Phish still speaks best to the hard-core fan July 15, 2003 - Orange County Register By Ben Wener Five days after trekking to the heart of nowhere for Ozzfest, I find myself back near the Mexican border, in Chula Vista, Calif., to see Phish at Coors Amphitheatre. I'm accompanied by my Coachella right hand, henceforth known as Desert Jeff. He claims this is his 26th gig -- a relative pittance, though it means he can help with titles and back story, like how the psychedelic reggae bit "Harry Hood" is essentially nonsense about a dairy delivery service. I remain a newbie. This is only my third encounter, not counting a solo show from guitarist Trey Anastasio, whose unassuming greatness cannot be overstated. (As skilled a six-string god as Clapton and Garcia, if not Hendrix, he can toss off the most bafflingly complex figures as if just doodling.) I still do not listen to Phish with regularity -- I study their studio albums when they arrive, then review and file them away. I tend to pull out live sets only after seeing a show. Spinning as I write: July '94 in Vermont and September '00 in New York. Partly those were chosen because I'm trying to recapture the high I got from two songs at Coors -- the unstoppable "Down With Disease" and the "Kashmir"-esque "Carini" (who "has a lumpy head"), neither of which sound as good on disc as they did live. Partly, though, those live sets were chosen because I want to hear these guys do the Stones' "Loving Cup" again. They didn't do that at Coors. They didn't do any covers at Coors. You have no idea how this is killing me. It isn't so much that their versions are better (hardly), it's just what they bring to the songs -- enthusiasm, namely. As if there were no cooler song to be playing. But nada, zippo, the only scrap being a snatch of Trey solo I swear he cribbed from "Frampton Comes Alive!" I can't place it with any accuracy, but that it dovetailed into a quiet dynamic not unlike the lengthy midsection of "Do You Feel Like We Do" has me convinced of the source. I'm still having a hard time making up my mind about this gig. Maybe I merely saw a less-than-stellar performance -- albeit one with some tremendous moments -- yet for the first time, I'm sensing a shift in the Phish demographic. As I walked to my seat, some guy blurted out: "Well, at least now people are showing up. There were maybe 5,000 people last night in Phoenix." And that was the tour opener, a middling one, by all accounts. Theory: This is the intended aftermath of Phish's brief hiatus at the start of the decade -- thinning the herd, so to speak. What makes a Phish show unlike anything I've experienced is the confluence of earlier scenes -- in order of importance, the Dead's mellow vibe, Pink Floyd's spaced-out euphoria, the Allman Brothers' hearty blues rush and, no joke, Jimmy Buffett's party in Margaritaville. Yet the hiatus seems to have driven that last contingent on to the next rager, primarily provided by the String Cheese Incident. Phish hasn't left the party altogether, but this night it was clear the quartet was only interested in speaking to the hard-core, warming up with standbys like "Guyute" and "Horn" and "My Sweet One," balancing the second set between jaw-dropping instrumental explorations (Desert Jeff says "Down With Disease" is the best post-hiatus jam he has seen) and unexpected entries only a Phish-head would care about: a rare airing of "Vultures," a Trey piece ("Secret Smile," I think) that he hasn't done with the rest of Phish before, a new one, probably called "Discern," that left no impression on me. I noticed several moments, actually, where my mind wandered, recalling other things I could be devoting this space to: Barry White's premature passing, why prices for so-so talent at the reborn Pacific Amphitheatre seem awfully high. No sooner would Phish work up a wicked world-beat groove than it would drift into a lazy prog-rock loop -- and I'd find myself ignoring them and instead following the toys in the air: inflatable aliens, a multitude of glow sticks and bubbles, bubbles, bubbles! Desert Jeff thinks the show's second set was worth the drive. I'm undecided. Did I catch an off night? Has my familiarity begun to breed contempt? I don't know. But I really wish I could have followed them to Mountain View, Calif., to find out. Somehow, I think they would have found a way to amaze me once again. Article Copyright © 2003 Orange County Register