Phish: A New High?

The vibrant throngs had amassed in front of Madison Square Garden five hours before the doors were scheduled to open, cascading over steps and railings well into a habitually busy 38th Street. A myriad of desperate and ticketless fans--many offering upwards of 3,000 smackers or even their sister--scoured the scene for that ever-elusive extra. Unsurprisingly, no one was willing to sell.

My buddy and I had somehow snagged two tickets to see the first New Year's Eve Phish show following their unexpected two-year break. We were lucky as hell, and we knew it.

A hiatus is as common for bands as addiction, and fans usually just deal with 'em. But when the band that had nearly single-handedly nurtured the post-Dead neo-hippy movement broke up, it rocked one of the most resilient and proud fan bases that exists to its blunted core.

Inside, as a cloud of weed smoke materialized above the crowd, the same questions circulated throughout: Were we about to see a "new" Phish? What changes would their sabbatical bring about? Is this bowl kicked? But before we could even begin to speculate, the arena went black and exploded with screams, the guys casually ambled onto stage, and whether we liked it or not, we were about to find out.

I totally agreed. While these side projects were all amusing novelties, none of them could ever achieve the absurd connection the quartet once had. Maybe Phish realized this too, or maybe they had planned this return all along. Either way, they announced their comeback in October and spontaneously created the album Round Room during their first few rehearsals.

The new album is full of gag-me-with-a-spoon ballads about nothing in particular, the title track is unlistenable, and, like always, their lyrical frivolity is simply mindf--king. But there are still some gems that come close to capturing Phish's live prowess: "46 Days" is a funky Wurlitzer- and cowbell-driven head bobber; the initial, deliberate Grand Piano chords in "Walls of the Cave," turn into an assured live masterpiece; the chugging "Seven Below" is as chill as its name. Yet even though this album is clearly not their best, who really cares? Phish has produced trash in the past. They are a live band no matter how you look at it, and they undeniably proved it again on New Year's Eve.

After the initial screams subsided, Phish rolled solidly through three blazing sets with few mistakes, tore through old songs and tried out well-received new ones. Trey's solos were as swirling as ever; Mike and Fishman kept the rhythm section tight as usual; and Paige continuously pounded out inversions on his various keyboards like he always has. The concert was amazing, but there were really no surprises other than exactly that: There were no surprises. It was just another Phish show--just two years late.