The dusty brick walls leading to the entrance of Nashville’s Cannery Ballroom cough with muffled panic as the four obtuse extremities of the beefy bar bouncer form a stage door palisade.

He smells trouble.

Polychromatic strobe lights flash brief greetings through slight windows of excess, as the bouncer scans the audience for the source of the commotion.

“At least let me get my coat man!” a squinting gentleman screams, moving toward the manned gate. The bouncer relaxes his stance, and inches towards the lone rabble.

“You were caught smoking, you can’t come into the show,” responds the bouncer. The gentleman feigns indignation as he bends to look into the bouncer’s deep-set eyes.

Positioning both hands on the gentleman’s shoulders the bouncer levels his voice: “Just leave, I can’t let you into the show.” The gentleman’s crimson face dries pallid as he exits the building crying out: “This is a Disco Biscuits concert for God’s sake!”

Folding his arms, the smarting bouncer resumes checking tickets. He knows that in camp Bisco, someone has to be an adult.

The Disco Biscuits began as a University of Pennsylvania college band, and after thirteen years of playing and two band member shuffles the group is now comprised of Jon Gutwillig, Marc Brownstein, Allen Aucoin, and Aron Magner.

Their longevity distances The Disco Biscuits from their cohorts.

“It’s easy to categorize them as a jam band, but I feel like they’re an epic jam band,” Jay Spawn, a satisfied customer of the Disco Biscuits live experience said.

Using an array of digital apple branded samples, distorted song structure and loose jam invention, the band immerses every song into a dialectic experience.

Spawn isn’t alone when he says: “I’ll be completely honest. I don’t know the names of the songs.”

The band uses a “dyslexic” performance which inverts, subverts, and distorts the original structure of the songs, making it difficult for all but the most dedicated Disco Biscuits fan to accurately recognize individual tracks.

Undeterred, the Disco faithful fans pour into large venues to experience the organic furry of on stage invention that they are known for.

“The live touring is slamming right now,” says Brownstein. “Not everybody, but our touring business is slamming. Every show is healthy, three times as many people as we’ve done ever before in certain cities.”

The Disco Biscuits are primed to capture more attention than ever.

“When you grow it happens in spurts, and it happens at odd times based on lots of different factors. We’re going for a huge growth spurt on the live side of the show right now,” Brownstein said.

Growth won’t corrupt the unfettered idiom that defines their attitudes and sound.

“Yeah no doubt about it, we have fun we’re like Peter Pan. Escape what you need to escape that’s what music is about, right?” Brownstein clarifies.

Escapism narratives are canonized into the Disco Biscuits pallet, as a departure from linear sequencing is at the root of their performance. It may very well be the source of their appeal.

In the absence of predictability, the immutable discontinuity of experience allows the visceral to precede the comprehensible. The Disco Biscuits connect best when the dissipated sounds open the audience to new ways of experiencing that, perhaps, aren’t intended to be understood.