Go Phish November 19, 1996 - Omaha World Herald By Kristi Wright It would have been a great scene of peace, love and American capitalism, except for the sleet. And the biting wind knocking over the makeshift grills and blowing out the marijuana pipes. And the three Labrador-mix dogs fighting in front of a burrito stand. And the undercover cops. But the pre-Phish concert ritual continued in the parking lot outside Hilton Coliseum on the campus of Iowa State University. Hundreds of Phishheads, die-hard devotees of the Vermontbased improv-rock band, wandered about wearing their long hair tucked into Peruvian hats and bundled up in wool sweaters, baggy corduroys, fleece jackets and patchwork quilts. Some hawked food and goods everything from T-shirts to rum and cider. "To warm you up," shouted one Phishhead above the driving wind. The profits keep Phishheads on the road, following their favorite band from venue to venue Minneapolis last Wednesday; Ames, Thursday; St. Louis, Friday; Omaha, Saturday; Kansas City, today. Some Phishheads took shelter beside their Volkswagen buses and compact cars. Back seats were piled high in blankets and duffel bags and rear bumpers were decorated with Grateful Dead stickers ("A mind is best used when open," "Newter Gingrich") and fish-shaped Phish decals. Groupies mingled with the other kind of Phish fans, those who love the music but don't devote all their resources to getting to the next gig. Even these part-time Phishheads took to the road last week, skipping college and high school classes to follow the band on its Midwest tour. Over the past decade, keyboardist Page McConnell, guitarist Trey Anastasio, bassist Mike Gordon and drummer Jon Fishman have cultivated a fan following that rivals that of the Grateful Dead. After Dead leader Jerry Garcia died last year, many Deadheads turned to Phish. Unlike most modern groups, the band has achieved success without the help of radio play. Its fans trade tapes of live shows, which the band encourages. Phish has gotten radio play with its latest compact disc, "Billy Breathes" (Elektra). "I totally love Phish, man," said Ben Mack, a 19-year old ISU finance major from Marshalltown, Iowa. "They're totally awesome. Really good live. Their albums (stink). (With) Phish it's the way they play live. They're totally extemporaneous not rehearsed. They're totally different. And the light show is just exceptional. It's almost as good as Pink Floyd's." Mack went to his first Phish concert last year in Lincoln. Last week, he and friend Scott Pitts juggled concerts and classes. They went to Minneapolis Wednesday and then drove all night so Pitts could get back to catch an 8 a.m. lab Thursday. Mack slept in until noon, just before friends from Omaha started arriving. The two-story house on Knapp Street that Mack and three roommates share was the place for a pre-concert party. If he earns enough money next summer, Mack said, he might spend a month following Phish. But he wouldn't tour year-round. "You've got to be hard-core to do this in the winter. Like last night this one guy was saying that he couldn't run the heater (while he slept) in his van because he only had 10 gallons of gas to get him to Ames. It's cold out there." Leigh Kavinsky stood shivering in the horde of fans congregating in the State Center parking lot before the concert. She held out her custom-made macrami and glass bulb necklaces, displayed on a chunk of cardboard. Sitting at her feet was her chocolate Lab, Palmer, named after a character in a Phish song. Ms. Kavinsky, 24, a former student at Pennsylvania State University, has been to 30 Phish concerts. Her boyfriend, David Burger, 25, who was selling customdesigned Phish T-shirts, has seen 45. Burger first heard the band on tape in 1991. In 1993, he went to his first live concert. This fall, he and Ms. Kavinsky packed their wares, sent $ 1,500 to Phish for tour tickets and hit the road. "These concerts are an optimum market for our products," said Ms. Kavinsky. She and Burger work in the resort town of Ocean City, Md., during the summer tourist season. Off-season, they follow Phish. "Before one concert, I think it was in Kentucky, I had 50 cents in my pocket and my friend had nothing. By the end of the night I had $ 400," said Burger, who was ticketed in Ames because he didn't have a vendor's permit. "It's illegal but it's an easy way to make tax-free money." But Burger and Ms. Kavinsky also love the music. They love the scene. They love Phishheads. "Selling the products keeps us on tour. We're here to see Phish," Burger said. "This is a real community. It's a grass-roots movement. People care about one another. We're friends. We're like family." At 7:30, showtime, concertgoers were still standing in line. Brian Conner, a 23-year-old from Athens, Ga., arrived early to set up his microphone and high-tech tape recorder in the designated tape-recording section. Conner and another dozen or so Phishheads record the live shows. Their tapes are then traded among fans. By 8 p.m., Phish fans were restless. Some clapped. Some yelled. Then lights went out in the coliseum. The blue stage lights beamed. The band walked onstage with no fanfare and began to play. Drummer Fishman wore a baggy sundress, his usual attire. All 8,000 fans jumped to their feet and bobbed to the beat. They moved, swayed, twisted, shook to the rhythms. Some never stopped, whether Phish played a psychedelic, acid rock guitar riff or covered bluegrass king Bill Monroe's "Uncle Pen." Others paused only long enough to pass along a marijuana pipe. Fifteen minutes into the show, a cloud of marijuana and tobacco smoke hovered above the floor seats. By the end of the concert, the cloud reached the ceiling, creating a hazy overcast for the blue, red, yellow and green stage lights. One fan said the lighting looked a giant 3-D tie-dye. "Isn't this trippy?" asked Nick Probst as he swayed, eyes closed and arms crossed, while Phish played the Beatles' "A Day in the Life." "It's so hard to put into words how I feel about the music," said the 17-year-old West Des Moines high school senior. "It's such an emotional thing. It's enlightening. You can find out so much from their music. It's so, like, they were born to play together. They're so gifted from God. And to lots of people, they're like gods. And (these people) are here to appreciate their gods." Back in the parking lot, Phishheads scraped the ice off windshields, looked at their maps and decided their routes. Cars and vans from Wisconsin, Connecticut, Ohio and Lancaster County, Neb., filled the nearby Amoco lot. A visitor warned the crowd of hazardous road conditions. "Thanks a lot," said one Phishhead as he paid for his hot cocoa. "We may skip St. Louis and just go to the next place. Where is it? Omaha, I think. I've heard that's a lot closer. "See you in Omaha," he yelled to the crowd as he left. article © 1996 1996 Omaha World Herald