Phish shtick August 28, 1996 - Associated Press By Tom Moon What other band would rent an Air Force base to stage a two-day concert for enchanted fans? PLATTSBURGH, N.Y. -- The takeover of Plattsburgh Air Force Base went something like this: When it was planning its summer tour, Phish, the determinedly eccentric quartet from nearby Vermont, decided it wanted to set up and play for a few days. Tarmac. Radio tower. The whole deal. Then the party band, seen by some as the outfit best able to fill the void left by the demise of the Grateful Dead, invited its friends and devotees to drop by the decommissioned base for music, food, and a communal campground dedicated to a minor character in the history of aviation, Pittsburgh native Clifford Ball. An estimated 70,000 showed up Friday and Saturday for The Clifford Ball. They danced on a runway once used for fighter planes. They schlepped digital recording equipment in green plastic garbage bags, in order to capture every note of music. They watched banner planes overhead carrying messages like ``Running Low on Fuel -- No Joke.'' They wore shirts with every possible play on the spelling of Phish -- one of the most sociologically astute proclaimed ``Phishing For Our Phuture.'' They came to be among thousands of like-minded young people who take their peace, love and understanding very seriously. ``This is what people still don't understand,'' said Phish manager John Paluska, during a rare quiet moment backstage. ``Kids are putting their lives on hold to follow this band around. You don't even have to be romantic about it -- just look around. There is something magical happening here.'' The crowd didn't have to be told it was part of a unique rock event: Phishheads take every opportunity to revel in the uniqueness of the band's music, the wackiness of its antics. Jimi Hendrix never took over a military base. Pearl Jam isn't exactly known for playing six high-energy sets in two days. Unlike most latter-day touring festivals, which offer a slate of well-known performers, this show featured exactly one band. There was very little advertising, but lots of discussion on the myriad Phish-related Internet bulletin boards. The national press all but ignored it. And still attendance exceeded expectations. ``This has been the story since we started,'' guitarist Trey Anastasio, 31, said Thursday before launching a long jam that served as a sound check. ``We keep playing bigger places, and we're like invisible. I open up the Rolling Stone summer touring issue, and we're nowhere. MTV does a tour special, same thing. And the bands they focused on, some are bombing. Meanwhile we're working straight along, getting bigger every tour. And it's like we're not even in the game.'' The Clifford Ball, a surprisingly orderly event marked by few arrests and one death (which police believe was a drug overdose), could be viewed as Phish's coming-out party: If the massive gathering, the largest concert event in North America so far this year, did nothing else, it served notice that the revolution surrounding this improvisatory rock band -- a cultural revolution as much as a musical one, for the music is noodling, free-range jam rock spiked with occasional forays into odd meter or polka -- can no longer be ignored. The performances and the crowd were filmed, for possible feature release. It's one way Phish and its management believe they can tell the story of a bar band that slowly and methodically developed into one of the music industry's most unlikely cult successes. They're relying on the live footage because, as Anastasio says, ``you have no way of knowing the feeling of these shows until you're in the middle of one.'' ``It's incredible when you talk to the kids,'' said Tom Bledsoe, an independent T-shirt vendor set up in the campground. ``A lot of them have been dedicated to the band for years. We did a couple of other big tours this summer, but nothing comes close to this, saleswise.'' Gary Bongiovanni, editor of the concert industry magazine Pollstar, agrees. ``It's been a slow, steady growth, and they've done it all without the benefit of extensive radio airplay. They get bigger every time they go out, and this summer, with other shows doing so-so business, that's nothing short of amazing.'' Watching from above the stage, on a specially built scaffolding tower the band calls the ``Poseur Platform,'' it was easy to see the connection between Phish and its fans. The four musicians, millionaires through years of constant touring, carefully monitor the crowd response, and seem to genuinely enjoy kids who know every word and obscure phrase. The jams are somewhat spontaneous, but the lights follow every contour of an Anastasio solo: The extended instrumental interludes are carefully calibrated to hold the crowd's interest. There was plenty of attention-grabbing stuff at the Ball. Toodle Lee and Michael Rehberg of Macon, Ga., got married in the tiny church in Ball Square. A brass band, with stiltwalkers, sauntered through the crowds each afternoon. Stunt pilots looped big loops overhead. An orchestra played a soothing set Saturday at sundown. Traffic reports and news advisories (``Don't walk around barefoot -- there's lots of broken glass in the campground area'') were broadcast by personalities with names like ``Captain Sanity'' over Clifford Ball radio. Ice-cream kingpins Ben and Jerry did a cameo. In the campground, kids languished in the evening, to catch up on sleep or unable to afford the $26 admission. A scruffy 17-year-old named Brad set up a little stand ``to sell some grilled cheeses so I can get back to Virginia.'' Eighteen-year-old Angela and her puppy, who'd been following the entire tour, were waiting for someone to come by with an extra ticket. For the band, even the three nightly sets, which featured a spellbinding cover of the Beatles' ``A Day in the Life'' as part of ``Tweezer,'' weren't enough: In the wee hours of Saturday morning, the band climbed aboard a flatbed truck and jammed some more, moving slowly through the campground, all but inviting the many who brought hand drums to join in. Typical Phish behavior. ``If I'm playing for 70,000 or just 1 person, I'm still going to play music,'' said drummer Jon Fishman, who is also 31. ``We have always been addicted to making music and trying things out. That's I think what people are responding to -- it's not just about selling an album with us.'' But there is an album coming soon, and many in the industry believe it will take Phish to the next level. ``Billy Breathes,'' due out in mid-October, was produced by Steve Lillywhite (Dave Matthews Band). It represents the closest thing to a commercial endeavor Phish has ever attempted: Gone are the vacuum-cleaner solos and the barbershop-quartet harmonies. Instead, there are warm, sunbaked vocals and disciplined song structures -- a balance of frenetic Phishism and Grateful Dead-style mellowness that just might plant the band in the superstar strata. Some longtime fans thought so, after hearing just a few new pages from the band's seemingly bottomless songbook. Ellen Saunders, who discovered Phish through the Grateful Dead and has now seen 20 shows, said that with the death of guitarist Jerry Garcia, Phish was poised to step fully into the void. ``Look, people miss Jerry and the Dead, they miss the community of it. They're searching for something else. This type of thing is perfect no matter what you think about the music. People want the ritual. They like gathering together.'' Anastasio said the band was certainly aware that part of its appeal had nothing to do with music. ``I like the fact that some people come expecting what we do, and other people are just searching. Because you can't miss it either way. We want to take you higher, and we work pretty hard to do that.'' Both he and Fishman acknowledge they learned ``a ton'' from the Dead -- in terms of performance, cultivating loyal fans (the Phish bimonthly newsletter, circulation 125,000, has a yearly budget in excess of $350,000), and long-term vision. Anastasio: ``There was always an amazing level of respect between the band and fans that never seemed to be a commodity. That was cool.'' The Dead also provided a few cautionary tales. Fishman: ``We saw some things you want to avoid, like having so many full-time employees that you were forced to be on the road just to keep it going. Our organization is really big, but there are a lot of subcontractors involved.'' Out in the crowd, it was impossible to miss the sense that many felt themselves part of the organization as well. As the trust-fund kids called home for a last-minute money drop, and the less well-heeled sold grilled cheese sandwiches, the vibe was more neighborhood rock show than massive festival. And in the densely packed tape-recording section, a 23-year-old farmer named Bradley, who said he felt slightly old in the sea of tie-dye, summed up the feeling of many of his cohorts: ``It's sort of weird, buying batteries and tape and all that. It's very consumptive, materialistic. And at the same time, this is Phish. Everyone is helping out and recycling and stuff. And we'll all be able to go back and relive it. ``We'll have some great memories from this.'' article © 1996 Associated Press