Phishing industry is one of concert rock's biggest October 6, 1995 - The Vancouver Sun by Katherine Monk Part Holden Caulfield, part Jerry Garcia, Phish swim in a pool of second-generation rock 'n' roll angst and live-performance occultism: a perfect focus for the next generation of free-lovin' hip kids. Veritable heroes across the American eastern seaboard, Phish can sell-out shows the way the biggest names in the business can, despite their low profile on radio. They just sold out their 18,000-seat Halloween show in Chicago in 32 minutes. Even their Vancouver show at the Orpheum tonight is completely packed. Impressive, but for Phish it's par for the course. Ever since Trey Anastasio, Page McConnell, Mike Gordon and Jon Fishman got together in college back in the early '80s, the Vermont-based group has been building a loyal fan base, the likes of which hasn't been seen since the hazy days of the Haight. "I'm a big Dead fan. I remember going to see them in high school -- it was a really formative experience for me," says Anastasio from Seattle, where he's still lying in bed at the tardy hour of 11 a.m. "They were the first rock band I ever saw that really went for it in a live show. They improvised as a group -- not just long, endless solos from each part of the band. It was all together and that's what made them so original." There's no hiding the fact that Phish are very Dead-like in their approach to the live beast, something you can hear everywhere on their recently released live double album, A Live One. "Once you have a taste for the live form and its freedoms, it's hard to leave it. Music is an experience and that's all we really think about when we're up there: experiencing the moment and going with it." A product of Vermont's new-age educational frontier, Anastasio and McConnell attended Goddard College -- a non-linear, curriculum-oriented school with a total student population of 35 and an alumni roster that includes luminaries like ice-cream magnates Ben and Jerry. "Eight of those 35 people were separatist feminists who didn't mingle with anyone else -- so it was a pretty close experience for everyone who went there." Phish's first gig was playing around the tiny campus. From there, they branched out into the New England landscape, landing in Norman Rockwell-styled villages and scaring the locals. "I still live in Vermont," says Anastasio. "Out in the woods far, far away from everything except the Canadian border. I like that. Whenever things in the States get too crazy, I'm actually within walking distance." But on the other side of that border is Quebec, right? "Yeah, and what's going on in Quebec?" After explaining the reality of the looming referendum, Anastasio is shocked and bewildered. "Why would they want to leave Canada?" he says with that Yankee naivete we all find so charming. "I could see it if they wanted to separate from the States. We're ridiculous," he says, alluding to the "not- guilty" verdict that was handed down in the O.J. Simpson case just an hour before we speak. "That's why I just want to hide out in the woods," he says with an imaginary Holden Caulfield hunter's cap appearing over his long locks of hair. Escapism is easy when you're in a band, though -- especially one as nomadic as Phish. "I find it interesting. We get to meet really interesting people all the time at the shows -- all different kinds of people. It's not the total hippie crowd that you might expect -- especially on the west coast." Anastasio says west-coast audiences tend to be extremely varied, pulling in people aged 16 to 60. "Vancouver is definitely the hippest place we play in Canada," he says. "I can hardly wait to get there." No doubt the feeling is mutual. Phish play the Orpheum theatre tonight. The show is sold-out.