Phish Power
How do you explain a relationship so deep that it overshadows your thinking in every other part of your life? Particularly as a non-musician, I ask myself repeatedly, What is the power this lifestyle holds over me? Certainly, if I could share the words and language used to describe the sounds and skills of music, I would have an elevated appreciation of the artisanship that occurs in the genre of jamband music…the tumultuous blend of rock and roll tinged with influences of every style from Appalachian Bluegrass alphabetically down the line to Zydeco. Yet, my pop-radio trained ear has sucked it all up, pushing the sound through my brain and carving new paths. I have practiced listening to a show over and over – fast forwarding tracks to midjam and listening, focusing on how one instrument leads another through the path, off the path, into space, and back into the familiar close of the song or the beginning of another. The unpredictability is the power. I still catch myself at moments not even realizing I am paying attention, but my head will be bent forward, eyes closed as the notes land somewhere behind my ears, and I realize I’m caught. I’m so addicted to the vigorous, circular rising jams that raise my spirits and my breathing. And there is no doubt that when the vocals chime back in with, “You can feel good, you can feel good about hood” that I am feeling very, very good about hood and nothing else at all is in my head.
Stats
I’m not a Phish junkie. I’ve had a music education. Pulling out my stub box, I count 189 tickets to shows: Phish, TAB, Panic, Cheese, Phil & Friends, Bruce Hornsby, Steve Kimock, Charlie Hunter, Sector 9, JJ Cale, U2, David Grisman, Robert Walters, Garaj Mahal, KDTU, various 2-3 timers, and a single ticket for my angel of feminine anger: PJ Harvey at the Warfield 9/17/01.
Splitsville
On 1/27/03, when the words, “I don’t think we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together” came out of the mouth of the ex, sitting cross-legged on the bed, just an arm’s length away from me, I felt a sickening spinning sensation. A sensation like my heart had been bound up in bristly rope, yanked out of my chest, pummeled, and shoved back into the cavity of my stomach. Not only was I losing my lover, my best friend, and my home, but I was losing my enabler. The one who last fall had called Ticketmaster non-stop, 20 times a day, day after day, long after most others had abandoned hope, until he came up with the score of hiatus gold: 2 tickets to Phish’s ultra-impossible return to MSG. He’d called me at my brand-new job with the news. At the moment, I was in a new office with my new boss and an investor, struggling over the exact verbiage of an ad campaign that was pushing well past deadline. But I saw his number ring through on my cell and grabbed the line. Tears jumped out of my eyes when he said, “babe, babe, I got ’em.” I knew immediately what “’em” meant. My voice crackled when I responded. My office cleared instantly. Later they told me they thought I’d gotten the marriage proposal. Ah, sweet, sweet irony.
Vegas is for Leavers
The ex and I decided that we’d make one more run to see Phish 2/15/03 and 2/16/03 in Vegas, prefaced by the Valentine’s Day show in LA. I knew this would be my launch into solo touring, and I soaked up key learnings: managing hotel desk relationships for room rate reductions; finding the soft spot in the long line at Thomas & Mack to ensure great seats and posters while reducing time spent in the lot doing nothing. Practiced my seat banter and wandering through the venue alone, smiling at strangers and fighting down the sense of loss. Instead I focused on self-reliance, independence, and the connection to the music. Why else would Phish have played “DWD”…’This has all been wonderful but now I’m on my way’ wrapped around “Seven Below” and then teased again in “Piper”? That was for me.
The Road to Redemption
No hesitation. Before I even moved my first piece of furniture out of the apartment, I stood in line at the Fillmore to pick up tickets to see music. Any music would do, as far as I was concerned. I got tickets to Ratdog and KDTU. The next week I picked up a ticket to the SF Funk Allstar Jam. Tried to drag along my music fanatic friend Laura, but she negged me on seeing any shows containing the words “funk,” “allstar,” “jam,” or their derivatives. Hmmm…
Still unfocused and wanting to talk about my experience, I sought interaction through the web. Posted an ad on craigslist.com – a simple one – looking for a companion to hang out at KDTU. Within a few hours, I had more responses than I could sort out. But it felt so foreign. I hit emails back and forth for a couple weeks with one guy, but the more we wrote, the more I realized I didn’t want my musical experiences stained by romantic overtones. I want an intellectual companion, not someone to get it on with after the show.
Game On
I found myself making the rounds of the online rumor and message boards. A long-time, part-time lurker, I brazened myself to face the hazing first-time posters receive. The boards can be intimidating when you’re not a statistician. I typed in my post and abandoned my message half-a-dozen times before in an adrenaline burst I hit the “Post Message” button at the bottom of the page. But what surprised me is that the hazing didn’t happen. Teasing…yes. Saying things I wished later I could delete, well, yeah, maybe. Point of discovery: I have strong leanings towards being a “filter off” kind of person. Blurt it out now and think about it in puzzlement later. But I discovered a connection to the passion that anchors the scene. I started to know personalities behind names, and looked for their opinions and colorful banter. The words on the board eventually crossed into words in lengthy emails and excited AIM exchanges. There’s nothing like the moment someone you’ve never met bursts on your AIM screen, and you end up telling one-line stories from Vegas, Cinci, Hampton, back and forth, discovering a laugh or a twist that makes you smile for hours afterwards. There’s no rush to meet or speed up. Just a chance to laugh or shock or share a longing to get to the next show. And sometimes the words come in emails.
Tour Planning
Summer tour dates have been announced. (!!!) Made hotel reservations in 4 states with matching rental car reservations. Saved flights on Travelocity with round trip and jaw itineraries as I costed out options on my Excel spreadsheet. Conflicts: TAB vs. Phish. Summer vs. fall. Time vs. money. I struggle with the accounting. Push the dates around the sheet, cutting and pasting reservation quotes, watching the sum at the bottom grow. Decision-making is the ability to prioritize and allocate resources. I decide to sleep on it.
The Gorge
I pulled the trigger today. I bought my airfare and tagged the calendar at work with vacation days on both sides of the July 12>13 shows. I got my first taste of Phish tour at the Gorge. My first show: Portland Meadows — of the infamous California “Tweezer” — 7/15/98, followed up by the 2-night run at the Gorge. I had never in my life been so ill-prepared to spend starry nights camping in the dirt — no tent — next to a rental car. The sunbaked portapotties made me feel jaundiced. But wow-oh-wow the views, the never-ending songs that meshed together, and the old hippie who punctuated the pauses between songs by yelling, “Punch You in the Eye” – a marvel of nonsense to me at the time.
Stats
Disclaimer: I’m not a statistician. What show will Phish’s return to George, Washington, be for me? A quick Alt-Tab to my phantasytour.com account says the first night at Shoreline is gonna be my 50th Phish show. The Gorge is going to be Nos. 52 and 53. The more daunting statistic: this run will be my first Phish shows without my longtime touring companion and mentor now simply known as “the ex.”
The Plan
My confession is…I’m already holding tickets for IT, Phish’s festival in Maine at the beginning of August. Tour closer. At an impossibly difficult time for me to be traipsing around the country. But I know why. It’s a dare to myself. How far can I push my comfort zone and go where I’ve never been before and face all of the personal and travel challenges for the payoff? It’s an interesting question. Can’t wait to find out the answer.
Stats
When I hear the last notes of Limestone, I will end Summer Tour 2003 with 57 Phish shows under my belt.
