This must be the place
I turned around with 25,000 faces looking towards me.
Standing underneath the gigantic pavilion at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center last weekend for Phish, it struck me — these are my people. And as the Vermont-based jam band tied a bow on an unforgettable three-night run in Upstate New York last Sunday, I felt a sense of myself I hadn’t crossed paths with in years, which was the foundation of who I am today.
Raised right across Lake Champlain from the band’s hometown of Burlington, it was their sound and that city’s attitude that shaped my childhood and adolescence. I’ve always said any kid born in the North Country comes out of the womb with a Phish album in hand. And there’s a lot of truth to that. The sonic ambiance of the group is a touchstone of humanity, wonder, curiosity and joy for all of us folks up yonder. It’s “North Country Gothic,” where the sights, sounds and scents of our great land are soaked in their melodies.
Gyrating about the pavilion, I couldn’t help but gaze around in awe. Familiar faces from my hometown, from high school and college. Sure, we all have a little more grey hair and wrinkles these days, but those things well-earned, and we’re all still here to shake hands and hug, in remembrance of our journey to this time and place.
Phish was that first band I discovered on my own, away from the influence of my parents or the radio. Heading to the nearby Ames Department Store and picking up a copy of their seminal 1990 album “Lawn Boy,” I vividly recall placing the record into my parents’ bitchin’ stereo and cranking it. Opening track “The Squirming Coil” changed everything. I’d never heard lyrics like that before or instruments flutter up and down the spectrum of possibility with such ease and excitement.
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This was my band. And where had they been all my life?
From then on, my friends and I would, like countless others, follow the quartet around, making elaborate plans to make attending the shows feasible, or simply taking off on a whim and hoping we’d be able to find a ticket at the gate. All of those performances, all of that magic amid others seeking the same moment and feeling.
It was leaving in the middle of the night and a 12-hour drive from New York to an abandoned air force base in rural upstate Maine. It was a last-minute trek to Utica for a steamy late fall gig in an old arena. It was finding a ticket in the parking lot in Knoxville. It was tailgating with old chums in Vermont, in Buffalo, and at SPAC.
And in recent years, since I’ve relocated to Western North Carolina, I’ve lost touch with Phish, and also the scene itself. I would keep telling myself, “Ok, this summer I’ll go catch ‘the boys’ live again.” But, something would always come up, and I’d put that notion aside.
Ending up back in New York for a wedding recently, I realized I was passing right by SPAC when they were playing. I contacted Phish’s management for a press pass and was on my way into the pavilion. Parking my truck, I got out and didn’t know what to expect or who I’d run into. The smells, voices and euphoric chaos were what I remembered. But, something was different, and that something was me.
I found myself meandering around the enormous crowd, constantly running into people not seen in years. Some had new wives or new kids, while others moved away and were also “home for the show.”
And it was when Phish played “Sample In a Jar” that goosebumps emerged on my arm, a slight moisture blurring my vision — I was home, in whatever surreal context or beautiful form that may be.
Working my way out of the pavilion and onto the lawn, I ran into my first publisher, Mike, who gave me my start in music journalism. As we talked, it dawned on us that it was exactly 10 years ago this week that my first piece was printed by his magazine State of Mind. There have been innumerable miles, shows, ups and downs on both sides of the conversation since Mike entered — and forever changed — my life.
Strolling back to my truck, a grin rolled across my face. I shook my head in amazement of the night. I shook my head in pure appreciation of those folks who, not matter the distance between both parties, will always be an important part of your life.
Pulling out of SPAC, I thought of when I put “Lawn Boy” into the stereo for that first time. I was a kid, but my destiny had already been put into motion. My soul, like a well witch, going with the energies of the world — the cosmic abyss— and always trusting in the universe that things happen for a reason, and in their own time.
That’s family. That’s friends. That’s life. That’s Phish.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
Hot picks
1 The “Saturday’s on the Pine” concert series at Kelsey Hutchinson Park in Highlands will host Lyric (pop/funk) at 6 p.m. July 9.
2 “An Appalachian Evening,” a weekly bluegrass/Americana summer concert series, will return with Front Country at 7:30 p.m. July 9 at the Stecoah Valley Cultural Arts Center in Robbinsville.
3 Lazy Hiker Brewing (Franklin) will host The Corbitt-Clampitt Experience (rock/blues) 8 p.m. July 9.
4 The academic presentation “Up For Discussion — Mark Twain, Moralist” will be held from 4 to 6 p.m. July 14 at the Waynesville Public Library.
5 No Name Sports Pub (Sylva) will host Humps & The Blackouts (psychobilly) at 9:30 p.m. July 8.
