An Origin Story That's Old Enough to Have a Drink

Artwork by Reap & Sown. Thanks a million for the inspiration homie.

"I hear the world through the echoes / a song of life through the noise in the crowd..."

There was a time before that folks cannot truly imagine, I'm not even sure if this time existed, to be honest, when the Disco Biscuits weren't the center of my world. The haze surrounding this era is made murkier by the day as time and space expand and leave dusty relics on the doorstep of my mind. It is clear to me that at some point I decided to swing down to New Haven and see a new band to my world called the Disco Biscuits, but what drew me there that night as opposed to myriad other shows and bands is beyond me. Things would never be the same after I stepped through those doors and allowed their music to enter my life. All I know is that the man who walked back out after the show was over had been changed, made anew by something ineffable, something deep and powerful that to this day baffles the uninitiated.

Most folks at this time who chose to seek out new experiences in the jamband music world probably found themselves at the same crossroads as I, Phish had just played their "final shows" in California just over a month prior, and needed a new outlet for the urge to pummel one's senses with improvisational risk and reward. Yet, everything I had witnessed over the past few years failed to grab my psyche by the horns the way the music of Phish (and before that The Grateful Dead) had done. Sure, there was fun to be had, and great music to be heard, but I longed for something to envelope me, to cause distress at the mere thought of missing a single note on the road in some Randomtown, USA setting. I was only 22 years old and wanted to see the world on the rationalized back of a tour the way others had been able to over the years with Jerry or the four guys from Vermont. So, I figured the excitement I felt at hearing the miraculous highs of the studio version of the song 'Aceetobee' was enough to fork over barely a trip to Taco Bell's cost in hopes of finding that new obsession. Friends that I would spend the rest of my life debating the quality and quantity of the band's music were in tow and none of us could have imagined what this chilly night in November would bring.

Did they mention Pantera? What is happening, how would these strangers joke about a band I loved in my youth randomly from the stage? The air became thicker around me and an uneasiness took hold of my chest, an anxious excitement I would come to crave in the future worked its way around my internal organs as the lilting piano and guitar lines of 'The Very Moon' danced and swayed above and bottomless pit dark to the point of oblivion. Was I safe here? The days of giggling mandolin riffs and smiling solos were in the past, now a sly, cunning art form muscled its way to my ears and wouldn't let go, regardless of my doubt I was already changed, already swallowed by that which we call Bisco. Unbeknownst to me, my mind had already changed plans for NYE that upcoming December 31st, my ego and I would be in Worcester with this band and these other souls being strung out to dry; although my ego wouldn't make it out alive - but that's a story for another time.

A primal scream came bellowing from the stage and although I had never heard it before I yelled back from the bottom of my heels a yelp I found my voice yet somehow not mine. Was that one song? I don't understand the things I am hearing; questioning my own reality and we haven't even been here...wait, how long had it been?

Before I knew it the floor felt as though it had crumbled below my feet and I had to pick and choose where I stepped for fear of losing myself to a fate I couldn't understand, this wasn't music anymore, this was a journey one would have to survive to retell and I wasn't sure I would make it. The echoes of the performance rattled around in my soul, replacing older likes and dislikes, and pushing me to dig deeper into a true understanding of what I was looking for concerning my entertainment and enjoyment. 'Voices' morphed into 'Humu" and I was transported to another time and place, barely able to comprehend the juxtaposition of the rock band visions on the stage and the rave-like music in my ears, there was no escape - only surrender.

As the segment closed I tried to catch my breath but I was bombarded with questions of how I knew the people I had been seeing in my peripheral and where I had seen them before; how did they know I was questioning this very idea? My thoughts were no longer my own and privy to dissemination across the crowded room. Who was "Bill from VT?" [RIP Bill Faas] Why did he have a song being played for him - wait, it isn't being played? I can hear it, can't I? Things have spiraled out of control and the demonic smile plastered across my face felt not of my own accord, but forced upon me by the realization of my future-crazed dedication. This was my life now; I had ventured into a world that wouldn't let me walk away, but envelope me. And just like that, the band was going to take a break, how could I be held responsible for whatever came next as I had lost the ability to form statements explaining what I had just witnessed?

Any hopes of normalcy were dashed to bits by the cacophonous guitar of 'Helicopters." Even the band was warning us now that the ground was no longer a safe place to stand. Where had my footing on reality gone and how was I to grab it back? The sounds emanating from the speakers haunt my dreams to this day, hellish soundscapes layered over gargantuan bass lines and a bass drum I thought sure to crack my sternum open to splay my insides around for all to see. This song sounds familiar, that primal scream from earlier in the evening seemed to fit in my mind where the improvisation was leading until it became something else. I garnered some 'Hope' that things might calm down around me for a moment, but once again the levels of anticipation and joy and madness built and wrestled my psyche to the ceiling, I was left to the mercy of the band and there was no chance of anything but surrender.

A breather was cut short but pummeling slaps of bass across my ears, more mythological characters questioned and transposed to my mind - where were these legends to be seen, how had they been stored away from me for so long and was I ever to rid myself of their story? Childhood memories flooded my grey matter as the old television show 'Get Smart' was catapulted into view - somebody save us. Ancient tales of dragons and the men who might slay them left me grasping for anything real to hold. It was no use, even with the lights on and the venue's security throwing us all one last bit of inadequate repose the band shredded our remaining cellular deposits; we were unabashed followers of a band of those from Philadelphia, forever called to mount a charge on unsuspecting towns and cities across the country and around the world.

Some of the other souls in attendance that very evening became lifelong friends. Even if they aren't fortunate enough to have made it this far, they will always share a place in my mind and heart. Some that weren't there would still become unreplaceable fixtures in my life, maybe it was all predetermined by outside forces. I know I was changed. I was different. I would always feel the need; the calling to follow this music to extreme and exotic locals and it didn't bother me one bit. I would always love this band, sorry if you don't. I was Biscuits for life.