A Liver One

11/22/97, Hampton, VA, Hampton Coliseum

SET 1: Mike's Song -> I Am Hydrogen > Weekapaug Groove, Harry Hood > Train Song, Billy Breathes, Frankenstein > Izabella

SET 2: Halley's Comet > Tweezer > Black-Eyed Katy > Piper > Run Like an Antelope

ENCORE: Bouncing Around the Room > Tweezer Reprise

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In their four decades as a band, Phish have checked almost every box on the Great Rock Band to-do list. But there’s one milestone that I’m not sure they’ve ever quite reached, and it’s an ironic one: Phish has never put out an Iconic Live Album. They came closest with A Live One, though its patchwork format makes it more of a sampler than an honest statement. Slip Stitch and Pass, the ostensible product they’re promoting on this tour, is a quirky and bold statement, but also a heavily-edited single disc diced up from a single night. 1999’s Hampton Comes Alive finally provided uncut shows, but selected two extra goofy and song-stuffed dates. 

Since then, it’s been archival releases and box sets for the already-converted, nothing with the massive crossover appeal of Live at Leeds, At Fillmore East or…Frampton Comes Alive. On these records, bands with a live reputation that outstripped their studio discography managed to successfully reproduce their stage vibes on wax, earning them new acclaim. Again, A Live One almost did the trick, going platinum the month before this tour kicked off. But it didn’t push Phish through the ceiling of being merely a Very Successful Cult Band, where they’ve existed ever since.

That may have been a matter of timing. Phish was very, very good in 1994, but they weren’t at their most accessible point, still skewed towards their early prog-based songwriting and pushing into experimental improv marathons, sadistically represented by the ALO Tweezer. The prideful decision to go with all originals also cut off the on-ramp by which many new fans adopt the band, creating a distortion in its portrayal of the true live Phish experience. As an introduction to the band, it still made curious and casual listeners work to find additional context, where the greatest of live albums make a self-contained case.

Which is all a long way of saying that 90s Phish had that perfect live album right under their collective nose the whole time, and they could have even used the same groaner pun they’d use in 1999. It’s this very show, which better than any other classic Phish performance could translate uncut to record store shelves and effectively ensnare new fans. Its two sets and encore fit perfectly on two CDs, and its 150 minutes contain all the depth and versatility of a great Phish show while still remaining accessible, the kind of record you could put on in mixed company without clearing the room. It’s their Cornell, and it was hidden in the middle of a 7-CD boxset more than a decade after it might have had its greatest impact.

To an experienced Phish fan, the reasons why 11/22/97 is rated behind only Big Cypress and 12/30/97* is clear. In its structure and sound, it’s a consummate representative of everything Fall 97 gets right. It wastes no time jumping into a spectacular Mike’s Groove, doubling down right after with a majestic Hood. The second set contains a Hall of Fame jam – as well as some material for its wing dedicated to stage banter – and is organized into a pristine five-song arc. The playing exemplifies the Fall 97 aesthetic; not just the cowfunk the tour is best known for, but also the blinding hard-rock intensity and atmospheric textures that round out the cast.

But, miraculously, there are multiple shows in November, December, and the following April that fit that general description. What sets Hampton Night 2 apart is the immediacy and accessibility – you don’t need shelves of tapes to find it interesting or inherently appealing. Sure, some of those long track times might be intimidating to a neophyte, but even the night’s extended jams glide along friction-free (the opposite of the ALO Tweezer), and most of the improv comes after songs with relatively brief heads unlike the labyrinthine lead-ups of Stash or YEM. 

Fall 97’s dismissal of warming-up helps in this regard – it’s only 4 minutes before they’re past the entryway of Mike’s and surfing into unknown territory on the back of a mighty bweeooo. Instead of the Doors-quoting silliness of the Slip Stitch Mike’s jam, this one waves at Black-Eyed Katy and dissembles with no need for a first/second jam demarcation, dreams through a molasses Hydrogen, and rebuilds itself into a lean, mean, copyright-free Talking Heads emulator in Weekapaug – the creative destruction and rehabilitation of 1997 Phish condensed into a half hour. The Hood that follows can’t match the ALO version (few can), but is glorious all the same, collective playing of a wholly different flavor than the suite that precedes it.

Two shows ago, I argued that Phish had grown past its nightly need to demonstrate its versatility, but the rest of the first set falls rather neatly into showcasing two sides of the band that, by 1997, have earned their place on a live album. There’s a ballad section, with the  porcelain Train Song once again providing a delicate eye in the Fall 97 storm, and Billy Breathes giving Trey a chance to simply play the power ballad guitar hero. And there’s a covers duo, a double dip of explosive set closers showing off Phish’s well-honed classic-rock chops on classics recognizable but not overplayed. If Halloween sets are an effective introduction for many new fans, this sequence gets the job done in a fraction of the time.

Then there’s set two. Not every great Phish jam is an appropriate primer for an unseasoned beginner, as sometimes its reputation comes from how it subverts hundreds of performances that came before. Stay on F-ing might produce the first monster Halley’s Comet, but that fact is just trivia compared to the actual substance of the version, which triangulates the three major poles – cowfunk, Hendrix-y hard rock, and cosmic textures – of Fall 97 so far into one exquisite symphony. It’s immediately appealing, but also reveals new layers with each listen; this time around, I was fascinated by the bizarre rising bassline Mike chooses around 10:15. Where ALO’s centerpiece jam gets weirder and weirder, ending up far too cerebral and fussy, the 11/22/97 Halley’s builds organically to a beautiful, emotional climax over its final seven minutes**.

It’s house money the rest of the way, with a Tweezer that plays the funk card straight and fulfills Chekhov’s Black-Eyed Katy, a  Piper reaching slow-build maturity, and a blistering Antelope. Even the Bouncin’ encore would work on a live album (gotta play the hit) and it tees up the Tweezer Reprise that A Live One cruelly omitted. 

Name a more iconic double-album candidate, I’ll wait. The problem with many great Phish shows is that they’re just too long, requiring a major time investment that scares off most casuals, or there’s too much backstory needed to decode what’s happening. New Year’s Eve 1995, the closest competition for ideal Phish live album in my mind is 50% longer, and the Forbin’s narration/Gamehendge Time Factory stuff baffle anyone coming in cold. Nope, 11/22/97 was it, the most concise and complete double-wide jewel case to be made for Phish to a broader audience.

* - However, that second spot is where NYE 95 would go, if I were manipulating Phish democracy.

** - A stretch that sounds, oddly enough, a lot like Wingsuit, in maybe the longest pre-tease to ever reach fruition.