It was seven years ago when I first saw Phish. Wanting to avoid
the annual disappointment of New Year's parties, I ventured out to Boston's
World Trade Center to check out a band I had never heard (or heard of) before,
a band touted as one that attracted a "rabid, cult-like following." The quartet
was in the midst of one of the trademark primarily instrumental compositions as
1990 approached. With ten seconds till blast-off, the band, stopping on a dime,
counted down in unison while rocking back and forth until the burst into an
explosive rendition of "Auld Lang Syne."
A couple of years later at the
Somerville Theater, when I was well into my Phish infatuation, and they were
well on their way to their current status as one of the most popular live bands
in the U. S., a friend and I stood entranced in the middle of "Divided Sky,"
another song consisting of a series of instrumental movements, when guitarist
Trey Anastasio, in what is normally a split-second pause, held the band silent
for several minutes until he launched into the soaring conclusion to the song.
My friend and I speculated on possible band tensions, inter-personnel dynamics,
and mainly how the phenomena called Phish would never work on a
large-scale.
On New Year's eve, Phish proved both that I was right in
thinking they were heading to previously unscaled heights and wrong in thinking
they couldn't pull off their particular form of musical magic when they
performed in the conference hall at the World Trade Center of Boston's Fleet
Center (they've moved their annual New Year show from the Boston Garden), and
while I've outgrown my infatuation, Phish is still attracting a rabid
following, and, on top of everything else, knows how to throw one hell of a
party.
Coming on stage at 11:50 p.m. on Dec. 31, 1996 to start
their...
Coming on stage at 11:50 p.m. on Dec. 31, 1996 to start
their third set of the evening, Phish spent several minutes vamping on the
opening chord of Wagner's "Thus Spake Zarathustra," otherwise known as the
theme from Kubrick's 2001. With Anastasio and keyboardist Page McConnell
exploring the opening chords and running through the notes that comprise the
composition, bassist Mike Gordon and drummer John Fishman expertly built the
tension, making their progression seem as inevitable as the coming of the new
year. With McConnell jazzing things up on a Fender Rhodes, the band held off
playing the theme all the way through until 11:57.
Then, as the audience
was blinded by strobe lights, and, with less than thirty seconds left in 1996,
Phish sustained the concluding climax of 2001 until the New Year. At
which point tens of thousands of balloons (60,000, if truth were to be known)
and countless pieces of confetti fell from the Fleet Center's ceiling, and the
band launched into "Auld Lang Syne" once again, all but drowned out by the
raucous screaming of over 16,000 rabid fans.
Since that first concert seven
years ago, Phish has evolved from a club-packing word-of-mouth phenomena to one
of the best selling concert attraction in the country, a band that hosted the
largest North American concert in 1996 this past August in upstate New York at
an event christened The Clifford Ball (over 130,000 tickets sold). One thing
that most certainly hasn't changed is Phish's relentless pursuit of musical
exploration and dedication to having a good time.
Riding into "Down with
Disease" (from 1994's Hoist) straight from "Auld Lang Syne," Phish,
obstructed from view by the explosion of balloons being batted around, conveyed
once again (as they have thousands of times over the past decade) their
inspiring and infectious exuberance mixed with musical expertise. Moving with
breakneck speed, the band played as if they were partying rather than
performing, and henceforth lies their inherent appeal: unlike the popular
disdain shown for performing and fans alike by some bands, Phish lets it be
known that they are very much aware that being able to play (in both sense of
the word) and be paid for it is every boy's and girl's fantasy.
By the time
midnight rolled around, Phish had already played for over two hours.
Fasted-paced and poppier than usual, Phish, while not forsaking the 20 minute
rhythmic and melodic experiments that are their hallmark, showed their more
recent tendency to write catchy pop tunes. The first-set was a lesson in
itself: from Frank Zappa's chirpy instrumental "Peaches En Regalia," to "Punch
Him in the Eye" (a singsongy piece that incorporates Wilson, a major player in
the musical adventure "Gamehenge" that, in its entirety, comprised Anastasio's
college thesis in musical composition...but that's a whole other story), to the
delicate "Silent in the Morning" and the sashaying "Stash," Phish made sure the
audience was singing and dancing along, steaming through well-known passages
with a panache that made them both fresh and bubblingly followable.
And
finally, "Divided Sky": where in 1991, I interpreted Anastasio's deliberate
delay as a sign of tension within the band; last night, the tension that
accompanied the delay was on the part of the crowd, and in the form of
expectant delight, as frenetic cheers made it impossible for the band to
continue even if they had wanted to. This went on for over
three-minutes.
The second-set emphasized a series of Phish's
sing-alongs/rounds. "Wilson," "Sparkle," "Harry Hood," and the recently
released "Character Zero" and "Prince Caspian" (both from 1996's Billy
Breathes) were all highlights, featuring moments, and in cases whole
choruses, where the music depends as much on audience reaction as it does to
the band's playing. Anastasio has a trademark elated guitar sound, which at its
best sounds like pure joy mediated through his instrument, and he shone
throughout the set.
After the 2001/ "Auld Lang Syne" New Year's
medley, Phish set all engines on go for the remainder of the evening: whipping
through Hoist's "Down With Disease," the band launched into two
perennial favorites, the mocking teen anthem "Suzy Greenberg" and "Antelope,"
which, with its chorus of "You've got to run like an antelope / Out of
control," sounds at times like a motto for the band. By this time, the balloons
had settled, 1997 was in full effect, and Phish brought out the Boston
Community Choir, a gospel choir, to join them for the end of a tremendously fun
night. (The B.C.C. played a total of four shows on New Year's Eve, and I have a
hunch their stint with Phish will be one of the more memorable ones.)
With
the choir in place, Phish, demonstrating their penchant for strange and
wonderful covers, playing Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" (with McConnell on lead
vocals) with all the abandon of Wayne and Co. in the Wayne's World
movie; and then closed the set with the gospel tinged "Julius." For an encore,
Phish highlighted the talents of the B.C.C., letting them sing "Amazing Grace,"
accompanied by the band.
The lights in the Fleet Center flickered on close
to one o'clock, and thousands of dazed, joyous Phish fans stumbled into the
frigid Boston evening. In the end, it was just another concert for Phish, four
guys in search of some kicks and finding them by playing their hearts out to
thousands of adoring admirers. Not a bad way to ring in 1997, and a reminder
that, the more things appear to change year to year, the more their essence
remains the same.