#3 INDIAN LOOKOUT

By J.J. Colagrande

Bisco was beautiful. And not just physical beauty–rolling green hills, a wide open blue sky–it totally looked amazing at night–yeah, all of that, but the people were dope. And not dope in like a nodding-out, brain-dead kind of dope, but dope as in conscious and kind and young and vibrant and ready-to-rage Upstate NY summertime Northeast dope. My kind-of-dope, not Deer Creek needle kind-of-dope—poor Thelonious. I just had lunch with Lee the other day. We we’re talking about Thelonious. Everything got all fucked up with Hurricane Clout. Lee and the rest of the boys were freaking out. They were supposed to play Camp Bisco this year–Lee told me it was a last minute gig–like Thelonious didn’t even know about it–the gig came in while he snuck away to Oracledang. Can you believe that? Their manager scored them a gig at the Silent Disco, but instead Eclectic Method took the spot. Hurricane Clout couldn’t go on without Thelonious, not anytime soon. I asked Lee if he wanted to come up to Camp anyway, but he totally passed. I wished Lee the best, I mean they’re all a little lost right now–but in some ways I guess we’re all a little lost–like that skateboard company’s name–maybe we’re just another lost generation, huh? But I didn’t feel lost–to tell you the truth–I felt found. I was at the hottest music festival of the summer, as a freaking music journalist. After checking in for a press pass, I set up my tent easily enough. My neighbors helped me, some dudes from Ithaca. They were probably the most local cats on the mountain. I didn’t see many New York license plates, on the contrary. 

Every car seemed like they arrived from an epic journey, all disheveled and stickered up.  It was amazing how many cars were plastered in stickers. It gave the setting a unique vibe. All these peeps from all over the country gathered in one place, in the middle of nowhere–it was a world of our own. I felt totally stoked. This was my first country music festival and I could already tell it would be better than one in a  city.  I parked close to the VIP and Artist entrance because it’d be simple to get out, and also easy for Keith to find me. It lay literally right by the entrance. You couldn’t miss it. I tried to call him, but his phone went directly to voicemail. I left a message telling him where I set up. It should’ve been easy to find to me. Should’ve been. Whatever. It wasn’t the end of the world. I had a festival to explore.

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CLICK HERE TO READ INSTALLMENT #4 BABIES WITH PACIFERS

KEITH’S SECRET E-MAIL TO SKY TYLER