Vermont's hot band Phishes for musical nirvana December 25, 1995 - U.S. News & World Report by Joannie M. Schrof; David Fischer Show time is only half an hour away, 16,000 fans are filling up the USAir Arena in Landover, Md., and the four members of the music group Phish still have no idea what songs they will play. But that is exactly the way they want it. "We want to have a spontaneous adventure where anything is possible," explains Trey Anastasio, the band's lead guitarist. "You can't plan an adventure, or it ceases to be one." If that sounds like something the late Jerry Garcia might say, it's no coincidence. Phish band members name Garcia as a major influence, and even before the legendary guitarist's death last summer, the Burlington, Vt., foursome's eclectic sound and tie-dyed following inspired many music critics to hail them as "the next Grateful Dead." Both bands are known for incessant touring, for never performing the same show twice and for allowing fans to tape concerts. Each has enjoyed tremendous success with virtually no mainstream commercial hits. And now that the Dead have stopped touring, Phish concerts are swelling with an influx of Deadheads, the newcomers joining longtime fans who "go Phishin'," following the band around the country from concert to concert. In the name of exploration, Phish builds every show around improvisational riffs that incorporate virtually all genres of music. Within a single set, the band will venture from bluegrass to hard rock to barbershop quartet. The extended jam sessions at times mount into waves of seemingly pure noise, only to subside into soft, balladlike melodies. Songs can last 30 minutes, and sometimes listeners are hard put to tell where one ends and another begins. The net effect is such a crowd pleaser that the band sold out two national tours before signing its first record contract in 1991. Altered states. The holy grail of Phish's experimental journey is spiritual transcendence. "Virtually all the great poets, musicians and artists talk of being vessels, of a greater power coming through them," says bass player Mike Gordon. "When we can get rid of preconceived notions and tap into something deeper than ourselves, then something bigger than we ever could have dreamed up happens." What ensues is an addictive peak experience that both the band and the fans say they're searching for in every performance. Gordon vividly recalls reaching such an "altered state" during the band's early days in Vermont; Anastasio says he had a similar experience on tour one night in Chicago. And many fans say listening to the band has at times transported them to a "blissed out" state -- sometimes with the help of marijuana or other mind-altering drugs, sometimes without. In addition to such musical highs, the tight-knit Phish fraternity engage in their share of pure silliness: Drummer Jon Fishman insists on wearing a dress and goggles on stage and occasionally solos on a vacuum cleaner. Anastasio sings through a megaphone about a weasel named Fee, and the two guitarists indulge frequently in synchronized trampoline jumping. Phish's unconventionality and resistance to repetition make it unlikely that the band's music ever will spend much time at the top of the charts -- none of their six albums has been a blockbuster hit. Still, the group is so popular now that venues such as Madison Square Garden sell out in a matter of hours. And like the Dead's, its following is loyal and intense: The band's newsletter counts 100,000 subscribers, and fans post hundreds of messages each day on Phish.Net, its Internet site. Before long, Phishheads may be as familiar a term as Deadheads. Already, it conjures up the same faith in music as a vehicle to the sublime.