Stepping out of the 34th street station, you could hear Madison Square Garden before you could see it.
It beheld a low hum of people who all seemed to know each other, even though statistically that couldn’t be true. I followed the sound in, having absolutely no idea what I was walking into.
The only thing I knew about Phish was the lead guitarist, Trey Anastasio, and their positively ripping cover of “Loving Cup” by the Stones, a song I particularly held a fondness for. Surely, based on this alone, there was more to be seen, beyond what meets the eye. I was enthusiastic; it was rare these days that I actually went into something blind, but here I am, using the stadium as a beacon, a guiding light, so to speak.
I found my seat somewhere toward the lower bowl, directly behind the band. I was sandwiched betwixt my two coworkers; most people I’d talked to described their Phish debut as something solitary, almost spiritual, and here I was elbow to elbow with people I interacted with every weekend. Somehow that made it better. None of us exactly knew what we were in for, but at least we didn’t know together.
I sat there patiently, in a cloud of artificial smog and marijuana smoke, anxiously anticipating what was to come. What was to come exactly? I was blissfully unaware. What took me out of this trance was the stage lights finally turning on, the thunderous roar of applause for these four seemingly dorky middle-aged men.
And then they just started playing, locked in from the very first note. Four guys and their instruments running like a four legged work horse, they owned the floor.
I sat there in awe, song after song with no names, at least to me they had none; naturally, I didn’t recognize a single one. The jams seemed to go on forever, like a spoonful of molasses slowly dripping back into the jar. Don’t let that analogy fool you, I couldn’t get enough. I was transfixed. Trey’s guitar weaved seamlessly through each key chord and drum beat, constantly searching and grasping for a conclusion, but the closer it got, the farther away it seemed.
Somewhere in the middle of all that searching, I gave up on trying to catch up. I stopped waiting for the song to resolve, for the hook I recognized, for the moment I could clock and say, “Ah, there it is.” And once I let go of that, everything sort of opened up for me. It was so much more than a concert; I was watching four people give chase to something that they finally caught, and by the end I realized that was the whole point.
I still couldn’t tell you a single song title. I still don’t fully understand what happened up there. I just knew I wanted more.