By Marlon Admiral Joseph Cappucino
Two weeks ago and two days, I found myself on a mountain in a glowy yard under a ceiling of stars playing music with total strangers like we’d been life-long friends. The air was cool and sweet and vaguely magical. There were people all over, some asleep in tents, some still up in loose groups of jam sessions, conversations, smoking, drinking, or just moments of togetherness in comfortable silences. Somehow it’s taken me this two and two until this Tuesday, past deadlines and death threats, to find a way to describe what happened in the hours before that moment. An event locals refer to as Danstock.
But how did I get there? A month earlier I had just finished playing music at Lucky Day’s Cocktail Bar when I was approached by a tallish, blondish, goateed gentleman with long hair and a backwards cap names Ryan Alderson. A familiar face I’d seen at many local shows. He tells me he’s putting on a show called Danstock and he needs a daytime act to open it up, says I’d be perfect for it. Danstock? I’d heard the name before. It was the stuff of legends. An all day music festival turned camp-out that exists somewhere at someones house packed to the brim with music, joy, friendship, and festivities. A whirling torrent of good times happening annually since, like, forever. It was a spectacle built up equally by its rave reviews and its mystery. The way it would appear seemingly without warning and year after year I’d hear about it the next day like some kind of cool party ghost. “Oh man, Marlon, we just went to this amazing show, it’s called Danstock, it’s exactly the kind of thing you’d love. We’re your friends and we didn’t say anything about it ahead of time but you should totally go one of these days”
I’m not bitter.
“There’s something you gotta know,” Ryan told me “See, we don’t pay any of our acts because, it’s not about money for us. It’s not about that. It’s about the music, you know? We’ve never charged entry and we’re never going to charge. Everything comes out of pocket, we pay for the lights and the portapotty rentals, noise complaint tickets when people inevitably call the cops. And it’s all just because we love it, man.” Ryan and I talked more about it through the month leading up to the event and always he had the zeal and the gleam in his eye of a proud parent who wants you to know how very much they love their child and wants you to love it at least half as much.
Danstock started in 2003 when one day, Ryan’s father, Dan Alderson inspired by nostalgia and The Greatful Dead, decided to put on a show at his house and bring some old friends back together. It started with just one light and one band, The Bakers and then every year it got bigger and brighter. Adding high quality lights, projectors, smoke machines, and even a mascot. And attendees are encouraged to camp out (whether they’re drunk or not) to decrease the risk of driving drunk and/or sleepy down the dark twisting mountain roads. Eventually, The Bakers changed their name to The Dirty Deuces and they come back every year because they believe in what Danstock stands for: community, togetherness, and music.
When the day finally came, I drove up the mountain, past the sulfuric former lake and past Lucky Day’s and into a large yard with a distinct hippie aesthetic. I got there at 1pm because I was told that’s when I play, but when I got there, it was mostly empty and things were still being set up. And when I asked about set times I was told “You gotta understand, man, time doesn’t exist here. It’s not a concert, it’s an experience. When you wanna go up and play, you go up and play. When you wanna stop, you stop.” Surprisingly, this statement put me at ease and I resolved to just hang out for a while and get to know the Danstock regulars as they filed in and began a jam in the camping area. They told stories of past Danstocks, of falling asleep on ant farms, of and instrumental band slotted to play that night that apparently has a monkey that sits on the bass player’s shoulders and how the full experience of everything comes alive at night. The most notable thing was how many people, when asked what Danstock meant to them simply answered “Everything”.
And they were right. My set came and went and dusk fell some time in the middle of Coyote’s stunning performance and with the night, the place started to get more and more full. And surprisingly not chaotic. People clapped and danced and threw their arms around each other and there was an overwhelming sense of comradery filling the space. It became clear that there was something very special about this event. And then the time came for The Dirty Deuces to play. They had been hyped up pretty hard and I heard tales of how they were offered a record deal but turned it down because they didn’t want to sell out. And to be honest, it sounds like one of those things people say that aren’t exactly true. But then they played and I was blown away by their musicianship and sick reggae grooves. They absolutely could be an internationally famous band trashing hotel rooms and throwing bowls of candy at interns if they wanted to. And they absolutely were doing it just for the love of the music.
The night brought barbecues, random rap battles, lost instrument cables, and dozens of new connections. There was no monkey, unfortunately, but Danstock turned out to be a marvelous example of something vital to the Lake Hughes community as well as the greater Antelope Valley culture that seemed to have an inexplicable ability to bring people harmoniously together. I can’t wait to see what next year has in store.
