
I will say this upfront to avoid the inevitable flames from the Phish Nation: I am not a Phish fan. I don't have anything against the godhead jam rock quartet from the great Northeast. I just missed the train to Weekapaug Junction in college and dug deeper into old school punk when so many of my Madison, Wisconsin contemporaries were getting their spin on.
I've seen the group twice before: Once near the very beginning of their career explosion when they played a small theater in Madison around 1990 (complete with their old shtick of trampoline jumping and vacuum cleaner solos) and then again in 2000 at Radio City Music Hall in a gig I vaguely recall being way more intricate and massive than the Hoover days.
And then I saw them again on Saturday (November 21) night at U.S. Bank Arena in my hometown. See, I have an inordinate amount of good friends who live and die by Phish and who are constantly trying to convert me to their cause even as I try to lure them to the Muse/Decemberists side. With a sold-out two night stand in my own backyard, I couldn't resist giving it another shot.
After traversing the shockingly brazen open-air drug bazaar that sprouted on the concourse outside the venue, we made our way inside and the sights and smells (oh, the smells) of my brief late 1980s dalliance with the Grateful Dead nation came rushing back like ... well, you know how that one ends.
I'll dispense with the talk of the onion soup-thick haze that predictably choked the air the second the group took the stage and just say this: I totally get it. To a true outsider, and avowed music geek, watching Phish do their thing for more than three hours is like taking in a master class from a fellow "33 1/3" junkie.
I'm told this was a classic set, and from the opening strains of "Wilson," I could tell both why the band decided to get back together and why their fans were ecstatic at the news. Read more...






In Hampton, Virginia, this past weekend there was a resurrection.
"Fluffhead" — it was not only a beautiful rendition but a statement to fans that cemented Phish's epic return as the rock gods of the jam world. The rest of the weekend saw them play long sets of their most famous material. Playing what would be a "best of" iTunes playlist, Phish crushed any doubts that they might lack the fervent passion they displayed during their formative years.
The day I have been waiting for has finally come — and I don't mean the DVD release of "Iron Man"!
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