PHISH WOWS 'EM, PACKS 'EM IN AT COLISEUM November 21, 1994 - Capital Times (Madison, WI) by Tom Alesia Go phigure, er, figure. On Sunday night, the band Phish -- the most popular unknown group in rock -- attracted more than 8,000 fans to the Dane County Coliseum. The four-man, Vermont-based outfit, which played the Memorial Union's Rathskeller in 1990, shatters all music business logic. They get virtually no radio airplay, MTV ignores 'em, and their record sales barely register a heartbeat. Yet, here they are easily outdrawing other Coliseum shows (James Taylor, Travis Tritt and Nine Inch Nails) this month. How? Well, Phish is the most prominent of several Grateful Dead-like bands whose constant touring (they've played the Barrymore Theatre twice in recent years) and lengthy, freewheeling jams have built a sizable fan base. Their marathon shows -- Sunday's two sets lasted 3 hours and 15 minutes -- are suited for neo-hippie college students who form a large portion of Phish's audience. This isn't a Grateful Dead show, but it shares a lot of the same qualities, right down to most concertgoers needing eyedrops afterward. Who's a typical Phish fan? Picture any hacky sack player you've ever seen. Phish's music, though, isn't so easily categorized. During Sunday's show, they comfortably handled everything from a three-song portion of hard-core bluegrass to a rousing Jimi Hendrix cover tune. The band's originals, pulled from five albums, including this year's release ''Hoist,'' tend to favor instrumental jams over hook-laden pop, which is why radio generally avoids them. Still, Sunday's renditions of ''If I Could'' or ''Sample in a Jar'' proved that Phish, like the Grateful Dead at one time, isn't far enough removed from the mainstream to bump into the Top 40 someday. As musicians, Phish members pull from a variety of influences, including hard rock, jazz and (in keyboardist Page McConnell's case) classical. On stage, singer/guitarist Trey Anastasio is an adequate vocalist and an able frontman. Drummer Jon Fishman provided Sunday's most lighthearted moment when he stepped to the mike and performed most of one song using a vacuum cleaner to accompany his vocals. For the most part, Phish avoids between-song banter and sticks to what the crowd wants: 10-minute-long jams that are danceable. At Phish's worst Sunday, two or three of these musical meanderings were largely self-indulgent. Regardless, there is no questioning Phish's ability to create a likable vibe at their show. The band turned the Coliseum's main floor into the city's largest dance area. So many concertgoers stood on the packed main floor that the Coliseum, despite being a few hundred tickets shy of a sell-out, had plenty of empty seats in its upper level. To Phish's credit (and, perhaps, a nod to the music's flower power qualities), there was no mosh pit or bodypassing that mar numerous other shows. For several years, Phish has worked as hard as any band at developing a grass-roots following. On Sunday, judging by the out-of-state license plates and overwhelming response, it paid off big time.