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Tour Journal Revisited
Those Hazy, Lazy Days of Summer Phish '97
Isaac Josephson
Edited by Michael MorrowDATE: August 9, 1997
TIME: 4:15 p.m.
LOCATION: Southern WisconsinDecrepit farm structures with blue paint flaking off them whiz by as we head north from Chicago to Alpine Valley for the second show of our tour with Phish. Josh is at the wheel, recounting in detail to Adam a night he spent with some Brazilian girl during his recent trip to Europe. I'm lounging in the back seat amidst stray luggage, water bottles and pretzel crumbs.
I'm following a band on tour.
Sounds like some anachronistic or adolescent notion, and it may be. But there's a mystic allure to the journey, an allure outlined by the likes of Steinbeck, Kerouac and Hunter S. Granted, 10 days in a Honda with a mini-disc player and a cash card do not equal their epic (and sometimes drug-addled) journeys. Still, there is something both comforting and cathartic about observing and joining (for a while) this itinerant Phish community.
Ultimately, it's all about the band and the music. Unlike most other artists who repeat the same songs at each of their shows, Phish pulls different tunes from their repertoire each night. Inevitably, each song serves as a vehicle for improvisational theatre. This makes every night, every song, every note its own distinct adventure.
Last night's show at the World Music Theatre in Tinley Park, IL, although relatively short and standard, was definitely one of the most unique Phish experiences I've ever had. The band whipped up two solid sets and capped the night off by bringing Chicago blues harmonica legend Sugar Blue onstage for the encores. JAMTV webcasted the performance; I hosted the chat room and went on the air for a quick recap after the show ended.
We got to the venue around 4 p.m., checked to make sure everything was set up, and settled into the empty pavilion to eavesdrop on soundcheck. There were perhaps a dozen people in the seats -- mostly security guards -- as Phish eased into an atonal, jazzy jam.
At first, I tried to remain inconspicuous at the back of the house. Then, after seeing the rest of the crew sprinkled across the first twenty rows, I decided to check out the action up close.
Working webcasts, I've been privy to soundchecks by many popular and accomplished bands. Usually, they consist of a series of unfinished songs and squabbling over monitors, levels and whatnot. All in all, it appears to be a chore that either induces ennui or leaves everyone involved feeling and acting slightly irritable.
Phish, on the other hand, made it seem more like a warmup than a soundcheck as they jammed away with sleepy looks and grinning faces. They drifted in and out of songs, eventually settling on a new one called "Twist Around."
After soundcheck, the band went off to grab a quick bite and we made final preparations for the webcast. The chat room opened 30 minutes before the show and immediately filled up with users hiding behind monikers like "bakedphish," "ophishal" and "dankphish420." Mostly, they had basic questions concerning technical and archiving issues. Phish bassist Mike Gordon stopped by and took over as chat host for a bit.
As the band started their first set, I peered out from backstage into the audience and felt decidedly out of place working while 28,000 people experienced the show as spectators. A little part of me whined, "That's where I'm supposed to be."
During set break, I wandered out to look for Josh. I didn't find him, but I did manage to bump into practically every other person I've ever met. Each of them asked about the backstage pass affixed to my shirt, and I told them about the webcast. To my surprise, they'd all heard about it already via Phish websites, listservs and word-of-mouth. News travels fast and wide in the Phish community.
Another set of great music, some classic blues wrap-up with Sugar Blue and that was it for the evening. We broke down the equipment, stopped by the after-show gathering for a bit, then headed back to Chicago. Josh showed up at my door with his friend Adam the next morning and we were off.
SOUNDTRACK: Uncle Tupelo mix.
DATE: August 10, 1997
TIME: 1:10 a.m.
LOCATION: Alpine Valley parking lot, East Troy, WIAdam discovered lot food tonight.
A clean-cut law student from New Orleans, Adam had never been to a Phish show before, nor had he ever experienced anything other than drunken brawls and security hassles in post-show parking lots.
Needless to say, when we exited the venue he was utterly blown away by the thousands of fans milling about amicably in the grassy field adjacent to Alpine Valley.
"Man, if this were any other concert, people would be beating the shit out of each other trying to get out of here right about now." He shook his head and laughed a kind of nervous laugh, like he didn't really know what to make of the whole scene.
Adam's confusion mounted when he saw all the vendors calling out their culinary wares.
"Veggie burritos here. Get your veggie burritos!"
"Hey man, got some fat french bread pizza for ya! Only $1."
After several reassurances from Josh and myself that it was "safe," Adam, who's a 6'4" 200lb athlete with a hearty appetite, gobbled up some hummus, falafel, pasta and a six-bean veggie burrito -- all for $7 total.
Amazed at the Phish community's self-sustaining system, Adam ranted on incredulously to Josh and I as we looked for our car. "These people, they go into the show and smoke their brains out," he said between bites. And afterwards, they go out, and there's really cheap, really healthy food just waiting there for them!"
Ran into Andrea and Anthony in the parking lot. They've been dating for years, and are two of the many people I only see -- but always see -- on Phish tour. Last year, a bunch of us crashed at Anthony's house in Trenton, NJ in between the Hershey, PA show and the Plattsburgh, NY show.
No camping tonight. We're stopping off in Chicago for a shower, then driving straight through to Deer Creek Ampitheatre in Noblesville, IN.
Tonight's show definitely had its moments. The hands-down highlight of the first set was an uber- "Taste." Ripe with Latin rhythms and yearning lyrics, "Taste" is one of the most driving and musically whole tracks off of Billy Breathes. Phish jammed this one out tonight, taking it places I'd never heard it go before. To end the set, they ripped through a version of Clapton's "Crossroads." Second set featured a great eight-song-no-break run, ending in a lively and bass-heavy "Weekapaug Groove."
SOUNDTRACK:Kind of Blue, Miles Davis
DATE: August 11, 1997
TIME: 6:25 a.m.
LOCATION: Shaded Acres campground, Noblesville, INI just crawled out of my tent ten minutes ago. Aside from me and a local kid named Herb (who's still trying to come down off some acid he took last night), there's no one else awake in the campgrounds.
We both feast off the free muffins provided by the campground owners, then Herb bums a smoke and walks off muttering, "It all comes back to the river." Later I see him fast asleep, curled up against a tree with a shoe tucked under his neck.
Shaded Acres is more of a residential lawn than a campground. Two or three times a year, Roger and Caroline Crocker open up their private property, which is a little over a mile walk from Deer Creek Ampitheatre, to the throng of concertgoers. They're especially partial to the hippie set, having hosted Grateful Dead fans for three years and Phish fans for the past two. Roger and Caroline provide basic facilities like showers, portable toilets and a makeshift general store, but it's the down-home Indiana hospitality and unconditional acceptance of alternative lifestyles that have made Shaded Acres a popular resting ground for Phish fans.
Unfortunately, some of the less considerate members of the Phish community take that laid back attitude as carte blanche for imbecilic behavior and excessive drug intake. Case in point: the perpetual nitrous party two tents down from us. All night, we heard the whoosh of the tanks as the balloons were refilled and the dulled laughter that signified that they had been emptied. 16-year old "Jenny," part of that group (who is still hitting the nitrous with reckless abandon), passes me on the way back to her tent.
"I gotta get my medication. I'm bi-polar," she confides.
"Maybe that's not such a good idea. You should probably get some sleep," I suggest, groaning inwardly at the paternal sound of that statement. "Y'all have been at that all night."
"Oh, I'm not tired. I just took some acid a while ago."
Great. A bi-polar teenager who sucks nitrous all night and munches acid like candy. At least she remembers to take her medicine (last sentence to be read while humming the Monty Python tune "Always Look on the Bright Side").
I try again. "Dude, you're going to be so beat for the show tonight."
"Oh, we're not going to the show," she says.
"Jenny" then tells me that although she's been following Phish for almost two weeks, she hasn't seen them once.
"We just kinda like to hang out, y'know?"
She offers up a drug-addled stare and returns to her friends.
There is a subsection of the Phish community that has never even seen show. As in "Jenny's" case, it's the traveling party, not the music that holds the allure for them. And while every community has its black sheep to deal with, it's still disheartening to come back from a night of amazing music and find those people in the same place, in the same stagnant, muddled state as they were before everyone left for the venue.
Scene problems and tour leeches are nothing new. They crippled Grateful Dead tours in the later years and are a continuing point of concern for Phish fans. The million dollar question becomes, Do the negatives of the scene outweigh the benefits of the music?
The answer? Not if the music is anything close to the caliber of last night's show.
The opener, "Bathtub Gin," was a little faux-jazz ditty off of Lawnboy that has since evolved into an atonal masterpiece. "Split Open and Melt," from the same album, has never been a favorite (except on the rare occasion that it is performed with an accompanying horn section), but tonight's version was absolutely incredible; rhythms were executed with perfection, and the song gave way to a funky, flowing jam.
Set one spanned an hour and a half, but ended up serving only as a prelude for things to come. The second half of the show also lasted well over an hour -- during which time Phish did not stop playing once. "Cities," a Talking Heads cover led off. Like in their Halloween performance of Remain In Light, Phish caught the essence of David Byrne's polyrhythmic groove, but added their own unique verve. "Cities" drifted into "Good Times Bad Times," which started out as a respectable cover, but took on (where Zeppelin left off) a playful, yet rocking life. Somewhere in there, Phish switched instruments. While keeping at least two melodies going at all times, Trey went for the drums. Jon Fishman picked up the guitar. Bassist Mike Gordon opted for the keyboards and Page took over bass.
It just got less coherent and more fun from there.
Josh turned to me as we sat on the lawn, trying to catch our breath after the show.
"I like this band," he said.
Yeah.
SOUNDTRACK: Forever and Ever Amen, Ben Folds Five (really quiet on the portable stereo)
DATE: August 12, 1997
TIME: 3:30 a.m.
LOCATION: Shaded Acres campground, Noblesville, INDunno what it is about this venue, but I always seem to see some of the best sets of Phish here.
Second night last year, a show that has since achieved legendary status among Phish netters, still rings blissfully in my head like a Bach fugue would an avid churchgoer. ( In fact, on a particularly delirious evening, I would compare Phish's music to Bach and Coltrane in that it is always reaching up and forward for that perfect musical summation, but that's another article).
Tonight might have actually topped last year. Although their tone is different - Phish has been drifting into a more funk-oriented sound lately, whereas last year, their focus was rock - the energy level still registers way off the scale. Each and every song's constitution was tweaked to an unbelievable level: the vocal harmonies in "Water In The Sky," the lush Caribbean groove of "Limb By Limb," the searing solos of "Character Zero."
Get the tapes of this show.
Adam, Josh and I walked half-dazed out of the venue. Tonight, the show's energy transferred wholly into the lot, and we were met with something reminiscent of the bridge scene in Apocalypse Now. Cutting guitar solos from a thousand different sources, fireworks shooting off in every direction and vendors attacking in earnest with their wares brought us dangerously close to a sensory overload. We sought refuge in the grass alongside a pond, watching the scene from afar, then hiked the mile back to Shaded Acres.
Back at the campground, we were met by a bonfire and a drum circle. Adam and Josh headed off to the tent to get some rest. Not tired yet, I opted to settle down for a bit near the bonfire and hang out with a kid I had met earlier today. 18-year-old Matty Shannon of Edwardsville, IL beat listlessly on his drum while we went over the evening's events. Conversation drifted to the tour in general, and I found out that Matty had been following Phish since the U.S. opener in Virginia Beach two weeks ago. He only had tickets to four shows, but had been miracled (someone had given him a ticket) every other time.
Tour started out for Matty with "my partner Eric, his girlfriend Gerri and this other girl Jamie." Eric got caught stealing shoes, so he and Gerri had to return home. Matty decided to continue on with Jamie, who he'd just met. Their journey hit a snag after the Dallas show.
"Jamie's car broke down somewhere in Western Texas," Matty ploddingly re counted. "We met this dude with an RV who said we could hitch our car onto his. Then his RV broke down. I left Jamie in the RV and have been hitching from show to show ever since then."
Matty said that his favorite shows so far have been these at Deer Creek. They would have been the two at The Gorge, a natural venue out in Washington State, had a sad incident not colored his experience. One of Matty's friends died of a heroin overdose there.
"He went into the Gorge and never left," said Matty solemnly. "But, man, I told him that smack was a bad scene. It just doesn't fit the vibe, you know?"
Matty plans to see the tour through to The Great Went. "Dunno how I'm gonna get there," he shrugged. "I got everywhere else, right?"
SOUNDTRACK: R&B/Soul mix tape; Ella Fitzgerald is on now.
DATE: August 14, 1997
TIME: 4:00 p.m.
LOCATION: Parking Lot of Darien Lake, Darien Center, NYAhhh, sun. tranquility. I need this right now.
Josh is lying asleep in the grass. I'm watching the lot culture slowly form and chatting with the high school kids from Buffalo hanging out at the Jeep next to us.
I tell them I'm doing a story on Phish tour, and the girls immediately start to flirt with me. Why wasn't it this easy to get high school girls to swoon while I was in high school???
We got here at 2:30 p.m., a half-hour before it opened - a nice change from our usual M.O., which is to arrive to an already thriving market, quickly grab some food and take our seats for the show.
Adam should be safely back at law school now. When we dropped him off at the Indianapolis airport, he definitely seemed like he'd had his fill of the Phish experience. "No more vegan asshole! No more dank veggie penis," he grumbled in a less than glowing reference to the lot vendors as we left Deer Creek behind us. Adam's ready for a warm bed and clean colleagues.
Aside from a much needed nap at a clean $40 motel, the past 24 hours have been...challenging. The Star Lake show, save a credible "Stash," was an unmitigated disaster. Our seats were reserved Fishman side (right side), which is generally a great place to see a show, but the acoustics seemed off, and by set break both of us had pounding headaches. Additionally, the band was sloppy; Trey would turn a solo over to Page, who would fiddle around for a bit, unable to find a groove. Mike and Fishman didn't seem to be really listening to the melody.
We made our way back through the perfumed 14-year-olds buying cappuccino at the venue stands and settled down in the lawn for second set. Obnoxious drunks immediately spilled beer on us as Trey flubbed his way through "Runaway Jim." Deciding to cut our losses, we bolted after second set close (gasp!), not even waiting around for the encore.
note: Everyone else we talked to seemed to enjoy Star Lake. I guess these things could possibly be construed as relative, yes?
Wanting to put as much distance as possible between us and that show, we decided to drive through the night to Darien Lake. Bad idea. By the time we reached the New York border, I could barely keep my eyes open. Josh was asleep in the passenger seat. I pulled over to the nearest rest stop, laid my sleeping bag out in the grass, burrowed into it and passed out. When I woke three hours later, I was covered in a thin sheet of ice that might have been morning dew. Where I was alone in the grass when I went to sleep, there were half a dozen sleeping Phish fans now scattered about (which was kind of amusing). Josh poked his head out of the car window and said he was ready to roll, so we pushed on.
The decision to get the motel room was definitely a good one. We slumbered blissfully for a few hours, showered (yay!) and headed out here feeling refreshed and open-minded.
SOUNDTRACK: Thousands of conversations and car stereos fading in and out
DATE: August 17, 1997
TIME: 11:15 a.m.
LOCATION: The Great Went; Loring Air Force Base, Limestone, MELet's kick things off with a little math word problem:
You are camping on an Air Force Base at The Great Went where porta-potties are the only available means for relieving yourself.
A sign on the inside of the porta-potty says that each unit is for the use of up to 40 people in the course of a 40 hour work week.
There are more than 50,000 people here at The Went, staying for an average of 40 hours.
In order to achieve minimum acceptable sanitary conditions, how many porta-potties must there be?
If you said 1,250, then you were wrong. According to the organizers of this event, 500 porta-potties are more than sufficient for 50,000 + malnourished kids. I guess they figure we will produce less than half the normal amount of human waste.
We met up with Giles, Suzy, Chad and Irene in Montreal on the steps of Notre Dame at 7 p.m., treated ourselves to a nice dinner and hit the road - destination: Maine.
After a wet and hairy 7-hour drive through the unkempt single lane highways of Canada, we reached the U.S. re-entry point (somewhat hysterically marked only by a small sign that read, "ME." For Maine) By that time, most of us hadn't slept in more than 24 hours. We were feeling a bit haggard, and certainly looked disheveled. Josh and I hadn't shaved in almost a week, and Suzy's allergies had caused her eyes to puff up and turn red (that along with her pale complexion made her look suspiciously like a heroin addict). Unfortunately, our appearance hinted at trouble in the minds of the border guards. Feeding us patronizing looks and know-it-all lines, they proceeded to tear all three cars apart - inside and out. An hour later, their curiosity satiated, we continued on to The Went.
The sun rose, and we found ourselves entangled in an enormous traffic jam. By 6:30 a.m., we reached the main gates. I was removed from the car and sent back to Will Call to pick up my ticket, and the others were forced along to the parking lot. An hour later, ticket in hand, I set out to find my group. In the cold and the rain I wandered through the growing army of parked cars and wind-blown tents, to no avail. Security guards splashed mud on me with their four-wheelers, and the rain continued in earnest. Grubby and exhausted, I decided to make my way back to will call (the only open permanent structure on the base) to get warm and grab a quick nap.
Despite polite and lucid descriptions of my predicament, several security guards sent me back out into the rain, saying that Will Call was only for those who wished to purchase tickets. Out on the side of the building I found a small contingent of others desperately seeking some kind of shelter. One kid lay shivering and feverish on the cement. His girlfriend sadly told me that all of their belongings had been lost at the last show, and that security refused to find the sick kid a dry blanket and medical attention.
"They told us the only warm place we could go was to the police station," she said with tears of frustration in her eyes. "We're not criminals." Half in disbelief at those automoton security guards, I went back in to see if there was anything I could do for the sick kid. "Stick him in the porta-potty. He'll keep dry there," joked one guard as he leisurely sipped his morning coffee.
Is this what it's really like to be a Phish kid?
Fueled by frustration, I stomped back out into the rain and walked a mile up to the "information center." Organizers of the event boasted a message board there, where people could leave notes for their friends. I figured I'd leave a message on the board to have them meet me at an assigned location. The catch-all message board turned out to be one 12'x6' piece of plywood already covered three-deep with waterlogged notes.
I gave up.
It had stopped raining, and I lay down on a patch of soggy grass to get some sleep. Scattered around me were dozens of people, who had also been chewed up and spit out by the Machine.
This IS what it's like to be a Phish kid.
Josh and Giles found me a few hours later. We went back to the tent, where I slept for a few hours, then went to the show.
Phish played three beautiful, mellow sets, and there were plenty of odd structures through which to frolic in Wentville, but somehow, I was unable to get into the spirit of things.
It's sunny and warm this morning, and my mind is a bit more clear. Phish is scheduled to go on in a couple of hours. Maybe today will be better.
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