If length were the yardstick of musical greatness, these silly men are the Ron Jeremy of jam bandom. Unfortunately for them and their fans, it isn't. Where Grateful Dead were a respectable band charting new musical territory while hitch-hiking the social torrent of the 1960's, Phish are an evolutionary hangover of that scene; an appendix, floating there aimlessly amidst the rest of the musical organism, only to hemorrhage on the unsuspecting college student.
These fans fall into either one of two stereotypes with 98% reliability. (The other two percent, although statistically negligible, are generally people that have errantly meandered into a group of Phish fans, having been the accidental beneficiary of a contact high. They follow the sheep looking for Doritos.
Type A: This Phish fan comes from the bowels of baby-boom parents. There is a strange and disconcerting melange of Benjamins and tie-die, patchouli and birkenstocks. They arrive at college in a Volkswagen Jetta fitted with a ski-rack, and they will smoke mercury (Hg) as long as you remind them that it is "natural." Fronting the failed idealism of "peace, love, and happiness," these people are like a badger in a dishwasher (on) when confronted with actual hardship. Not so loving, indeed. (To witness what a cognizant human being deduces from this mentality, read the lyrics of "Common People" by Pulp).
Type B: This type is equally offensive in odor and candor, however lacks the ability to establish an actual friendship. They want your drugs. Everything else is inconsequential.
Many fans cite grandiose concert performances as another crucial perk of the Phish experience (e.g. hot dog suits and sparkles, sometimes even balloons and disco balls (!). These, of course, are convenient distractions to the painful reality that you are listening to an eighteen minute circle-jerk lubricated with hashish and patchouli (dirt). A Phish show is an Auschwitz of terrible guitar tone and stupidity, albeit with fewer ashes (not by many) and with corpses that move slightly more.
Fact: The lyrics of this music will decrease your I.Q. score 13 points (+/-2). Do not attempt to comprehend Phish "lyrics." Do not confuse these "lyrics" as anything besides the comparable babble of a toddler with a annoying and terminal language disorder.
*PUNCH TO PHISH FANS FACE*
Metal Man1: Hey man, there are lots of 26 year olds in fourth grade. You got any Marlboros?
comprised of phour incredibly talented muscicians
Page McConnell - Pianos
Trey Anastasio - guitars
Mike Gordon - Bass
Jon Fishman - drums
Phish sucks you say? Phuck you
go listen to it.
Phish is, first and foremost, a jam band. Concerts are made up of long periods of instrumental rocking and chord progression manipulation and expansion whereas studio versions of songs more often list more "filler" songs (although they are still good) and shortened versions of the huge concert warhorse pieces.
1) Trey Anastasio (Lead vocals, Guitar)
2) Mike Gordon (Bass, Vocals)
3) Page McConnel (Anything with a keyboard, Vocals)
4) Jon Fishman (Percussion, Vacume Cleaner)
Phish sampler songs (to get you into the band)
1) Run Like An Antelope
2) The Squirming Coil
3) You Enjoy Myself
4) Divided Sky
5) Mike's Song
In parallel to their beloved band, Phish fans have a reputation for carrying the mantle of the Dead Heads. This includes following there band on tours, setting up shop in the parking lot, partaking in anything that might enhance the concert experience (particularly, Marijuana, Ecstasy, LSD). Phans, as they have come to be known, can come from any background though. Neo-hippies and those of us who tend to conform a little more can unite at a Phish show. The sense of brotherhood and unity is welcome to anyone who can appreciate good music.
Phish stopped playing after their farewell tour Summer of 2006 that culminated in a final show at Coventry, Vermont.
"Here, let me pass you the bong so I can get out Picture of Nectar."
"We were stuck in traffic on the highway for hours trying to see Phish at the Great Went!"