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[this weekend] I'm going to Camp Bisco (again) and I'm going to live tweet my demise (again)

CAMP BISCO is truly one of a kind. I mean sure, you can no longer take 10 steps from your front door without bumping into an EDM festival. And jam band festivals have existed since the beginning of time (lest you forget, the inaugural Bonnaroo featured Widespread Panic and Phish's Trey Anastasio as headliners). But where Camp differs is in its ability to stabilize the rave/crunch meter, never teetering too far into the red on either margin.

Given the extreme polarizing nature of both realms, it's likely that your musical tastes don't exist anywhere along this muddled spectrum and Camp probably isn't for you. Not gonna lie.

But while a cursory glance at the lineup reveals a number of immediately familiar names -- with SKRILLEX and BASSNECTAR amongst the acts most likely to draw your clichéd dubsteppers, and the DISCO BISCUITS, earning top billing and six sets of music at their own festival, representative of the improvisational types -- like I said before, Camp's real charm exists within its diverse bookings.

Nearly every genre ever associated with a beat is represented here. There's the unrelenting no prisoners techno of SIMIAN MOBILE DISCO, evolved a far cry from their "Hustler" days. The glitchy mania of AMON TOBIN (now with 2000% more shattering LED cubes). And a pair of forward motion DJ sets from FALTY DL and BONOBO, both championing a downward driving blend of dub, house, and techno that exists on the cusp of everything that's right about electronic music today.

Even hip-hop is given a fair rub: From BIG BOI's galaxy-skipping dexterity to the disjointed introversion of ATMOSPHERE to the gasping-for-breath bombardment of relative newcomer MR. MUTHAFUCKIN' EXQUIRE.

All worthy of coverage, which I intend on providing via an unconscious stream of live tweets (available through a follow @Michael_C_Walsh) and a more concise, coherent wrap upon my return early next week.

Oh yeah, and there's also the abject fuckery afforded by mashing 25,000 drooling rave kids and incoherent hippies into an upstate-NY campground where order is maintained by a gang of unrepenting bikers. That's always fun.

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