Phishing the Everglades

Phish is probably the only band in America that has a following loyal and rugged enough to drive from all parts of the country for a New Year's concert in the middle of nowhere. This year's show, hosted at the Big Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation in the Everglades, combined the intensity of the band's annual New Year's show with the sprawl of their summer weekend festivals. This promised to be the band's most ambitious effort yet, with three sets on the 30th and one massive millennial jam from midnight to the dawn of the new year. I had nothing better to do and the campgrounds were a short drive from my home, so I forked over the $150.

That "short drive," shared by thousands of fans, created possibly the worst traffic jam in history. After passing scores of run-down RVs and out-of-gas VW buses, we finally pulled into the campgrounds at 6:30 in the morning-16 hours after we had left south Miami.

The makeshift roadways set up around the site resembled a marketplace more than a concert, with people selling food, clothes and drug paraphernalia. "Who's got my nugs?" was the refrain of countless stoners in search of pot, shouted every few seconds and scrawled on tattered signs throughout the crowd. The campground smelled like a head shop, heavy with patchouli and marijuana. Plenty of acid, shrooms, ecstasy, goo balls and almost everything else also changed hands.

Though the communal atmosphere seemed contrived and even absurd at first, the band's performance helped me understand what brings these people together. Watching the band, you could almost see the music bouncing from Page McConnell's keyboard to Trey Anastasio's guitar and reverberating through bassist Mike Gordon and drummer Jon Fishman. Each musician takes the song in a different direction, sometimes simultaneously, until the music transcends all structural boundaries. Dedicated Phishheads see the band's songs as precious stones: some are rarer than others, and every version should be documented and appraised for its individual worth. To the band, their massive repertoire of selections serves as a musical playground, a kind of jungle gym where they can swing to the farthest reaches of rhythm and groove, blending one song into another and resurfacing a bassline, riff or even an entire song later in the performance seamlessly and effortlessly.

While the first night's show was a spectacle of musical genius, New Year's Eve was a time for celebration and endurance. Forget the mini-skit that kicked off the night, where the band flew through the crowd in a giant hot dog to revive Father Time by feeding him sausage patties. The real spectacle was the musical energy put forth by the band. For the next seven hours, the audience moved as one body below giant colorful balloons and fireworks. From the heavy rolling to the hypnotic movements of fans with glowsticks to the spacey, rhythmic music, the concert had a lot in common with the all-night forays of the rave scene. The music kept the crowd going through dawn as the band winded down the groove with the morning light, exhausted but exuberant.

This festival testified that the music of Phish, rather than the ugly breed of rock-rap of Woodstock '99, is the true successor to the original Woodstock era. This mammoth show combined the sound and spirit of rock-and-roll's greats. The ghosts of the past were reflected in the band's covers of The Who, Clapton, Velvet Underground and the Talking Heads, along with a smoking version of Zeppelin's "Good Times Bad Times."

As a weary but satisfied Trey Anastasio crooned the sweet ballad "Wading in the Velvet Sea" against a pink sky, a girl standing next to me looked toward the sun that we had seen set so many hours before. This particular girl, reeling from an impressive array of drugs and totally naked since 2 in the morning, was apparently unashamed of her nudity even in the morning light. Dirty, bloodshot and still stoned, she looked at me and said, "It's so beautiful. Everything here is so beautiful."

It might have been the drugs talking, but what she said was true.