It was a summer sandwiched by Phish — a Phish sandwich of sorts. The meat of a long summer spent far from home is distinctly framed in my mind by two concerts. As for the details of that sandwich, the meat is hardly insignificant, but rather unrelated to the story at hand. Here is the one relevant fact: it was a long, lonely summer.
For fellow enthusiasts, aka “phellow Phish phans,” I think you will have no qualms sticking with me for the remainder of this narrative. For any intermediate listeners, perhaps this story will offer enough persuasive insight to have you put away that copy of whatever studio Phish album stands alone in your collection, find yourself a computer, download Live Phish Vol. 16 -10/31/98 Thomas & Mack Center, Las Vegas, Nevada, sit down, shut up and listen – better yet, hear.
As for the owners of the countless iPods I’ve scrolled through at frat houses and keggers over the year, in a fruitless attempt to locate some descent music, only to be fooled by the appearance of the name Phish within your artist library, then upon further investigation discover that the extent of your song collection reads as follows (deep breath): “Farmhouse,” “Heavy Things.” Do us all a big favor and delete them both swiftly.
For anyone else who does not listen, does not enjoy or simply has not heard of the band Phish, please know that I respect this and by no means do I consider Phish the holy grail of available music today. I love Phish because I love music. I love to listen to music, I love to dissect music and I love to play music. Back in high school when my bandmates and I first started to play, or jam as we called it, Phish’s music was some of the first we attempted to master. The more I listened, my familiarity with particular sections and melodies grew. I began memorizing my favorite guitar solos and bass lines, drum licks and piano parts. My music collection expanded with five, then 10, finally 49 albums of just Phish. My laptop felt heavier than usual. I had become a Phish head, and there was no turning back.
Needless to say, when the band began dropping hints last fall of a possible return to the stage after a four-year hiatus and eventually announced a series of reunion concerts in Hampton, Va., set for early March 2009, I was elated. My heroes were back and now I would have the chance to experience them in person.
The first concert I was able to find tickets to was in Knoxville, Tenn., June 10 at the University of Tennessee’s basketball stadium. At this point I had already moved to Northern Virginia for a summer-long internship (recall the long, lonely summer, this was its setting, the most miserable place on earth). Despite the overbearing responsibilities of work, I cut the first week short and hit the road for the eight-hour drive southwest, Knoxville-bound.
When I arrived in Knoxville, I was greeted by a sea of familiar faces, and we soon began braving the early afternoon rainstorms and settled into our corner of the parking lot. Amidst the brightly colored VW vans and RV’s, we delved into all the shenanigans the lot is famous for.
The walk to the venue was epic itself, a half mile trek along old railroad tracks that hugged the Tennessee river to the right and a steep incline to the left. A train of happy heads, giddy as school children, two by two we marched, an exodus of wookies. As we arrived, a rainbow stretched from the top of a distant hill and bowed down to the top of the arena – we had arrived. We stepped forward. It was real.
Shortly after the show we were all back at the lot sitting silently elated, dumbfounded, trying desperately to find the words to describe our collective and personal experiences, searching for our faces. Not long after gaining some sense of composure, our group was rattled by an uninvited guest with an agenda to speak.
“Excuse me guys, could I have a minute of your time?” said the man.
Our response was a collective murmur.
“I’m Pete Greyson. I’m an Catholic elementary school teacher from Brooklyn, New York.” He continued, “I have a wife and three daughters and I’m over $10,000 in debt…”
“Great,” I thought. “Here comes the part where he asks for money or a sandwich. And why the hell is a faithful husband in serious debt at a Phish show?”
What he said next caught me off guard.
“…and I spent all of my money writing this book.” He extends his arm, a small paperback book is clasped in his trembling hand. “I got a call from iUniverse publishing in the middle of the show…,” he looked ready to explode “,…offering me 1.2 million dollars to publish my book. They want to send me on a nationwide book tour.”
We were all stunned and I’m sure a handful of the crew believed they were still hallucinating. The rest probably believed the man was lying. I was practically speechless, but speechless isn’t really my style so I chimed in as best I knew how.
“Well, either you’re telling the truth or we’ve just witnessed the most elaborate attempt to score a beer ever, either way, somebody get this man a beer!”
Someone did, and we drank and laughed and introduced ourselves. He told me that we were the first people he had told the news to, before even his wife and kids. I scribbled down my mailing address on the back of a receipt and he promised he would send me a copy of the book.
About two weeks ago I received a small package in the mail from a Peter Greyson. Inside was a signed copy of “Dear Lilly” and a note that read:
John Mustain, Thank you so much for supporting my lifelong dream. You are a kind soul!
Your friend, Pete.
I smiled and chuckled, “That bastard wasn’t lying. He made it.”
You may have noticed the missing chapter to this story, the show itself. Let me assure you its absence is intended. Sometimes the events and circumstances surrounding a particularly powerful experience can much more appropriately capture the experience’s significance than can a simple descriptive analysis. Aside from that, the events that took place during those three hours of pure nirvana are intimately personal, the truth of which is reserved solely for one, such is me. They shall reside in my memory for years to come – I shall divulge them as I see fit.