Phish recently completed a jubilant 3-night stand at the majestic Greek Theater in Berkeley, California. This review captures a next morning’s reflection on the second night.

Somewhere, in some small, strange pocket of this vast and beautiful universe, Lou Reed is waking up, throwing on his slippers, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and nibbling on some crunchy toast.

So, too, are the rag-tag, gilded, gilled ones – the fortunate few who awaken to nosh on the breadcrumbs of an evening filled with harmony, melody, rhythm, and magic. In dreamy contemplation, we find ourselves saved, once again, by that fine, fine music they call rock n’ roll.

There will be naysayers who bemoan the absence of a 58-minute “Runaway Jim” or a Bomb Factory-style “Tweezer”. Some will complain that we didn’t get a “Lushington”, or “Prep School Hippie”, or some other dusty nugget sprung-loose from the back pages. And those of you who paid entirely too much for a ticket (Have we really created a market for $400 shows!?!?) almost assuredly couldn’t be satisfied.

Don’t let those jaded by the unattainable expectation of an exceptional past scare you away from this show, or from any Summer 2010 show, really. Phish is killing it. Berkeley Night Two was no exception.

*****

The band jumped out of the gate with a zippy “Chalkdust Torture.” If you’re reading this review, it was probably nothing you haven’t heard…but that didn’t stop seven-thousand heads from synchronously slamming. An interviewer once asked Quentin Tarantino about opening Pulp Fiction with Dick Dale’s “Miserlou.” Tarantino responded, essentially, that he couldn’t muck with the film after he led with that tempo. Duly noted, Q.

The opening bar of “Guyute” confirmed that Phish meant business. Drummer Jon Fishman destroyed the kit – it sounded as if he was doubling up on every note through the first several minutes. Guitarist Trey Anastasio managed to smile through a few flubs and build towards a furious crescendo. This version is nothing more or less wonderful than an average to average-plus “Guyute”, however, it was visibly and aurally evident that the band was in good spirits.

“Ocelot” followed The Ugly Pig, holding strong on its lilting cadence and sunny intonation. More than a few of us have remarked that the song could have been scribed by another bearded, bespectacled wizard of the guitar who used to gratefully grace the hallowed grounds of The Greek. It should therefore come as no surprise that Trey seemed to accentuate the Jerry-esque qualities of the tune on this particular evening. Page and Mike earn a thumbs-up, as well, for their note-perfect “Dear Prudence” harmonies at the end of the song.

The terrestrial portion of the show ended with “Ocelot” – the band kicked into another gear for a sinewy “It’s Ice.” “It’s Ice” has always been a personal favorite, because each band member gets a serious chance to showcase his chops in the context of overarching musical dexterity and lyrical brilliance. Bassist Mike Gordon’s tone has never sounded better to my ears, and Fishman, per usual, ticked his way through complex time signatures and melodious fills with Rolex precision. Pianist Page McConnell has shone all summer long –here, he excelled at the difficult task of simultaneously communicating both levity and vital importance.

But it was Trey’s brand-spankin’-new light saber that stole “It’s Ice.” For those who missed the big news out of Berkeley Night One, Paul Languedoc (Trey’s guitar craftsman and former Phish soundman) was saving “a magic piece of wood” to craft for our hero one “last” – best swallowed with a Coventry-size grain of mud-caked salt – great guitar. I don’t pretend to know anything about guitars, but the sound seems thinner, lither, airier, and a little less aggressive. Trey left no doubt that he can still slice through the mortal constructs of time, space, and gravity…only now, he does so with a kitana instead of a machete.

Phish truly found its frequency in “Cities”. After the first night of Berkeley focused on precise execution (e.g. “Fluffhead”, “Divided Sky”), the band and the audience needed to let it all hang out. “Cities” is where that really started to happen. Indeed, this version harkens back a dozen years and should quickly qualify as a fan favorite.

Peak moment of the weekend: “Home of Elvis and the Ancient…” LIGHTBULB!!! The audience went bonkers. I’m sure it will translate well to tape.

The honey-coated jam out of “Cities” seeped into the bona-fide, ass-shaking, waaa-waaa funk of “The MOMA Dance”. At least one soon-expecting mother was left ecstatic. The rest of us seemed pretty darn happy, too. Page greased up our dancing shoes, and even Fishman’s vocals were on tonight. Start to finish, “MOMA” was a solid slice of much-needed git-down.

“MOMA” dropped, plunked, and fizzed into a well-placed, equally saturated “Bathtub Gin” to complete the triptych of the evening (Cities>MOMA>Gin). For better or worse, Phish 3.0 is less about 40-minute expeditions and more about execution and nuance. (For the record, I love it all.) The Berkeley “Gin” exemplifies this point. It was by no means a 30+ minute Type II (visit http://phish.net/faq/jamming for an explanation on Type I vs. Type II jamming) goose-chaser from ‘98-’99, but Phish played extremely well within the outline of the tune, cooperatively carving bright corners and treading trippy tangents along the way.

“Stealing Time from the Faulty Plan” is one of my favorite new tunes. I consider it Phish’s heroin-blues number. Like a set-closing “Character Zero”, “Faulty Plan” gave us a well-structured chance to rage before we rest. No disappointment here.

*****

Exhale.

“Got a blank space where my mind should be.”

Second set.

Inhale.

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The jangly, dangly, unmistakable stutter-step of the Velvet Underground’s “Rock N’ Roll” revved our collective engine with urgency. Tarantino principle firmly intact, “Rock N’ Roll” set the tone for what will almost surely prove the finest set of the weekend: tight, focused Type I jamming softly sliding into shimmering, coalescent psychedelic bliss, with Gordon guiding The Bus. Page’s voice sounded terrific. Fishman is the personification of a human heart – an oddly-shaped, perpetually-beating vessel of animating Force – and he held our pulse all set long. Trey looked peaceful and, frankly, healthy. What a relief!

After fifteen-or-so minutes, “Rock ‘N Roll” yielded to a brooding “Ghost”. Mike left muddy footprints all over the song, and Trey delivered the specter’s electric glow. Towards the end of “Ghost”, the band found itself at an interesting intersection: sign-posts pointed towards “Walk Away”, “Boogie on Reggae Woman”, and “Sneaking Sally”, among others. Shucks, I thought I heard a couple Beatles tunes drift through the collective unconscious. Go figure.

In an event, my “Train Wreck of the Night” Award (AKA “The Wrecky”) goes to the transition from “Ghost” to “Mike’s Song.” Trey scrambled into a “Mike’s” that wasn’t there, and then quickly bailed after it was already too late. What more can I say? It happens. August 6, 2010 was hardly flawless victory, but it was no doubt a triumphant success.

One measure of a great band/team/person/pet/automobile/etc. is the ability to rebound after something goes awry. Phish ripped a snarling “Mike’s Song” after smudging the segue. They charged seamlessly into the outro, with Fishman obliterating the skins.

“Mike’s” moved into “Simple” which is one of my favorite Phish songs for both its lyrical ambition and ambient space.

Its lyrics? Totally, its lyrics. To me, the lyrics are the alchemist’s recipe for a tasty band: cymbals (rhythm); saxophone (a brassy and able leader); be-bop (jazz sensibility); and sky-scrapers (hopes and dreams). Swirl them all together, and you’re left with “cymbop” and “be-bophone”, “skybals” and “saxscrapers”. In other words, Phish.

As for the ambient space, the Berkeley “Simple” blossomed into the most “beautiful” music of the evening. Trey’s new guitar gave the “Simple” jam a feathery feeling in its early stage, and Page was right there with it. Gordon pulled Simple into – shit, I don’t know what you’d call it – The Baby Martian Dance, with Trey throwing some plucky harmonics and bizarre effects behind it. The Baby Martians then started dancing calypso at Fishman’s insistence, and Trey began playing a sort of rhythm-lead (see Townsend, Pete; Edge, The) to Mike and Jon’s lyrical undertone. Once again, Page was right there with all of it.

I don’t know why Trey felt compelled to pull back on the “Simple” jam, which was in full swing from what I could tell. Nonetheless, “Backwards Down the Number Line” proved a fitting choice; these kinds of shows – the music, the setting, the friends – remind me of why I adore Phish, and how I have forged so many special connections with people who feel the same way.

Trey noodled quietly through “Number Line”, while Gordon dropped bombs and Fishman dropped beats. After a high-energy jolt that lasted several songs, a ballad such as “Show of Life” was well-placed. The lyrics are nice – perhaps a little over sentimental, but heartfelt nonetheless – and Trey sung them well. I look forward to hearing this song grow legs and meaning over the years.

“Seven Below” breezed past (Was that the shortest version ever?) but not without Mike offering some terrific fills. Cactus continued to bring the heat, as the band segued into the inevitable “Weekapaug Groove”. Anastasio kept the truncated ‘paug moving at a clip, and Page added necessary texture.

We all figured that “Weekapaug” would close the second set and were surprised when it appeared the band would play one more. Something relatively quick? “Cavern”? “Golgi Apparatus”? “Ride Captain Ride” (for the San Francisco Bay Area)?

“You Enjoy Myself”!!! This was definitely a night for hippies on trampolines…

The band read through their opus with patience and poise. Page, especially, drove the melody to that happy place. Fishman literally did not miss a beat. Trey sat in the pocket and picked the right places to play; his restraint pays dividends.

Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike. Mike absolutely owned his solos, which, as you probably know, are strategically placed to steal your face. His solo before the vocal jam was inspiring – totally off the hook, yet totally in control. Just listen to how his bass drops out of the conversation before the vocal jam.

Another peak moment in an evening full of them: the vocal jam to conclude YEM was among the very best I’ve heard. The band moved from a sort of Bobby-McFerrin soul groove (Trey teased “I Wanna Take you Higher’) into the nether regions of the jungle. We gathered seven-thousand strong – ring-dancing, flag waving, foot-stomping, and moon-howling with the wild-eyed fervor of an aboriginal trance – around the cosmic conflagration that emanated from the center of the band’s piece de resistance. Jim Morrison would have been proud.

The vocal jam wrapped with The Boys groaning a dying, “No, no, no, no…” They just didn’t want it to end. Neither did we. So it goes.

The band encored with a whiz-bang run through “Good Times, Bad Times”. Zeppelin geeks, abound, rejoiced. Cherry proudly fixed atop the sundae, Phish disappeared into the foggy night. Somewhere in the distance, Al Green softly crooned, “You make me feel so brand new….”

*****

Over the last two months, Phish has been approaching heights unknown since at least 2000. Berkeley Night Two picked up right where Summer Tour, Leg One left off – The Bus is rapidly accelerating back in time, while the navigators continue looking towards tomorrow. Always in the moment, always in the moment.

Much of this success can be attributed to Anastasio. He has been playing with renewed vigor and confidence, and he appears to be keeping overindulgence – musical or otherwise – at bay. If anything, Trey has been a little too patient or relenting in the 3.0 iteration. Last night, especially during the second set, he wailed.

Gordo is at his strongest. He is not afraid to take the wheel, and he is making himself heard with thumping aplomb. Fishman seems to have finally shaken off the rust that accumulated between 2004 and 2009. His fills are crackling with energy; his timing is impeccable. All of this gives Page more room to add tone and texture, which he does so well with both his keys and voice.

Kudos to lighting guru Chris Kuroda for ensuring that our eyes never grew jealous of our ears. You’re freakin’ me out, man…and I like it. Phish circa 2004 left a sour taste in my mouth for many more reasons than I care to share in a mostly glowing review. I will, however, proffer that the absence of CK5, compounded by the sheer inadequacy of Fenton Williams, contributed to my indigestion.

We dearly appreciate that you came back to the lighting board, Chris. Phish is not Phish without you.

And last, but certainly not least, I could not fairly review this show without offering my love and gratitude to the ever-progressive, wholly-hospitable residents and environs of Berkeley, California. Contrary to one deeply mistaken observer from elsewhere, Berkeley is a pale imitation of absolutely nothing – it is its own wonderfully weird, rainbow-striped, fire-breathing MultiBeast.

We were delighted to stumble through Berkeley’s mist-masked majesty and soak in her one-of-a-kind aura until daybreak. Moreover, the Greek Theater is a must for any aficionado of aesthetics, acoustics, and/or musical history. We in the Bay Area deeply cherish the opportunity to visit this special atmosphere with regularity. We hope our guests enjoy it as much as we do.

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It had been almost seventeen years since Phish last fried U.C. Berkeley’s Greek Theater. And here we were again. After all these years. With our friends. With our phamily. With our band. Invited into this beautiful place, for another amazing evening of light and music…

“And it was alright. It was alllllllllllllllllllriiiiiiiiiight…”