Phish: Southern Run 2011 - Charlotte, Raleigh and Portsmouth Pt. 2

Part 2: Charlotte, NC to Raleigh, NC.

I was still on corporate time and awoke before the rest of my roommates. The room was eerily quiet and everyone seemed to be in a deep sleep. The fringe of the window curtains allowed for a border of natural light. I took advantage of being the first to rise. The luxury of a hot shower on tour is never underrated. Especially when you get to go first and there is more than a hand towel left. I indulged and came out feeling like a new man before sneaking down to the continental breakfast. Unfortunately the droves of Phish fans had wiped out the entire buffet except for a to-go box worth of home fries. I sweet-talked the gal at the breakfast bar to look for some juices in the back to contribute to our smoothie operation. She gifted me with a handful of pineapple and I returned to the room to find everyone was hungry and ready to polish off the fried potatoes in record time. Somehow this only constructed a deeper appetite and group-think took us to the nearest Cracker Barrel.

The 3 hour drive East on i-85 is pleasant and a nice change of pace from my Floridian residency. I was attracted to the Southern mountains enough to spend 5 years living here for school and I was now being reminded why I made that choice.  The scenic dose was over before feeling too long and we found ourselves at Boom’s new place in Raleigh by mid-day. Luckily the apartment was spacious because his pad would be home for about eleven of us tonight. I enjoyed the concept of not having to do much of anything all day and decoded the problem of boredom with craft beer and roast beef sandwiches. Tonight we were rolling deep and by 4 PM all the crews had arrived from around the region. The idea of employing a limo or party bus was met with enthusiasm until we all realized we didn’t necessarily care enough to wait for that to happen.

Phish Lot in Raleigh 

The Time Warner Cable Music Pavilion at is tucked into a forested park that is carved out for pods of parking lots. The number of ticketless in the group doubled since the previous evening so it was priority 1 to lock down anything that could be found. Luckily a fellow Floridian called me over and dumped two lawn seats on me for a more than reasonably price. Before heading out to explore the other lots we put a hurting on a case of beer and filled the flasks to the brim.

The crowd seemed to be migrating to particular location so we decided that might be worth checking out. Our curiosity paid off and we came upon a thickly populated stretch of vendors haggling with hundreds of fans. It was impressive to say the least. We make our way down one of the perpendicular rows and I caught sight of my buddy from home doing his best to sell t-shirts. He said business was good and we traded notes about Charlotte before I had to meet up with some stragelers I was holding on to tickets for. The lines to get in on the right and left entrances were backed up for a hundred yards. Oddly enough the main entrance in the center was less congested.   

Manny at work. 

The warm day was gone and a cool temperature drop via a wave of storm clouds was welcomed but did not bode well for keeping dry. The wind started blowing and the sun was blocked from view. I dropped my wallet and phone into a zip lock bag. I was certain we were going to get dumped on. As if by some sort of weather miracle the rain never came but the temperature stayed in the lower range. I counted this as a blessing after seeing footage of the horrifying storm that had hit the Alpharetta show earlier in the week. We quickly found a spot in the center of the lawn just as the boys took the stage.    

Cars Trucks Buses was a solid warm up that always makes me feel funky enough for comfort but in a very light sort of way.  It was sufficient to get the large crowd settled down and my feet ready to groove.  Once the attention was focused on the stage they wasted no time and launched into a decent rendition of Peaches En Regalia. What made this noteworthy beyond being Peaches was that November 22^nd, 1992 was the last time they had opened a show with two instrumental songs. The trio of 1^st set opener worthy tunes came in the form AC/DC Bag. The motley crew I was a part of grew to its full capacity at this point and we were as barefoot as pirates armed with over sized beers.  AC/DC Bag took the pace up a notch and peaked into a wonderful early evening guitar and organ duel before inching into every Phish’s fans favorite swine anthem Guyute. After working out the initial kinks the composed section lead through many steps that featured near flawless work by Fishman while Trey and Page struggled to connect at times.  By the time the dark road race movement dropped, the band was finally hitting the starts and stops lead by Fishman’s rolls and Trey coming over the top of peaks. Page was right on his heels. Even up on the lawn the notes rang out beautifully from the hollow body Languedoc to Page’s organ.  The Peaches tone seems to be in the same vein as parts of Guyute so I could see the connection in this pairing.

Now, we are in the South, the birthplace of American rock greats like The Allman Brothers and countless bluegrass legends. That being said, it was only a matter of time before we got to the get-down-at-the-ho-down genre. Although arguments for it being extremely overplayed have been thrown around all Summer Tour, Possum came at a perfect time in this set and the energy stacked on stop of itself as Mike skillfully dropped a series of well crafted bass lines that captured the pavilion and lawn in a net of grooving. Trey slowed the momentum at each turn similar to noteworthy versions this tour, but quickly abandoned this strategy for a peak and rock technique.  I guess you can only be so creative with a song when you play it over half a dozen times in the first leg of a tour. At the time it felt a lot more fulfilling than on the recording. Earlier in the day a cohort had mentioned that he wanted to see Halley’s Comet not only feed into a wonderful segue, but to also stand on its own in an extended jam before launching into the track that follows. The mood for making selections come true without the use of a pesky sign was in full effect and he got what he wanted, plus some! From the vocal intro until landing safely in 46 Days the nearly 8 minutes of funky bliss was easily one of the set and show high lights.  Trey decided he would pull out his metaphorical ax and cut the directionless jam in a familiar yet awkward fashion. It is not that the argument against Trey is necessarily unjustified when it comes to pushing into the next song, but the real quip is the amount of grace, or lack there of, that seems to go into this shady segue method. 46 Days quickly caught legs and took off into a Anastasio shred fest layered on top of screaming organs and building drum stutters. Vocal yells only instigated a rise in tension. Jams like this are what make seeing Phish in an open-air venue so wonderful. The crowd was bouncing sporadically and looks ranged from bliss to awe during the second wave of peaks. The Divided Sky was standard and on point. The clouds above were splitting in fragments and combined with a wonderful Southern sun set that brought the temperature down along with it. I was in my element. Having been born in Georgia and educated in Virginia the 4 years previous, so I couldn’t help but take down a few sips of whiskey from my flask as a tribute to Skynyrd when Page started into The Ballad of Curtis Loew.  The combination of being with old college friends and finally settling into a tour routine resulted in my advanced level of inebriation by the time Run Like An Antelope rounded out the set. I grabbed two buddies that live in opposite parts of the country and took this one the distance with a hybrid jumping and dancing routine that was an attempt at mimicking the movements of, well, an antelope. One of those exciting moments that is now ingrained in my head and will not soon be forgotten.

Set break was short, sweet and just enough time to get things handled and put back together. Dusk was fading into a wonderful summer night as the boys took their positions and started a very patient Twist. Trey was listening to Mike, who seemed to be making up for the shadow Page and Big Red had cast on him in the first set. Fishman continues to lay the groundwork that has earned him the title of Most Improved Player this tour. Trey took it upon himself to take the jam up quickly while interlocking with Page’s ivory efforts. No fooling around in the second chapter, it was businesses time and the crowd was taking the notes in stride. Twist segued into a top notch Rift that checked off a personal want for the weekend. The beautiful interplay between Trey and Page continued through the fast paced composed section before bottoming out into a well jammed Prince Caspian. I am usually not a fan of the Prince this early but after such a strong start I allowed it to win me over. This version went unfinished. An eerie theme had already taken a hold of the set from the first licks of Twist but once Esther’s circus chords began all I could picture was a piece of foreshadow from the Alpharetta posters a few days previous.

Being clear headed beyond an empty flask of dark liquor and a few beers, the movement towards a spooky mind bender was welcomed as a challenge. A light-hearted Jane’s Addiction cover was only a teasing distraction to give false hope. Those that might be slipping into a Phish guided tour into the darkness had to keep their wits about them. (Side note: oddly enough I choose 1998-08-01 as my work music today and that also happens to be the debut of Jane’s Addiction cover Been Caught Stealing.) 

Wooks.

Piper blasts off early and although Trey attempts to take the reins on leading the jam, the real noteworthy work is executed by Page. The energy settles down into a skillful butter segue into the intro of My Friend, My Friend. The crowd erupted when Trey echoed the licks into the dark vocal section. The dark of night had made its presence known and lighting genius Chris Kuroda was in hog heaven as the twisted build ups layered over Fishman’s fills.  Trey even employs a maniacal voice to add insult to injury. This version did not have the “Myfe” ending. A standard yet well executed Kill Devil Falls proceeded an extended and loose Split Open and Melt that was the best attempted at an extended improvisational segment. The spaceship landed and the only chance at sanity was a back-to-back rock medley in the form of classic tune Golgi Apparatus and First Tube.  Good Times, Bad Times was a mediocre way to end the night given the themes of the evening but the former part of the song title set the pace for the rest of the night. Our gang of drunk and disorderly made it back to the home base and filled the night with hilarious commentary, creative uses of markers on those passed our with shoes on and debating the merit in drinking until the run came up. It was great to be back on tour in the company of crazies I call friends. 

Set 1: Cars Trucks Buses, Peaches en Regalia, AC/DC Bag, Guyute, Possum, Halley's Comet > 46 Days, The Divided Sky, The Ballad of Curtis Loew, Run Like an Antelope

Set 2: Twist > Rift > Prince Caspian^[1] > Esther, Been Caught Stealing, Piper > My Friend, My Friend^[2] > Kill Devil Falls, Split Open and Melt, Golgi Apparatus, First Tube

Encore: Good Times Bad Times

[1] Unfinished.
[2] No "Myfe" ending.

Phish: Southern Run 2011 - Charlotte, Raleigh and Portsmouth Pt. 1

Part 1: Fort Lauderdale, FL to Charlotte, NC

The inevitable course of coinciding incidences recently has landed me in a position of duality beyond soul and body. By weekday I siphon through infinite bits of data in a digital world postulated by a tradition of remunerative goals. A diagnosable case of the Mondays fades into a tantalizing hump day. As if by design the five day conclusion never comes too soon, but always right on time. I hang up my white collar and don the battle attire of a true-blooded weekend warrior. This is not simply a metaphor. These built for comfort Nike dunks have trekked through a majority of North America on hundreds of musical endeavors. An evident lack of laundering is obvious but the intact sneaker is a testament in itself.

I am neither superstitious nor unkempt, but I find joy in these developed treasures having canyon dirt from the Gorge in Washington, grass smears from Empire Polo Field of Palm Springs, sidewalk grime from Manhattan and sand from South Beach. As a writer it is hard to avoid feeling envious of inanimate objects that can tell a story without words, but they do inspire me to put the pen to papyrus.

The drowsy airport security agent was startled, and particularly disgusted, when I placed them on the conveyor belt. It has 5:30 AM and she wore her "its too early for this shit" look like a pair of fresh gold earrings. My vibe was a direct contrast to the drones. I sympathized yet was alive and emanating a look of anticipation mixed with an annoyingly insouciant grin. This was not without consequence and was paid for in the form of a thorough pat down. A free feel up with the cost of travel.

I do some of my best thinking in airport terminals. Not because it offers any amount of clarity for creativity, but because it is the one place offering countless characters to fuel my voyeuristic imagination. Today was different. My thoughts moved into more abstract patterns and inevitably circled around the core of my journey. Music is not easily defined but simply put it is the lack of silence. I have never experienced total silence, and I am not sure if it even exists, but I know that am zealot to sound. Much like an addict, I can find it anywhere and there is never enough. The universal truth has promoted an endless chase to recreate the most recent high and in effect became an all-consuming necessity. It is not a vice. It is a wild abandon that can be channeled into mainlined joy. Today I was on the hunt.

My row companion on the first plane asked me two things during the aerial lam from the reality behind. The first was what religion I followed. Oddly enough someone that would ask this did not like my answer. She told me to find Jesus. Luckily my second aerial attempt positioned me with some like-minded travelers and I befriended an unsuspecting Doctor that would become a consort or sorts. Excitement fueled chatter landed on the makeshift posse. Here we were in Charlotte, North Carolina, a southern metropolis that lays claim to the largest vaults in the country. The Queen City was built on gold mine gunnies and free flowing streams - fitting for royal roots and a rebellious history. Regretfully I had to part ways with my new friends to meet my tour buddy of many years. Time was for once a non-issue and we spent the early afternoon gathering supplies. By mid-day we were knocking back microbrewery libations in a mid-tier hotel with friends - it was the perfect setting for a game of catch up.

Our socioeconomic advancement beyond impoverished academics afforded luxuries like a taxicab to the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater. The solar glare was omnipresent and could only be partially avoided by taking cover under the sparse attempt at greenifying the asphalt quilt. Going against all instincts to maintain homeostasis for a trio of tickets began. The lot system is tiered and atop a small hill sits a surprisingly vibrant shakedown. Thirty minutes later the deed is done and cold beverages inversely disappear. More friends gather in our shady spot. A series of hilarious cross traffic helps pass the time and we are gifted with a conversation from famed lot artist Tripp. The heat is dying and we initiate the aforementioned good Doctor before taking our multi-faceted buzz inside.

Good karma came full circle when the Doctor wrote up a prescription for my lawn seat ailment. Next thing I know we are in the thinly populated Gold Circle. I easily stake out a nice aisle spot before Trey grabs a sign from the audience displaying "Mike's House". The crowd request gimmick seemed like it wasn't really part of the show, but was more of a thunderous warm up that happened to be a benchmark Mike’s Groove. This could be good! A Dog Log sound check already happened earlier in the day so the vibe was already far from standard. The rest of the set ranged from a rocking Sample In A Jar and Axilla to a funked out Wolfman's Brother that had the entire audience pulsing. A well placed Colonel Forbin's Ascent segue into Fly Famous Mocking Bird, a bananas Scent Of A Mule and a surprisingly fitting Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan rounded out a top heavy first set. I could not help but think that this would be a first set beats the second set experience like that seen earlier in the tour?

No. Phish had other plans. That would not be the case. I had a feeling so during set break I took care of business and meet up with my college roommates that were comfortably camped out in the seats detached from the pavilion. It had been long months since the three of us had all been together in the same place and this could only lead to one realistic outcome. The marathon of what can only be described as asteroid rock began with a Backwards Down The Number Line opener. Historically this is a recipe for success when slotted in a position such as this. In this case that would be a premature understatement. A segue train sped down a thunderous Rock and Roll before greasing the wheels into Ghost. This is one of the smoothest 3.0 transitions on the books. A standard Free bottomed out into a solid Reba.

The crowd was on point and thirsty for more. Admitting that this would be a fitting place for a set killer or warm down cut, one can imagine the frenzy that ensued when Icculus reared its beautiful head. The energy level hit fifth gear and I was reminded of that place I held in my mind for moments like the Killing In The Name Of from Alpharetta or the Maze from Alpine two years previous. Hold Your Head Up, a skilled vacuum solo, Over The Rainbow, Bike and hilarity gelled to form a cornucopia of mid-set entertainment that only Phish can pull off. Where do you go from here? How about two heavy hitting crowd favorites back to back with Chalk Dust Torture and You Enjoy Myself.

I was ready to breathe but could not help but blurt out enthused commentary. We settled on "I guess you had to be there" as our flagship stance. The band took the stage quickly for the encore and it was apparent that Trey knew he had total control. That all too familiar mischievous grin stretched across his face. The vocal response started from the very back of the lawn and echoed into the pavilion as the first few notes of Wilson were played. Six long months built my energy threshold and it was now being completely shattered. This was the reason hundreds of miles were traveled. Pushing the envelope to see how high the jump before falling over the edge. Consciousness rang through as the Loving Cup reached outlandish peaks and seemed fitting. Oh, what a beautiful buzz!

Thank god for that buzz because an overwhelming out flux of the crowd and an underestimating taxi company effort left our group stranded for over an hour after the music ended. Luck tapped us on the shoulder and two good Samaritans let us pack into their van cab heading in a somewhat similar direction to our hotel. Celebratory beers, shots, smoothies and more were all pleasant come downs as we watched a top ten count down of the Worlds Worst Dare Devils. Sleep was not in the cards but banter on the night’s events flew across the room between fits of laughter and telling silences after a profound moment was shared. This feeling I had forget was back in a way that I could not remember being so strong. It was only night one.

Set 1: Mike's Song > I Am Hydrogen > Weekapaug Groove, Bouncing Around the Room, NICU[1] > Sample in a Jar, Colonel Forbin's Ascent > Fly Famous Mockingbird, Axilla, Wolfman's Brother, Scent of a Mule[2], Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan

Set 2: Backwards Down the Number Line > Rock and Roll[3] > Ghost > Free > Reba[4], Icculus, Hold Your Head Up > Bike[5] > Hold Your Head Up, Chalk Dust Torture, You Enjoy Myself

Encore: Wilson > Loving Cup

[1] "Play it, Leo!" lyric replaced with "Leo's House!"
[2] The Tra La La Song (One Banana, Two Banana) tease from Page.
[3] A Love Supreme tease from Mike.
[4] No whistling.
[5] Somewhere Over the Rainbow played by Fish during vacuum solo.