Phish Kicks Out the Jams at Ascend Amphitheater

In a town where beloved tradition routinely butts up against progress, Tuesday night's sold-out Phish show fit right in. We arrived too late to scope out the lot — we're not even sure where "the lot" would be in a rapidly developing section of downtown populated by pay lots and garages — but as we strolled along the riverfront to the gates of the new Ascend Amphitheater, we passed a parade of heads sporting tie-dye and sandals, fingers in the air, looking for a miracle (in the form of a spare ticket). Inside, we found ourselves in a sea of grizzled lifers and parents shepherding kiddos with adorably sized ear protection. From bootlegs and extracurricular reading, we knew all the rituals that followed Phish from their days as happy-hour entertainment to their years as ringleaders of a traveling arena circus, but we were about to experience the grand spectacle in person for the first time. We didn't hold out much hope that the group would stand up to our teenage expectations, but it only took a few notes for us to put away our hard-nosed critics' card and become carefree fans once again. In other words, we weren't above noodle dancing. 

With minimal ado, former Grateful Dead guitarist Trey Anastasio & Co. opened the first set with "Free," its line "I feel the feeling I'd forgot" we found particularly resonant. So did those in the VIP section, who broke out into a nutty posi-vibes mosh pit; a few couples skipped through it, and at least one tried to line dance. There was quite a bit of excitement, but minimal rowdiness. As on most shows of Phish's summer tour so far, the first set mixed new songs in with old favorites, showcasing the variety of styles the band has absorbed into its travels. Though the slinky "No Men in No Man's Land," which the band debuted last month, isn't as fully-developed as "Wolfman's Brother," with its rich Little Feat-like groove that's been a concert staple since the mid-'90s, it's as much fun to watch the new songs grow and develop as it is to sing along with the classics. For fans of a band such a stockpile of minutiae and statistics as Phish, there's a tendency to think of songs like players on a sports team; based on the evidence so far, "No Men" is one to keep an ear on this season. Following a plaintive take on Los Lobos' "When the Circus Comes," the Latin-jazz-tinged barnstormer "Stash" resolved into "Lawn Boy," a cocktail jazz number wryly crooned by keyboardist Page McConnell as he sauntered across the stage.

As the sky darkened, the second set started with a cover of TV On the Radio's "Golden Age," a relatively recent set list addition (we'll still classify six years as "recent") that felt like unfamiliar territory to us. But the song spawned an hour-long suite of buoyant jams that made us feel right at home. This is the band's raison d'être, carrying us along on its never-ending quest for beauty in the moment. Rather than something they create, it's something they find by looking together, blossoming in the spaces between dissolving songs — but even with a recording studio's worth of gear and decades of experience on stage, there's still a chance that search will prove fruitless. It's inspiring that, with all of the things they could be doing after doing this for over 30 years, they come looking for it night after night. Last night lady luck smiled on their efforts, and not even the August heat or the police confiscating our neighbors' stash, as if on cue, right at the top of "Mike's Song," with its "Me no are no nice guy" chorus, could kill the buzz of going along for the ride with a crowd whose enthusiasm matched our own.

We've put some effort into not being effusive about Phish over the years, in order to stay friends with people who aren't into that kind of trip, or else prefer to get theirs from a roots-oriented group like The Grateful Dead. That's all well and good, but there were plenty of moments in this concert that compelled us to dance like Snoopy on top of Schroeder's piano, and we weren't going to fight it, cool points be damned. The extended segue out of "Mike's" saw Anastasio's guitar pyrotechnics quenched in a swirl of loops, giving way to a focused melodic section that might one day turn into its own song. A sudden drop from the pretty "Piper" into Talking Heads' aggressive "Crosseyed and Painless" let drummer Jon Fishman pull heroic double-duty inside his drum fortress, to the delight of fans wearing "Let Fish Sing" shirts. (We'd spotted a tech setting up Fish's vintage Electrolux vacuum, but a vac solo was not to be.) Bassman Mike Gordon's customary top-speed solo into "Weekapaug Groove" reminded us why we've never sneered at his use of a five-string bass, but right in its midst, Anastasio called an audible, dropping the band to half-time and then to a halt. He and Gordon squared off at center stage and settled into a goofy pantomime stomp dance, slowly morphing into a heavy, heady riff nodding to Sabbath's "Electric Funeral." 

With a quick encore spin around the perpetual-motion anthemic progression of "Slave to the Traffic Light," the ride was over. On our way out, our line bent around a reunited group of long-lost buddies. "Not so long, next time," we heard one say as slapped his pal on the back. Nothing could sum up our sentiment any better.