Basic laws of thermodynamics explain that no machine, animate or inanimate, can run completely independent of an outside source of energy. The music of the trance-inspiring Philadelphia-based jamband The Disco Biscuits seems to be one exception.

Having musical interests varying from the wonderfully composed, hard-hitting operatic rock tunes like those of Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin, to the folk-rock sounds of The Grateful Dead, to the modern bands like Phish that meander through huge jams, I have made a conscious effort to discover epic music whenever possible.

Pink Floyd's remarkable piece of poetry The Wall, with its different operatic movements that flow in and out of each other throughout the duration of the work, yet continuously return to the theme of individuals having to try and overcome lies (the wall) to obtain truth first introduced me to epic music. Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven is a miniature symphony in itself. It starts out peacefully and eventually builds into huge explosive guitar riffs from Jimmy Page and Celtic chanting from Robert Plant only to enter a denouement of the same melody the song started out with thus establishing theme. These pieces first introduced me to the idea of modern music containing within it various components that relate to one another and are tied together with a common theme.

Since discovering those pieces, I have been able to understand musical themes. Those bands helped me to discover theme in music varying from Mozart's opera Don Giovanni to John Williams Star Wars. As a result, I have never heard music the same way twice.

Around the same time I discovered their magic, I was introduced to Phish and the piano playing of a certain Page McConnell. Until then, I saw a piano as Beethoven or Mozart. Beautiful nonetheless, but I only knew the music as written, read, and played note for note. I did not know about improvisational playing. Phish introduced me to stream of conscious music, and it enthralled me. While all of the harmonies featured in a jam are composed and experimented with previously, it, at the same time features entire movements based on those harmonies that are completely improvised. So, while it takes the listener on a journey, the audience and the band both revel in the beauty of how the jam came about and what tunes one or more of the members contributed to sway it in a particular direction; and occasionally, upon reflection, one can hear why the jam went the way it did. The notes played become a device that each member uses to communicate to one another and the audience with just as much clarity and emotion as spoken language, oftentimes more.

This past summer I discovered the Disco Biscuits. I had listened to them a few times before, but this summer, I finally heard and understood. I knew I had to see them, and attempt to unravel their dynamics. So, when I heard they were coming to San Francisco, I went to the Great American Music Hall, and bought tickets to both performances the day they went on sale.

The shows were mind boggling. Upon close listening, one would almost believe that the only time these musicians put any conscience thought into their live performances is during the first few seconds of a jam which can last anywhere from fifteen to seventy minutes. Afterwards, it seems to be fed to them subconsciously. The band meanders casually on stage and begins to play one of their songs, which are more often than not, driven by keyboardist Aron Magners powerful yet serene keyboard melodies while being accompanied by a divine fill from guitarist Jon Gutwillig. Add to that a stunningly varied rhythm lick from bassist Marc Brownstein and one of drummer Sam Altmans soft jazz beats and you find yourself contemplating a wonderfully complex sound with each instrument providing its own separately unique tune while simultaneously contributing to the piece as a whole.

The wonderful thing about the Disco Biscuits though is their transition from song to song within a jam and understanding how it comes about. Aron Magner's melodies provide, if you will, an aquatic percussion sound which touch you in the beginning of a jam like a gentle breeze. His soft lead melodies almost blow the other band members in the direction he wanders into. As the jam progresses, the breeze grows stronger and becomes a wind; and as a result, the waves of sound become large rippling swells of guitar licks that roll swiftly on oceans of bass and drum rhythms. As Arons percussion puffs get stronger and stronger, the rolling sounds of Jons guitar respond and grow more powerful and varied. All the while, the tempo of the bass and drums underneath is growing steadily. Eventually, Aron is playing gale force and Jon now has a tsunami of sound on his nimble hands. Finally, the wave crashes on the audience, and the fan is literally soaking wet with surreal sounds. Jons guitar then rolls back down the beach, flows underneath, and provides support for the steadily growing bass, which is now being driven by Arons sounds. The guitars crashing and then switching roles with the bass provide a perfect opportunity for Aron to change the lead sound and switch into another song. Soon enough, Marc Brownsteins bass tunes are an immense wave blown by Arons sounds and rolling upon Jons guitar licks and Sammy's drumming. The process repeats itself and thus forms a perpetual motion machine of music; it feeds itself and grows from its own energy. The experienced listener marvels at how many nautical miles are covered within one jam.

Occasionally, upon the crashing of a wave, Aron will slip underneath and Jon will take the lead. Often when this happens, Jon will glide effortlessly into a large, beautiful arpeggio and Aron will only be heard to tap a key for every other or every third guitar note. When this happens, the listener had better be prepared. The tempo starts off nice and slow and gradually builds. The amazing thing is that as the tempo builds, Jons arpeggios grow larger and more complex, yet still hold the same rhythm. Soon, the listener finds himself inside an extremely volatile mixture of sound that simply cannot be contained. Finally, it punches out and explodes through the atmospheres of corporeal sounds and reaches a plane of music few have achieved. If you cannot hear this, you will know it has happened by the screams of the fans and Jon Gutwilligs looking at Aron and breaking his meditative expression to reveal a small knowing smile. A smile that says they know they have swum far, far down into the musical well and found an untapped spring.

My friend had always told me: "Bisco is the ultimate". Putting aside popular debates among music fans over whether some music is truly better than another, The Disco Biscuits speak to me like no other band. If I close my eyes and listen, I see images of my life. I think about where I have been and where I may be going. When they begin an epic musical voyage, I think about my own voyage on this earth, when their music explodes into a climax, I think about the beauty of the world and marvel in it, and when they end a jam, I end my introspective journey with them. When I hear their music, I think about "stuff".

I am not gifted with musical creativity; but after this fall's shows in San Francisco, I found myself not only hearing their music in my mind hours afterwards, but also actually taking their tones and creating melodies in my head that I know they did not play. That is true audience participation. The Disco Biscuits are truly inspiring. Their sound touches your soul.