Phish
Newport State Airport, Coventry, VT (August 13, 2004)
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Phish
Newport State Airport, Coventry, VT
August 13, 2004 |
Thus sung Trey Anastasio, Mike Gordon, Page McConnell and Jon Fishman in unison last Sunday night (Aug. 15) during a spirited rendition of "The Curtain (With)" that closed their two-day performance in Coventry, Vermont, and effectively ended their career as Phish, one of the most unique, inventive and popular rock bands of their era.
It's unclear if all band members shared that sentiment or felt it applied to the quartet's 21-year career, but it proved a smart ending to the Phish experience, warmly appealing for sympathy and acceptance from the present crowd of 70,000-plus, the 50,000 fans watching on theater screens across the country and the rest of the band's followers and observers.
If the Coventry Festival was any benchmark, those fans weren't quite as
ready to let go of Phish as the band was of them. The blowout, six-set
performance in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom, close to the Canadian border,
was a muddy, sloppy affair that featured depravity and ecstasy, beautiful
visual attractions and filthy bogs, and similar extremes when it came to
Phish's music. Yet the pull was strong enough to draw in the masses of fans
-- hailing from all 50 States and three continents -- despite physical
adversity including four days of rain that turned the ground to mush and 23
miles of stopped traffic on Interstate-91.
Throughout the weekend, concertgoers exchanged their stories of making the pilgrimage to Coventry. "We drove 30 hours from Boston" (normally a five-hour trip). "We spent 46 hours in the car and ended up stuck in mud on the side of the road." "We left our parked car and hiked 15 miles through the woods with our tent equipment, and we don't have tickets."
Once there on-site, exhausted -- and in more cases than not, high as a kite on any number of freely exchanged substances -- the crowd knew its priorities. It wasn't time to get hung up on little things like your car being left to the elements somewhere miles away or your clothes growing brown and stinky from the tire-churned paddies of mud that dotted the landscape of the campgrounds, a former airport. They had all come for one reason: to celebrate Phish.
The group formed in 1983 on the campus of the University of Vermont and had grown from a local curiosity with an affinity for the Grateful Dead into the undisputed king of the "jam bands" and an accomplished touring juggernaut, one of the most successful live acts on the planet. The kind of group that could throw a party hundreds of miles away from any major metropolitan area, and draw 70-80,000 fans.
In 2000, citing exhaustion and a desire to stretch out musically with various side projects, the group took a two-year hiatus from recording and touring. But it didn't take too long relatively after the band's return -- two albums and two years of shows -- until its members revealed to the world that whatever urge it was that had separated them in the first place had not died, and as Anastasio posted on the band's official Web site, "We don't want to become caricatures of ourselves, or worse yet, a nostalgia act."
So they announced that the current tour would be their last, and thus
Coventry, the already booked two-day festival in the band's home state,
would be the final Phish show.
Beyond the chaos of the campground, the drugs and the general carnival atmosphere expected at a Phish concert, the fans at Coventry had to be beset by a bit of confusion as to what the band was really on about. Why would a group that can put on this kind of show not want to anymore? Everyone seemed like they were having fun, right? The bandmembers had clearly illustrated over the past few years that it was possible to tour and record with numerous side projects, live their own lives, and still keep Phish going. So why quit?
Yet, the proof was in the pudding. Though portions of the concert were absolutely transcendent -- such as the second set on Day 1, with its 21-minute "AC-DC Bag" opener and definitive final version of "David Bowie", the mountainous riffing that closed out "Taste" or the unparalleled "Seven Below > Simple > Piper" sequence during the closing set of the weekend -- there were also moments when it was clear why the band didn't feel it could do its own music and reputation justice anymore.
As Saturday's third set got underway, shots of Anastasio on the giant stage-side screens showed the guitarist looking incredibly haggard (see the Billy Breathes liner notes for an apt comparison), and the music reflected his almost pained expression. More than one fan was heard to comment "it's hard to listen to this" in reference to the final version of "Stash" -- sure, the jam portion of the song was exploratory and in keeping with the band's prowess as an improvisational live band. But the tune's actual scored music, with its intricate twists and turns, was sorely lacking. It became clear that this is what frustrates Trey and the band members. Sure, Phish can keep going even while its four members take time for other things in life. But it simply can't be as good as it once was. There's just not time in today's world for four forty-something fellows with families to get together between touring and recording sessions for the hours upon hours of group practice necessary to allow them to remain proficient at playing each of the convoluted compositions in their catalog.
And with such a devoted fan base, which knows those songs inside and out, applauds for the changes in concert and can reel off litanies such as "the best 15 versions of 'Tweezer'," the band surely feels like it's doing everyone in attendance a disservice when one player momentarily spaces that he's supposed to wait six bars before the crescendo instead of four, and the result is a few seconds of muddled riffing instead of the intended pristine turn of musical phrase. To Phish's enduring credit, they are so good at interacting with one another that such moments aren't deal-breakers. The songs roll on, high points are hit, and the phans rejoice. But over the years, the little things take their toll.
Some wondered, once the significance of Coventry was revealed, if the fans would take it hard. After all, there are some who seemed to devote their lives to the scene that follows the group around. But Phish fans are a mellow group, to say the least, and the final notes of the band's career were met with polite applause and reflective silence rather than displays of sorrow or anger. During a quiet moment in penultimate song "Slave To The Traffic Light," Gordon's gently plucked bass was the only sound that could be heard, as the hushed crowd dutifully absorbed the last few concert moments of their beloved band.
In the end, Phish's decision to call it quits will more likely than not
improve their legacy. When the fans -- and the stereotype of the unwashed,
drugged-out hippie follower -- go home (or to String Cheese Incident
concerts), and the stream of new releases dries up, what we'll be left with
is the music itself, and history will be able to take its time in
evaluating what Phish was. The band's legend can grow as its fans relate
their Phish experiences and pore over fond memories of what the group meant
to them.
Phish was never quite appreciated for its studio albums, the last of which, Undermind, wasn't touched at all during Coventry. But with time, listeners will go back to such solid efforts as Rift, Billy Breathes and Round Room, and find a band that really had a knack for creating original music. Thousands of live recordings exist that will take fans back to special moments in time and allow them to relive the best examples of Phish's work (Coventry is already up for sale at the group's digital-download store).
And nobody, outside of the band's inner circle perhaps, is dismissing the notion that -- just maybe -- Coventry wasn't really the band's last show. Fans were overheard last weekend laying jestful bets on how long it would be until the first reunion concert.
Yet, it does feel like the end of an era. When the Beatles broke up, music fans continents apart sobbed in the streets. Phish's demise isn't near that scale, but a huge subculture mourns nonetheless. Ultimately, it serves as a reminder of how much music means to us -- how it enhances our lives and adds a layer of significance to the search for meaning in reality.
PS - For another take on the Phish finale experience, read Jeffrey Gray's review
TROY CARPENTER | Troy Carpenter founded NATN from a Chicago apartment during the ambitious winter of 1998 with co-conspirators Ben French and Jonathan Cohen. After a five-year stint in New York, he and wife Lourdes have recently relocated to Indianapolis, where he spends days listening to music and nights in the kitchen at Elements restaurant. Musical heroes: Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Super Furry Animals. What else makes life worth living: Sushi, Phucty, runs in the park, and the Atlanta Braves.