Trey Anastasio, Trey Anastasio May 10, 2002 - Hear/Say By By Jesse Jarnow Album Review - Trey Anastasio Here comes Trey Anastasio, the latest record from the Phish guitarist. Nearly concurrent with the self-titled album are six new multi-disc archival releases hurdling out of the Phish vault and into record stores. What's a broke-ass hippie to do? Like everything Phish has ever done, each release is a process just as much as it is a product, including Trey Anastasio (the album and the man). In that, it is perhaps the most interesting of the releases, if only because the ideas expressed on it are still reaching and stretching for their next advancing points. Or maybe the Live Phish releases are more exciting precisely because they provide any number of reference points to untangle Phish. So here's an arbitrary starting point: in the fall of 1995, Trey Anastasio brought a small percussion kit on tour with him. He set it up next to his gear. Every so often, he would put down his guitar, pick up drumsticks, and start tapping out rhythms. It was this decision that, almost directly, led to the current state of affairs in the Phish world - Trey Anastasio, Vida Blue (an upcoming effort from keyboardist Page McConnell), and the band's currently indefinite hiatus. The idea, Anastasio later said, was to encourage other band members - particularly McConnell - to step forward in the band's improvisation. It worked. There is a moment during the 23-minute rendition of "Mike's Song" documented on Live Phish 12 (recorded August 13, 1996 in Indiana) where he goes for the kit. The music immediately takes a bent for weirder space, led by abstract colorings by McConnell. What we hear is more of an exercise than worthwhile music itself (which is sort of how the show, including the band's early attempts at some of the Billy Breathes ballads, feels as a whole). In stepping back, Anastasio allowed the band to develop a style of improvisation where all parts were truly equal. The payoff comes on Live Phish 11 (recorded November 17, 1997 in Colorado). Across a 20-minute version of "Ghost," the band shows off its then-new minimalist style of improvisation - a style which spawned dozens of terrible imitators and practically single-handedly gave birth to the pseudo-groove aspect of the jamband scene. The band's jamming is at once fluidly psychedelic and beautifully rhythmic. This approach defined the band from 1997 through its retirement in late 2000 (a notable maturation of the method can be found on Live Phish 08 [7/10/99, New Jersey], particularly on the flowing jam out of "Chalk Dust Torture"). A side effect of this movement, Anastasio has admitted, is that it de-emphasized some of his earlier leadership. Until 1996 or so, he was the band's primary composer. Consciously or not, the band lost interest in interpreting his tougher charts. Particularly instructive are three versions of the epic and complex "Fluffhead," recorded five years apart (one from 1989 on 09 [Townshend, New Jersey], 1994 on 10 [Columbus, Ohio], and 1999 on 08). In the '89 version, the band is still clearly enthralled with Anastasio's multi-part composition, playing the changes with a childish enthusiasm that is, at times, sloppy. By '94, the band had nailed the tough rhythmic transitions between the sections, playing them (all too fast) with a brusque confidence. And, by '99, they seem almost bored with the song. Anastasio's guitar is lackadaisical, tripping gently over the precise parts. The band members don't sound like they have much to prove by playing the song. And, indeed, they didn't. Where Anastasio focused on one aspect of his playing with Phish, another was allowed to wither. It led to a backup of ideas that, in turn, led to the band's hiatus and Anastasio's seemingly sudden burst of new work. Which brings us to Trey Anastasio. In a perfect world, it is the album that diehard fans have been waiting for out of Anastasio for years, filled with orchestral arrangements, spiraling horns and affable vibes. All these elements are in place, though unfortunately it doesn't entirely add up. At its best ("Last Tube," "At The Gazebo"), the disc is a deeper refinement of some of the minimalist concepts Anastasio began playing with in the last years in Phish, combining the less-is-more instrumental approach with some of his earlier compositional ideas. These moments, which are found mostly during the program's second half, rank with anything Anastasio has done. At its worst ("Night Speaks To A Woman," "Alive Again"), the album exhibits the same languid listlessness that defined Phish's creative malaise. Like Live Phish, it ain't definitive, but it's a start. Unlike the Live Phish series - completed sets of music now frozen in time - Trey's story is not yet finished. ***