THE KNICK PAPERS: part IV October 10, 1999
Oberlin, Ohio

Dean:

After the second show at the Knick stuck under the windshield wiper of my car, along with about 37 flyers for upcoming shows by so-called jambands (it's your fault, Budnick), was a manila envelope. Inside was a tattered manuscript written on a hodge-podge of legal-pad paper, the backs of multiple receipts from gas stations across the greater northeast, and several XL-II labels. Here it is. It's confusing the fuck out of me, but perhaps you can make something of it.

Jesse.

Part I of this story appeared in the October issue.
Part II of this story appeared in the November issue.
Part III of this story appeared in the December issue.

"Don't worry," she said. I was about ten steps behind her. As she reached the bottom, she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a backstage pass, showing it to the security guard. "I'll be right back. Wait here." She smiled at me and disappeared into the underworld of the arena.

Around me, the arena was seething -- breathing, even. People sat in their seats, unwinding from the set, many heaving and gasping for air after having danced so hard in a smoke filled room. It looked like the entire place was inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling, in a constant pattern that resembled a collectively exaggerated breath. What had they gotten out of the set? Who knows? Some may have barely paid attention to the music. Others may have had religious experiences. Surely, the music couldn't have had the same impact on everyone.

Peoples' conceptions of the band vary hugely. Derek used to drone on endlessly about how Phish were actually aliens. With the size of the universe, his argument went, there had to be intelligent life out there somewhere. Likewise, with the infinite age of the universe, it was likely that there's some alien civilization somewhere whose development has exceeded ours. If their technology has proceeded past a certain point, a logical conclusion would be that they were curious about their surroundings in the universe.

That was key, Derek said, that they were curious about their surroundings. People on Earth have made every effort to make themselves known to aliens. So far, it seems, they've failed. However, if there is a race of aliens smarter than us - as there likely is - they will have signaled us somehow, perhaps waiting for our intelligence to evolve far enough to be able to perceive that signal. Only then, when we can figure out what it means, will we prove ourselves worthy. What on Earth, Derek asked dozens of times before, during, or after shows could possibly be construed as a sign of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe? His answer, of course, was Phish.

Vic saw things more slightly more realistically, or so I thought. She determined that Phish was simply a sign of intelligent life on this planet. They were extremely mere mortals, utter geeks who somewhere along the lines decided to devote themselves to music instead of other geekly topics. Was there such a thing as the "real" Phish? Was there any one set of facts that would cancel out all other interpretations? Everybody saw the room differently.

All of a sudden, Erin was back. She handed me a card. "The Clinic," it read.

"Uhhhhh..." I managed to get out. "What's this?"

"We're going backstage." She took my hand and looked at me. "It's gonna be a little weird, so don't freak out, okay?"

I stared at her blankly.

She gulped. "I'll take that as a 'yes'". She led me down the stairs into the area in between the stage and the seats off to side of it. We walked around the stage. I gaped upwards at the tangle of wires leading out of the band's amps and trailed off towards the soundboard. We got to the tunnel directly behind the stage. Once inside, it led off in the general vicinity of directly below the bleachers on Trey's side of the stage.

We walked past a couple of Zambonis. Beyond that, I could see a wide open doorway. The entire thing was glowing with an intense white light. "Wha... what's in there?" I stammered out.

"Oh," Erin said, taking my hand again. "That's the Clinic."

"What the hell is in there?" I asked.

"You'll see," she said, as we passed through the doorway. At first, it was like moving through a thick fog. I couldn't see an inch in front of me. Instead, I was surrounded by the light. Then, we emerged into what can only be described as a chamber. It was enormous. The domed ceiling must've been at least twice as high as that of the arena proper. My first thought, then, was how the hell we could possibly be under the bleachers at Nassau Coliseum.

I turned around and saw the hall of light trickling off behind me. I looked at Erin.

"A portal," she explained a began to move into the room in front of us.

"Excuse me?"

"A portal. We're not in Nassau Coliseum anymore."

"Duh. Where are we, then?"

She didn't answer me directly, but instead floated gracefully forward. "I guess you could call this the ante-chamber."

"I see." She was getting farther and farther away. I went after her and noticed that I, too, was floating... sort of. My feet were still touching the ground, but I couldn't quite feel myself walking. Having been myself worn out from the set, and especially the frustratingly long path we chose to wend our way around the perimeter of the arena, I was tired. Suddenly, though, I wasn't anymore. I was completely unaware of my body. It was a strange sensation, to say the least. "If this is the ante-chamber, then where does it lead?"

Erin turned around. "There's no real answer for that."

"Then how about a fake one?"

"We're about to ascend," she said simply.