Bridges To Nowhere

Queen Elizabeth Way West
Leaving Toronto, Ontario; in transit to Orchard Park, New York

Drifting across the border, floating past the falls, and we fly... order turns to chaos and back to order... behind every optic is a mathematic... string-induced hijinx in the vast cornfields of Canada... tiny alternations here, there, and everywhere... singing like a rabid fiddler returned from the dead... more alterations...

Crossing over into Canada, one can feel the United States' culture fascism begin to crumble, if only slightly. Tiny things in the immediate landscape begin to morph and one's perception is called into question. On a simple level, mathematics play a role in this. Growing up in the United States, certain things are seen as indelible parts of the universe -- elements of a natural order. Distance is measured in miles. Even with gradual inflation, one is welcome to try to place a stable monetary value on certain objects.

When an American sees a number on a road sign next to the name of a city, he assumes it's in miles and automatically has a rough idea of how far that city is from the sign. On the QEW, on the way to Toronto, road signs are exactly the same -- green and white with numbers and city names and all that stuff. The distance, however, is measured in kilometres and, all of a sudden, everything is different. The balance of order is thrown ever so slightly. One remembers (or discovers) that measures of distance are no more than illusions; social constructions in their own ways. And while they do have a place in the scientific order of things, they are still no more than a grid placed on top of the ordered chaos of the cosmos.

Throughout the two hour drive from Niagara Falls to Toronto, little things like this kept popping up -- tiny indicators that much that we take for granted is no more than an fallacy, albeit a functional one... at least at times. It's refreshing in a comfortable way. I saw people - security guards, ticket takers, police officers - who didn't seem to be vying for power in some form. I witnessed police officers in the parking lot not only being nice to people, but generally staying out of people's noses unless help was truly needed. I saw them listen and converse politely with an articulate homeless man who was panhandling in the lot.

The Molson Amphitheater is nestled in the middle of Ontario Place which, from what I could tell, is a sprawling white complex filled with clean neo-classical architecture, manmade lakes and waterways, winding bridges and passages, lattice and grids... all reminiscent of the 1893 Colombian Exposition outside of Chicago. Ontario Place was, in short, gorgeous -- a fantasy land. I only wish we had more time to explore there, instead of rushing in about 10 minutes before showtime, as is our wont to do. The venue itself is completely different from any shed down south. The walls are pleated, made of some sort of corrugated material, and look like they could accordion inwards at the slightest gust of wind.

The pavilion is organized in a neat way, different sections connected to each other by small staircases. The lawn overlooks the main lake. Onstage, the band's equipment seemed closer together than usual somehow. The place seemed devoid of the scene that's accompanied all the shows thus far this tour -- though the emptiness could've just been an illusion caused by the fact that the Toronto show followed hot on the heels of a six show run in the band's native northeast. There was a relaxed, though quite energetic buzz, in the crowd.

As with last year's show, many expected the band to bust out something extra-special for the crowd that ventured across the border. People spoke in hushed tones about Gamehendge songs, Harpua, bust-outs, and random covers. Phish managed to respond with something Canadian. A show filled with rarities is valuable because of the scarcity of the song -- a kind of triumph within a certain power structure. Are the songs Phish plays during a bust-out set (see 7/4 set I) that much better than the songs they play in a typical set? Or is it just the rarity of experiencing one of these sets what makes them valuable? Are they actually more worthy?

Tonight's show was not special in any traditional, American sense. That's not to say it wasn't special in its own way. The set-opening Reba was special on all counts -- the first one of tour, the first show opening version in nearly a decade... and fuckin' Reba, for Christ's sakes. The jam came at a relaxed clip, spiraling upwards through several climaxes, and was a delightful show opener for a sunny day in Canada. Taste was highlighted by a nearly imperceptible guitar loop, which Trey left going for the duration of the jam. Mike seemed to duel with the loop, engaging it in a melodic battle for the low-end. When Trey consciously paid attention to it, his interactions were gorgeous as well. Finally, he introduced the main lick from Gotta Jibboo and, through theme and variation, twisted it into the Taste ending.

The bulk of the set was simply a good, solid set of Phish music. There were few pyrotechnics, one or two surprising song choices, but mostly good, unremarkable Phish. The second You Enjoy Myself of tour was interesting in the way it carried on a few of the themes of the tour. During the quiet part of the composed section, Trey began playing with the octave pedal he usually uses for his end-of-set shenanigans, pretending to bow imaginary strings, and drawing out long, beautiful notes. It was the first successfully musical use I've seen of the pedal -- as well as the first time some of Trey's hijinx will actually translate to tape.

Immediately following the trampoline segment, Trey set a high-pitched loop on his keyboard that sounded vaguely like a woodblock. Behind him, Page clomped away on the Hammond, creating a thickly textured groove. For a while, Trey turned the loop off altogether. Once it was back on, Fish wrapped it in a woodblock-based groove of his own, in much the same way Trey plays around the keyboard loop in his Heavy Things solo. On top of this, Trey added a part which was half-solo, half-fills. This part drew together the keyboard loop with what Fish was doing. Soon after, the band dropped into a non-descript vocal jam to close the set.

The second-set opening Limb By Limb rolled along in its circular rhythm for a while before spiraling in fractals upwards and then back down low. Trey let go with a drone while Fish added extremely delicate cymbal work, musically connected to the music accompanying the Krishnas who've been following the band around lately. Quickly after that, the band passed the point of no return, Trey being the last to jump over it with an entrance into a slowed down version of the Psycho Killer rhythm he uses in many jams. The band settled into a tight groove not entirely unlike that of Spock's Brain before Fish kicked into the Also Sprach beat. On top of the intro, Trey laid an extremely gorgeous melody, which led into a textbook Also Sprach.

Piper itself is not a powerful song. It needs to either build from something or build to something. This is why the versions played in fall 1997 worked so gloriously -- they always fit in conceptually with something else. Since then, the song has occupied a slot as a stand-alone tune, without much to it besides the changes themselves. Tonight's version was the first in many moon which moved considerably beyond that structure into new territory. Throughout, Fish played a hyperactive role, responding to Trey's arena-rock squawks with a barrage of sensitive fills. The deep groove bordered on both Maze and Llama -- with Fish even leaving a beat space for Trey to begin the Llama intro at one point.

In the end, the jam petered out to nothing, which is ironic in its own way considering that it came out of Piper. Had the jam moved back into the song, it would've been a perfectly executed climax doing exactly what Piper is designed to do. Instead, it died and Trey started strumming the intro to Driver. Oh, well. At least Piper proved that it hasn't been dead for the past two years... it's just smelled funny. The remainder of the set (and encore) returned to the relaxed execution of the first of the half of the show, leaving the crowd happy, but not altered in any permanent way.

It was a show where things where few things were big, though many were just slightly different. The things that were different highlighted the fact that the variables are just that -- variables. Structure is an illusion.

Jesse Jarnow can be reached at jesse.jarnow@oberlin.edu or by his homepage.