Age’ it seemed that most had gotten the message and read up on the rules, and acted (and packed) accordingly. For the event’s first time at Indian Lookout, the smoothness of it all was almost shocking, though nobody seemed to be complaining. By nightfall on the first day, it was apparent that this would be the tone for the weekend.

With a bill of dozens of acts alternating between the main stage and the Camp Creek stage, the weekend proceeded apace. Only Mother Nature raised any real ruckus, bringing a quick but savage storm on Friday night that mangled many canopies, hosed down more than a few bodies as they ran for shelter, and sent several unstaked tents sailing. One perplexed fan wandered hundreds of yards from his campsite asking if anyone had seen a blue tent go by. Night temperatures dropped to autumn levels as staff went watched for potential hypothermia among the often barely-dressed legions of partiers. The music paused only briefly for the weather before the production crew got the sound back up, and many stayed warm by dancing.

Dawn broke on Sunday over campgrounds full of tired but happy Bisco campers who awoke (or stayed up all night) to start packing for the trek home. The music had ended Saturday night with an epic Disco Biscuits set that seemed to proclaim the whole weekend a triumph. A staff member compared the blissful look on many of the tired faces to the “morning after” glow from good sex. After re-stuffing cars, regrouping passengers and pointing wheels toward the road, more than a few shouted their goodbyes with hope and confidence as they exited: “See you next year!”

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