Having never been to Camp Bisco before, I was not quite sure of what to expect. Yes, of course I sort of knew what to expect from the typical three day music festival experience—copious amounts of drugs, shirtless hippies, acres of makeshift tent communities, probably a bit of mud…oh, and maybe some music now and again. But over the last eleven years, Camp Bisco has built itself a reputation of being “the largest, most drug-crazed electronic music festival on the East Coast” according to the crotchety but well-spoken Brian McManus of the Philadelphia Weekly. While I found Brian’s description to be mostly in line with my own observations, the three-day, 15,000 person music festival of the now-famed Mariaville, NY left me pleasantly surprised and rearing for next year’s camp.

After slowly snaking our way down country roads to the festival gates, my fellow reporters and I were pleased see the party had already started. The massive field of cars waiting to be inspected didn’t seem to mind the five hour wait (yes, seriously) to be let through to the campsites. Bisco-attendees happily tossed Frisbees over their vans and guzzled alcohol with their feet dangling from their open doors as the surprisingly gracious Hell’s Angels working security rifled through backpacks and coolers in search of nitrous tanks, pocketknives and glass containers, the latter of which they were kind enough to let rule breakers pour into whatever plastic containers were available.

Unfortunately, this tedious process (no joke…at least five hours) meant that a number of potentially great bands stuck in early slots had smaller turnouts than they could/should have had. I was looking forward to seeing Rubblebucket—a wonderful Boston band who I’ve had the pleasure of seeing perform previously—among others. Lesson learned: show up early and make sure you have at least enough gas to last your vehicle through all that idling.

Once camp was hastily set up, we rushed to check out our first show of the night, Pretty Lights. The Main Stage and the 2nd Stage were right next to each other and, according to the tight schedule, the plan was to keep the music rolling as continually as possible, bouncing back and forth from the 2nd Stage on the left to the Main Stage on the right, with one side setting up while the other entertained. As per usual, Pretty Lights put on a solid performance, which acted as a lively lead-up to LCD Soundsystem.

A huge crowd welcomed James Murphy & co. to Bisco in front-row-crushing style as his incredible vibrato echoed across the Indian Country Club grounds. His live band reproduced his studioworkings rather fashionably, albeit at a bit slower tempo than personally desired. The seemingly tired Murphy gave it his all, pulling out plenty of newer tunes, most notably “I Can Change” and “Drunk Girls,” as well as obvious picks like “Daft Punk is Playing at My House.” But Murphy is getting old and he knows it reportedly suffered from a severe stomach virus during his set. One would think he played “Losing My Edge” almost in spite of himself, he changed lyrics here and there as if to make them more relevant.

As the night wore on, I met up with friends scattered around their respective campsites and got lost trying to find my way back to my own tent before ultimately abandoning my futile quest to head over to the Dance Tent. Letting my ears guide me toward the grumbling boom of bass, I followed my fellow wanderers toward the source of the ubiquitous noise. The Dance Tent exploded with lights and movement as I approached ; apparently, Two Fresh had just begun to layer the chorus of Rupert Holmes' "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" over an up-tempo beat. Shortly thereafter, Holy Fuck played a particularly high-energy set that drove the crowd into one of the wildest frenzies that I have ever born witness to. Late-night ragers formed circles and danced holding hands, familiarizing themselves with Holy Fuck’s unique brand of Toronto groove.

Sometime around 4 a.m., I tiredly staggered back to the campgrounds to yet again search for my campsite. With one day down and two days of what was sure to be the most energetic festival I’d ever experienced left, I knew I was going to need a couple hours of rest.

Photography by Derek Duoba