Rain Come Down

The first Phish show I caught here at SPAC was back in ’94, and I had a vague memory of a sign outside the venue explicitly prohibiting marshmallows. Didn’t see the sign anywhere this year, and it seemed so stupid I figured I’d made it up. I went ahead and asked one of my pals about it, who had started seeing shows in his early teen years of the late 80s. He told me it was a thing at Dead shows, and in 87 or 88 there was quite a marshmallow battle at SPAC. Hence the sign I thought I made up but didn’t.

Why bring that up here? No reason, tho I thought y’all might want to read something about the venue other than strictly music reviews. There was a war of sorts happening in the clouds, though. Some time ‘round 7.30 the skies opened the hell up with the kind of rain that would make a man go get two of each species and put ‘em on a boat.

By some odd miracle, I wound up with orchestra seats for this Sunday night show, and I was beyond happy that I did. Just about every one out on the lawn with a friend in the orchestra or balcony called in the favor and got themselves stubbed in. The building was jammed, aisles full all the way up, and every seat had a body or three in them.

It was steamy and packed by the time Phish came out and wasted us with a very well played first set. Speaking of, there’s plenty of chatter about every tune but Maze. Which should be corrected. ‘Cause they tore that fucker up.

The air just didn’t get any less funked out by set break, and twenty-ish minutes later, the rain let up and the lights went down. Been waiting on the Disease opener, and it doesn’t disappoint. It’s no MSG ’12, but the band paints a picture that extends through the first three songs, almost like they fit songs into their improv theme, rather than the usual other way around.

…Then a Velvet cheese. Seriously with this tune, what’s the deal? I’d punch a nun to get that one shelved in favor of like ANY other slower tune. Waste. Brian and Robert. Billy. Dirt. Pebbles and Marbles. Oy. Ok, rant: over. The rest of set 2, or, Run Like a Meatstick Myself, is a 40-ish minute chunk of your life that you won’t regret using to listen to music. So go listen to it.

Like any three night run, no one really wanted it to end. The muddy shithole of a hill/lawn was full of chatty cathys, just like the lot and all the weird greek-themed SPAC structures outside the venue. And who would want to leave? The moment you do, it’s Monday, and the weekend won’t be the weekend any more.