("Crossroads" - 12/29/07, Madison Square Garden, NYC)
In the seventies, the sign on the wall might have read "Clapton is God." But in the 90's, there was only one true way to witness godliness personified: Phish, in all their live glory. The above rendition of "Crossroads" was captured fifteen minutes into the first set on December 29th, 1997 - the first of what would notoriously turn into many sets during Phish's legendary holiday stand-off that year at Madison Square Garden in NYC. As the band played, sitting somewhere in the middle of section 313 inside The World's Most Famous Arena, was a mesmerized nineteen-year-old newbie: me, no longer a virgin to the mad, mad, mad world of Phish.
Never in my life had I seen such a cornucopia of sound, vision, and color as I did on the 29th, and of course thereafter during all of my many experiences seeing Phish (about 30+ times, a meager amount when considering the frenzied fanaticism that surrounded the band at all times). Although Phish could be built-up or dissected, adored or hated, by anyone who came into contact with their music, the fall of 1997 has an illuminating quality surrounding it that sets itself apart from any other period in the band's 20 years of existence. While fans can certainly haggle over the talking points, this period in Phish's career could arguably be considered their best.
At least that's what guitarist Trey Anastasio thought, as he commented to the fact in the 1999 documentary Bittersweet Motel, which was filmed by Old School and Hated director Todd Phillips as the band headed out in November of 1997, this after a successful summer run that included a string of club dates in Europe. It's important to note that prior to 1997, Phish were still relatively off the map. While the thousands of fans who came out to their gigs couldn't have cared less, major music publications barely covered the band, and even in the rare instance when they did, they clearly weren't getting what Phish was all about. Quite foolishly, and without any real base for discontent, there was a biting resentment on the part of critics in response to the fact that so many people were enjoying this free-form, musical experience - one that wasn't motivated by record sales, chart-topping singles, or videos. But by being virtually ignored, Phish were awarded with the ability to make (or break, depending upon how you look at it) the rules as they went along.
("Waste" - Rochester War Memorial, 12/11/97)
In the years leading up to 1997, Phish's sound evolved dramatically. On record, they always seemed to be missing the powerful aura that their live shows possessed. Both A Picture of Nectar and Rift are valiant, charismatic attempts to encompass all the key elements of the Phish sound into one, concise 50-minute package. But songs like "Tweezer" and "Maze," respectively, sounded unfinished on record when compared to the expansive ventures the songs could take on in the live show. As if this wasn't a complication in itself, the live show was also experiencing growing pains. Anastasio was feeling the pressure of serving as the moderator for the band's creative direction. His skilled technique on songs like "Buried Alive," or covers like Frank Zappa's "Peaches En Regalia," were slowly but surely establishing Anastasio as a new guitar hero. But while the attention was more than deserving, it was clear going into 1996 that Phish was due for a make-over. It would come in the form of legendary producer Steve Lillywhite, who produced with the band their eighth, and perhaps their best studio offering, Billy Breathes.
Billy Breathes was a different type of record for Phish. Instead of the frenetic arpeggios that had dominated Anastasio's playing for most of the decade, and instead of trying to encompass some of the more theatrical aspects of the band, the album instead embraced a different motif - one that had more in common with The Band than it did with The Mothers of Invention. Songs like "Prince Caspian" opened up a new dimension as far as songwriting was concerned - one that showcased a more traditional approach to the arrangements - enabling Phish and lyricist Tom Marshall to express more tender and sincere sentiments, as on "Waste." But at its root, the marvel of Billy Breathes was in how Phish would ultimately revamp their improvisational approach once taking the material to the stage. Instead of Trey serving as the dominant headmaster, keyboardist Page McConnell, bassist Mike Gordon, drummer Jon Fishman, and Anastasio collectively opted to create a spacey, ambient soundscape - alternate universes that fit nicely into the irresistible harmonies and hooks featured on Billy Breathes. Phish as a band were now a collective, musical conversation - not just a showcase for fancy guitar work. The European club dates that would open 1997, all set in much smaller venues than the ones that the band had been playing in America, would only help Phish progress even further into these new realms.
("Theme From the Bottom" - Wartesaal, Koln, Germany, 2/16/97)
In retrospect, the Garden shows that came at the end of 1997 were a turning point of sorts in my life, too, as I would spend the next seven years seeing Phish anytime and anywhere that I could. Still, my mind always takes me back to that night on the 29th of December, when as a wide-eyed young man, I experienced a feeling that I would ultimately try to chase again and again throughout my twenties. To this day, the emergence of Phish is one of the most important movements in rock history, and forever they will link like-minded individuals across the world together in a way they could have never imagined, and in a way that they will never forget.
Phish's historic holiday run at Madison Square Garden in 1997 can be purchased, along with many other great shows from the band's career, at Live Phish
Secret Machines Third L.P. Complete
Space-rockers The Secret Machines announced this month that they have finished the recording of their third record, the still untitled follow-up to 2006's Ten Silver Drops.
While guitarist Benjamin Curtis left the band in March to focus on his new band, School of Seven Bells, his brother and Secret Machines bassist/keyboardist Brandon Curtis, along with drummer Josh Garza, recently headlined the David Bowie-curated High Line Festival in NYC, with Interpol keyboardist Blasco and Phil E. Kernats in tow to make up for the loss of Benjamin. Mostly new tunes where played, and the sound has been described as a return to their heavier roots, much like what was heard on their debut record, Now Here Is Nowhere.
Here's an incredible clip of The Secret Machines - with Benjamin Curtis in the fold - performing "Sad and Lonely," from Now Here Is Nowhere, at The Bowery Ballroom in NYC in 2004.
(Video by Greg Kaplan and Rafaela Monfradini)
Things That Happened in '07
Patti Smith and R.E.M. were both inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Keith Richards snorted his dad's ashes and, of course, lived to tell about it. Take a break, Driver 8.
Thriller turned a quarter-century old, and they finally got around to burying James Brown.
Ryan Adams only made one and a half records.
