Phish hooks fans at jammed civic center December 30, 1994 - The Providence Journal-Bulletin by Andy Smith An awful lot of successful new bands these days trade in the darkest possible emotions, playing out the resentments, frustrations and anger of modern life in harrowing musical psychodramas. Vermont rockers Phish, on the other hand, offer a sunny, jam-happy - but highly eccentric - concert experience. A band whose drummer - wearing a dress with what appeared to be big orange donuts printed on it - sings Neil Diamond's "Cracklin' Rosie" while he bangs cymbals together does not take itself too seriously. Phish has built its career through constant touring, and its following has grown to the point where the civic center was crammed to the rafters for last night's show. While Phish is certainly capable of singing conventional songs - a sweet ballad like "If I Could," for example - that's not the point. The appeal of a Phish show is to see what oddball covers they've come up with, how they will weave their eclectic set of musical influences into their songs, and where they will meander during their improvisational journeys. Songs start in one place, go into another dimension, and come out as something else entirely. They opened with the straightforward rock of "Runaway Jim" before guitarist Trey Anastasio and keyboard player Page McConnell began jamming, eventually transforming "Jim" into "Foam." "Split Open and Melt" was a collage of styles, starting with some funky rhythms then wandering into odd, psychedelic passages as colored patterns played on the screens behind the stage and clouds of marijuana smoke drifted across the arena. On "Silent in the Morning," McConnell started with the lead vocal, a burbling synthesizer part running beneath the lyrics, before the rest of the band joined in. And for a big change of pace, there was the the bluegrass classic "Uncle Pen" - not to mention drummer Jon Fishman singing with the assistance of a vacuum cleaner. The second half, which opened with a fine, rocking "Possum," was dominated by a long, long segment that started with "David Bowie" and went all over the place from there - squeals and squacks and rumbling bass, guitar feedback, a sweet piano solo, even whistling into the mikes. It was a weird mix of boredom and entertainment. Phish itself seemed very pleased, and got a big ovation at the end. From there, they went into the bouncy beat and doo-wop harmonies of "Haley's Comet," which eventually became "Lizards," with the audience boucing up and down to the chorus. After Fishman's rousing "Cracklin' Rosie," the band slammed into a very convincing version of Led Zeppelin's "Good Times, Bad Times," at which point I had to leave Phishland and go back to the real world.