During Tommy Trash's set, I meet Arlen, a sound engineer for Skrillex and Bassnectar. Arlen has been a part of this scene for 14 years, promoting shows and working as an engineer for a variety of artists. He's seen it balloon, particularly in the last two years. I ask him about what sort of changes he's seen in the crowd. He says that "bros" are a new addition to the scene, and seem to be primarily drawn by the dubstep trend. The fact that EDM has been brought out into the mainstream, out from clubs and into parks, has also made it accessible to a younger crowd. He says some within the scene grumble about the recent crossover, but he doesn't seem to mind: The kids genuinely like the music, and that's cool.

Most importantly, Arlen alludes to the paradox of EDM that drew me here—the tension between the party and the more abstract, spiritual experience inherent to a dance show. As far back as the new psychedelia of the late '80s/early '90s rave scene, there are elements of both: the escapism of MDMA and a beat juxtaposed against the communal, the transcendental possibilities. It's an indistinct line. What parameters are used to judge whether something's escapist or transformative? Who judges?

As I talk to Arlen, two dancers join Trash onstage, standing out in front of the DJ booth and leading the crowd. (The presence of dancers becomes perpetual throughout the weekend and almost always seems superfluous. The crowd never needs help getting riled.) They look like women out of some cyber-punk artifact: miniscule black faux-leather bikinis, gaudy sunglasses, occasional edgy strap accessories, giant fake hair like a plastic blonde ridge. Also, glittery body oil.

After his set, I join Tommy Trash in his trailer and ask him about the moment that converted him from playing in Smashing Pumpkins-inspired rock bands to being an electro artist. His answer is one word: "Ecstasy." The faintest bit of nostalgia colors his smirk.

Later that night, after Tiësto's set, I'm trying to find Skrillex backstage amongst the artist trailers. I meet Adam Sellers, a long-time devotee of the EDM scene, PR guy for Above Beyond and Twelfth Planet, and personal friend of Skrillex. I get the sense that Adam has spent many years of his life defending the legitimacy of this scene he loves so much. He calls it the happiest music in the world, stressing the communal quality of it. He feels no animosity toward the new contingent of mainstream fans. He claims the drug use is "grossly exaggerated," and doesn't think EDM is escapist at all. We end our conversation with him telling me about a festival where he saw a man tear off all his clothes and start running around the barricaded walkway in front of a stage. It took the police tasing the man three times to make him finally fall, at which point three cops jumped onto his collapsed, hairy form.

Thanks to my production pass, I'm able to interview Steve Aoki as we drive around the backstage grounds on one of the artist-transport carts. He talks about how the scene's taking off.

"2012 is a really exciting time in dance music," Aoki says. "We're like a four-year-old child. And everybody's excited to see our cute little faces and fucking play with our hair and shit. In Europe, it's decades of electronic music being popular. You play festivals there and there's fucking moms pushing strollers with their kids."

Aoki does seem to harbor some ambivalence about EDM's growth.

"The dance scene obviously has gained attention because, well, you're here," he says. "We're gaining people's attention. But we're always going to be an underground music media form because we're based on the music rather than the vocals. For radio, for pop music, it's about the voice. We're building ourselves around the music. It's an experiential form of music. You have to experience it to understand it. I saw Daft Punk for the first time and it was fucking life-changing even though I was already a dance guy. I was once again reinvented. It gave me something that nothing else in life could give me and it was all samples and music."