Phish: the Tweezer Shows, 6/18 and 6/19/10

After the second night of Phish's two-night run in Hartford, and the first overcrowded night in the boys' home turf, SPAC, it's safe to assume that one of Vermont's most profitable exports has regained their stature, stage presence and groove: for better or for worse. Before SPAC, I hadn't seen Trey stand dramatically on the stage monitors since the pharmaceutical antics at Coventry in 2004; though a friend and noted Phishtorian declared that she believed "Trey's on something," during a snoozertune at SPAC, there were few other hints that any personal reckless may endanger the Weekapaug Grooves: a missed lick in the first measures of "Reba" and some strange modulation in "Tweezer" can be forgiven-- though not all summer. I think Trey's clean, and substantially more relaxed than during last summer, when they were busy at Fenway, MSG, etc., reopening the tie-dyed scar on the music scene that is Phish.

These were two, outdoor summer shows, and because they're now overcrowding the lawn at SPAC to New-York-City-rush-hour-bus-station levels, the Hartford show was better. Someone in the lot told me that the "Fee" that began the second night at Hartford was "the greatest 'Fee' of all time." It was about as righteous as any "Fee" I've ever heard... as was the "Wolfman's Brother," which led to a righteous jam, which is not to be confused with the ascending-to-high-dweedle-dweedle-dee-guitar notes jams that followed a pedestrian tempo "Julius," a wedding-band "Billy Breathes," and, at SPAC, "Bathtub Gin" and "Free."

There's an obvious fear among the band that they'll sound TOO much like Phish. Though each live show this summer will likely roll out a prescription's worth of entracing, headbobbing riffs, the boys are trying to find new musical space in which to play. Hopefully it's obvious to them that their new live diatribe riffs won't be found among the chords of Trey's new low-grade ballad "Summer of '89," or of Page's forgettable number from SPAC. To Trey's credit, the lyrics of this much-panned song may be the most earnest, and heartfelt that I've ever heard from the frontman, and if it didn't suck, I'd love to hear it again.

These two shows helped me understand more why I still like Phish. As I shuffled slowly, along with thousands of others, leaving the venue in Saratoga, I realized I'd trade all my Phish adventures to come, for the chance to wear headphones during every show: magical headphones that let me hear exactly, and only, what Mike Gordon is doing to hold the band together, to keep the jam flowing, to push the groove. In Limestone, Maine I bought a long-lost sticker that still applies: OBEY MIKE. This advice is especially useful to the other members of the band these days, and the double-Gordo slam at Hartford ("Foam"-->"Possum") proved why the electric bass is the great motivator: "Foam" (like "Rift," earlier in the set at Hartford) seemed fast enough to be constantly on the verge of implosion. Trey played one of his finest (and original!) solos during the country-fried "Possum," and the whole place bounced along wonderfully. Mike's finest moment may have come during "Harry Hood," when he invented a groove that somehow ate up an eighth note, or some division of time the boys are far more familiar with than I: it was not a miraculous musical act, but a feat that they performed beautifully, smoothly, without hesitation, a brigade through the jam section of "Harry Hood" led by the man slappin' away at the bass. I was at the portapotties as the second set at Hartford began: "hurry up," yelled a guy with a beer to the people in line, "Mike's coming back on!"

As Trey pursued Mark Knopfler-type licks in among "Sleeping Monkey," and as Fish whisper-sang a verse in "Moma Dance," I wondered if Page's piano teacher was in the audience at SPAC. Set two opened with the Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll," and rarely exceeded a Lou-Reed-tempo-speed-limit. Trying to rally the troops after another new snoozer "Halfway 'Round the Moon," "Prince Caspian" was no faster than the previous night's "Wading in the Velvet Sea," and thus twice as dull. During the "Squirming Coil" piano solo, Page played well-- not well enough for my neighbors on the lawn at SPAC, who spoke with disgust, as they described how they had seen Page leave his SUV running, with air conditioning running full-blast, when he runs into the Starbucks in Winooski.

The internet is helping shape musical tastes, from the ground up, and while I don't endorse passing judgment on performers' personal choices--especially during their performance-- I can't help but to take into account why a band is performing when I see them. Explaining why the crowd was to be treated to a second "Tweezer Reprise" at Hartford (ran out of time in Hershey, PA), Trey joked that Phish was "the all-request band." Spreading the good vibes a few hours north, they kicked off-- and closed up-- the first night at SPAC with the same rising-chord anthem. Caught up in the silliness of it all--the special, crowdpleasing silliness of four versions of the same song in 24 hours-- I found myself in the floodlights at SPAC after the show, and I started yelling "All Tweezer! All summer! Nothing but Reprise!" I hope, in coming weeks, the "all-request" manifestation of Phish 3.0 takes old material (I appreciated the NEW complexities in "David Bowie!") and continues to seek that new and elusive space in the musical strata. For two nights in New England, it was "Tweezer Reprise" that took us all there.