Going swimmingly June 25, 1992 - The Independent (London) by Marek Kohn THE PHRASE 'long-term album artist' has a special meaning in the music industry. Normally applied to obvious flashes in the pan, it is supposed to denote a serious proposition. What the record company Elektra has got in Phish, by contrast, is a long-term live act that inverts conventional music-business wisdom by making more money out of tickets than albums - and wouldn't want it any other way. Add to that the fact that their stage gear includes trampolines and vacuum-cleaners, and Phish look rather like a comedy turn. But behind the antics, the Vermont four-piece evinces a striking seriousness of purpose. Contrasting starkly with the studied corporate taste of WEA's new Kensington offices, Phish's dishevelment affirms the legend of the transatlantic red-eye from which they have just disembarked. Their first European venture is a logical step in the strategy that they have implemented since their formation in 1983. The severely jet-lagged Jonathan Fishman, drummer and source of the group's name, describes how they started on the local circuit around the University of Vermont and worked steadily outwards in wider and wider circles: ''eventually you join up the dots''. In the process, the news spread by word of mouth about a band who played long instrumental jams, the way bands used to do, and never did the same set twice. There was a natural constituency for a group like Phish, and its shows are now packed with barefoot latter-day flower children in tie-dyed vests, delighted to have a band to follow in between Grateful Dead tours. The Deadheads have brought all their traditions with them. The bootlegging of concerts and swapping of tapes is pursued with the same obsessiveness, and the fans' right to do so is guaranteed in the band's contract with Elektra. Phish devotees try to attend as many shows as possible - after all, in stark contrast to those of almost all other acts, each is unique. Like the Deadheads, Phishheads have an electronic mail network; the conventional mailing list for the Phish newsletter, produced by the band itself, now runs to 17,000 names. It is an impressive testimony to the power of word of mouth. Phish have company, too. A crop of ''undead'' bands - principally the Blues Traveler, the Spin Doctors and the Aquarium Rescue Unit - are now catering to the tie-dyed hordes up and down the East Coast. What they have in common is the audience and the belief in live performance as a raison d'etre; but musically, they are distinct. Phish themselves serve up an exuberant salad of styles. The Elektra debut album A Picture of Nectar illustrates how whimsical lyrics can be followed by lengthy jams, a composed theme and variation, or bursts of jazz or bluegrass. Specific comparisons provoke gales of laughter from the musicians. ''We've been compared to more bands than any other band,'' says keyboard-player Page McConnell. ''It all depends what track was playing when they hear it,'' adds Trey Anastasio, the group's frontman. The attributions range from the Dead to Zappa, Steely Dan, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Squeeze; guilelessly, Phish themselves speak well of early Genesis. Some of the similarities sound like tributes, notably ''The Mango Song'', probably the best Grateful Dead song written by another hand, and probably destined to be the catchiest summer hit never released as a single. Others are mischievous, such as the New Age parody originally entitled ''Windham Hell'', and renamed ''Faht'' after objection from the Windham Hill label. In the main, though, Phish are musical omnivores with a well-developed urge to imitate what impresses them. ''There's a kind of competitive edge in the band where we hear somebody and we think 'I want to be able to do that','' Anastasio says. One of the most direct influences on Phish's music is Ernie Stires, a Vermont composer with a taste for big band jazz. The connection arose in Anastasio's student days: dissatisfied with the music department, he solicited outside tuition from local composers. On the album, the track ''Guelah Papyrus'' incorporates a theme and variation called ''The Asse Festival'', dedicated to Stires and demonstrating the formal skills Anastasio has learned from his mentor. ''Funny thing is, he hates rock'n'roll,'' Anastasio says. ''What we've become he would have hated had he not known me. He likes it now, and he thinks we're going to be able to sneak substance into rock music.'' Phish affirm that the experience of playing compositions expands their capacity to improvise. Anastasio cites the Modern Jazz Quartet as a precedent in this respect, other believers in the essential liveness of music: ''It's more like living on stage than putting on a show.'' From this it follows that the humour of the rehearsal room - they put in four hours' band practice a day - has a place on stage. As well as favourites like Fish's vacuum-cleaner solo, the group draws the audience into its jokes. ''We have a secret musical language,'' Anastasio reveals. ''I might play a certain signal in the middle of a song on my guitar that signifies that everybody in the audience should suddenly fall down as if they were hit on the head with a giant hammer.'' This sort of thing helps make the fans feel part of the extended family; the same, Phish believe, should be true of the crew. They are proud to be model employers, paying health insurance and sharing profits. The Grateful Dead are an acknowledged model here - as are the ice-cream makers Ben & Jerry's. Committed staff are vital to a group determined to plough its own furrow, whereas Elektra is little more than a means to get the album into the shops. The security of a major label is the more attractive for the fact that Phish's last album (their second) vanished along with Rough Trade. The long, slow trip has finally brought Phish to Europe. The plan is the same, they say: forget about albums, build up a cult base with the live show. That has worked for them back home, but it seems somewhat optimistic to expect a cult to arise from the single appearance they are to make in this country, especially since they require a parenthetical tag to avoid confusion with the former man-mountain of Marillion. Also, they're bottom of the bill. ''We didn't want to come on too strong, so we figured we'd only book one gig,'' Anastasio ripostes. ''We've seen all the old Beatles films, with the girls screaming - we're scared of starting something like that.'' They like to play in the open air, says Jonathan Fishman, where there's no danger to the roof. Phish mount their challenge to the structure of the Brixton Academy on July 3, supporting the Violent Femmes and Green on Red.