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| Phish.net |
Manhattan hummed. In
the unseasonably mild night, scores of revelers preparing to
ring in the new year trotted by Madison Square
Garden, pleasantly oblivious to what was about to ensue within its
storied walls.
Unbeknownst to them, inside, a
tradition that began 17 years ago, and so suffused with passion that one could
dub it a ritual, was about to be renewed: Phish, the eclectic quartet with
legions of zealous followers, would perform at the Garden on New Year's Eve.
Indeed, having etched itself into
the building’s vast history, the band deserves to have its best years immortalized
on banners, hung alongside those of the Rangers and Knicks.
As the moment approached when both house lights
and house music switch off, fans poured in to their respected sections,
concession lines grew and water bottle caps collected, perhaps in the thousands.
Phish's devoted arrived in
waves, donning everything from shimmering dresses to flashing battery-powered
headpieces to ruffled blazers to suits with bow ties.
High above them, affixed to the
Garden's circus tent-style roof, were clusters of balloons; some multicolored,
shaped traditionally; others white, shaped like sausages. At the stroke of
midnight, they would drop down, save for a few stragglers.
Here, now, is a concise one-sentence
summary of the gripes: Because it had probably spent little to no time practicing for
the run, Phish was performing shoddily and, much worse, displaying an apparent
unwillingness to take musical risks.
Phish scribe Dave Calarco --
otherwise known as Mr. Miner -- who recently penned a sizable Phish
tome titled Mr. Miner's Phish
Thoughts: An Anthology by a Fan for the Fans, had a vexing question on
his mind going into show four.
"Now with only three sets left,
one has to wonder what has happened?" he wrote on his popular blog,phishthoughts.com. "Will New Year's Eve follow the steady decline of the
week, or will Phish come to the rescue with a show that will give zest to the
bland taste left in the mouths of so many fans over the past two nights?"
Well, after three sets, over three
hours of music, and a riveting acrobatic spectacle, the most apt
response to Calarco's inquiry would be that Phish, at least musically, failed
to turn heads, instead putting in a workmanlike effort with few auditory surprises.
Yet even in spite of this, it
crafted an exceptional memory -- a night its fans will hold forever and which
will doubtless launch thousands of “remember when” stories.
This, in the end, being all its
faithful could ever want.
A one-two punch of "AC/DC
Bag" and "Wolfman's Brother" only managed to ignite a fleeting
fervor. As the first slate drew on, the energy clearly waned. However, after a dreary
"Farmhouse," which caused twirling fans to become resting ones,
Phish tugged at the crowd’s heartstrings with a beautifully placed
"Pebbles and Marbles."
Then came "Ocelot," which,
to be frank, has become a bit like an old, smelly, ragged feline one
expects to see creeping through a dank alley. The song, from Phish's most
recent album "Joy," always brings a dull, structuralized improvisation.
When Phish finishes the
tune's composed section, it tends to claw at the same tired notes. Most
versions, aside from a few shockers of course, follow this script.
Ending with a soaring peak is never
a bad decision, so a searing "Fluffhead," featuring a crowd-pleasing
"Auld Lane Syne" tease woven in, proved the perfect close to the dismal
opening frame.
"Party Time" led off the
second set, and similar to a leadoff hitter in baseball that the manager trusts to reach base,
it served its purpose by priming the crowd for a power hitter waiting in the wings.
Unfortunately, such a hitter did not
show up until later in the set.
Phish sent "Light" to the
plate next and chose to bring this version into the very heart of some
psychedelic groundswell. The jam shifted pace from fiery to reserved. Chris
Kuroda’s lights mimicked the mood.
Then, somewhere amid the deep
groove, anchored largely by bassist Mike Gordon, Trey Anastasio -- in many
respects Phish’s unofficial skipper -- teased the opening riff of TV on
the Radio’s “Golden Age.”
It was a message to his band mates:
time to come back to earth. But they did not immediately oblige, resulting in
an awkward transition.
Gordon, keyboardist Page McConnell and
drummer Jon Fishman slowly slipped into the song’s structure, though with mixed
results. Phish played this “Golden Age” fast -- supersonic time signature fast.
It was as if it had to complete the song in order to keep from falling into a
pool of sharks.
Two time fillers followed in “Theme
from the Bottom” and “Heavy Things” before the set hit its stride. “Ghost”
began an end sequence that by its final song, a raucous “Suzy Greenberg,” had spurred thousands of grinning countenances.
In the middle was an epic “46 Days.”
A suddenly vivacious Anastasio let loose a fury of sound, building and building
and building his solo. He was emotive, bobbing his head up and down -- his
shaggy red hair flopping in his face.
It took eight songs for the party to
begin. And there was one more set to come.
Midnight approached. “Cavern,”
usually a closer, opened set three. After it ended, a pot of boiling water
screeched and steamed. Intrepid fans knew immediately what was coming.
Or so they thought.
“Steam” started up as they anticipated. But
what they were not prepared for was the floating objects -- a keytar, speaker
cabinet, bass and vacuum – heading toward Heaven through the thick smoke released
sporadically during the song’s chorus.
Nor were they ready when a dancer
took flight, accompanied by part of the security gate. And when members of the
crowd wearing glowing backpacks made to resemble jetpacks levitated, too,
insanity enveloped the Garden.
With the airborne excitement, it was
easy to forget that the clock was still ticking to 2012. A bodiless voice
echoed through the arena counting down … 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 … the balloons
fell, and Anastasio initiated “Auld Lane Syne.”
The second song of 2012 was “Down
with Disease.” It reprised the floating dancers and even had Anastasio
and Gordon joining in on the gag. Using wireless instruments, they stood on rising
platforms. Amazingly, the height didn’t seem to faze them -- neither missed a
note.
The rest of the set, like the year
before it, seemed to fly by. A “First Tube” provided fans one more opportunity to
boogie (an overjoyed young woman announced that she was going to dance so hard
that she would need to remove her pants).
After the encore, “Slave to the Traffic Light,” reached its musical mountaintop, Anastasio thanked everyone, wishing them a Happy New
Year.
Fans departed the Garden, but not
before letting out one final wind rush of cheers to greet the cool air. The
city was wide-awake. Another Phish concert had come and gone.
