Farewell Party

12/28/96, Philadelphia, PA, The Spectrum

SET 1: Runaway Jim, NICU, Wolfman's Brother, It's Ice, Billy Breathes, Ginseng Sullivan, Split Open and Melt, The Mango Song, Frankenstein

SET 2: Makisupa Policeman -> Maze, Bouncing Around the Room, Digital Delay Loop Jam -> The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday > Avenu Malkenu > Mike's Song -> Strange Design > Weekapaug Groove, The Star Spangled Banner

ENCORE: Johnny B. Goode

For the sake of narrative, it would’ve been much better if 1996 had just ended in Vegas. That wild and woolly show could have been a fitting capper on a year with some highs, some lows, and a whole lot of unsatisfying middles, a performance that pointed to the future while offering reassurance that, no matter what changes were afoot, Phish would stay weird. But as (almost) always, there was still a bit of work to do before Phish could call it a year.

Even in a year that is a blind spot for most fans, the 1996 NYE Run is a particular collective memory hole. Every other holiday run from 1993 through 1999 is core Phish canon, and most of the 21st century four-nighters have forged memorable identities as well. But 1996 just kind of…exists. The NYE stunt — a gospel choir and a one-time cover of “Bohemian Rhapsody” — felt low stakes even at the time, and none of the shows leading up to it were instant classics of the kind found in 95, 97, and 98. There’s not even a commercial triumph akin to selling out one of the Gardens on the year’s biggest night for live entertainment.

In fact, there are no Gardens, perhaps one of the reasons for the run’s listlessness. The Boston Garden has closed — Phish’s tropical hot dog night was the last NYE concert on those famous parquet floors. Madison Square Garden was booked by Phish’s friendly rivals in Blues Traveler, who celebrated with an unintentionally Spinal Tappish midnight gag. So instead, the band played two shows in Philly and two shows at Boston’s shiny new FleetCenter, an arena so lousy for music they’d only return once more, for the 20th anniversary show in 2003. 

Without the cushion of venue vibes, the best intangible for Phish to lean on was a “triumphant return to the Northeast” narrative, given the westward direction of the fall tour after a very brief beginning in NY and PA. The Boston shows would be the only time Phish set foot in New England all year, an unusual rebuke of their homebase, and you’d think they’d take the opportunity to show off all they had learned in the preceding 12 months. 

That’s not what happens. Where NYE 1995 celebrated the realization of all the band’s rock and roll dreams, 1996 is a somewhat forced and bittersweet goodbye to the band’s first era. Based on the first chapter of The Phish Book, which opens with this run, Phish knew that it was about to make some deeper changes to its sound and live approach. But perhaps because of the high expectations associated with their year-end tradition, they hit the pause button on those renovations and give the fans what they think they want, for nine more sets. 

But revisiting these shows for the first time in a long time, they’re still pretty good, with some intriguing, if obviously not that memorable, moments on each night. Tonight’s takes the very unusual form of a “jammed-out” Bouncin’, more of a digital delay loop pedal postscript instead of an extension of the song, but remarkable nonetheless. The following night has a rotation jam and a Harpua with Tom Marshall singing a song they hate; the 30th contains an accidental silent jam and an absurdist guest appearance by comedian and Mike doppelganger Steven Wright. 

While all of these quirks are welcome disrupters of otherwise pretty standard setlists, they’re also all reruns of a sort, rather than sneak previews. The DDL Jam can’t help but call to mind the outro to the NYE 95 Mike’s, or farther back, the night at the Bomb Factory that mapped out so much of Phish’s future. Rotation jams were a Fall 1995 thing — 12/29’s is even the second one to take place in The Spectrum in a little over a year. The silent stage theatrics when the PA cuts out during Funky Bitch on the 30th recall the Albany 95 YEM, while Wright’s cameo feels a bit like Col. Bruce Hampton’s literal sit-in on 11/28/95. It’s a scrapbook of the past, and more specifically, the pre-96 past…if you were a northeastern fan and hadn’t paid close attention to 1996, you’d think you didn’t miss a thing.

If you’re looking for clues to the future, you have to squint — there’s barely a hint of Remain in Light polyrhythms, cowfunk egalitarianism, or maxi-Hendrix blast-offs. On 12/28, I’d argue the prophecies manifest as mere patience, not just in the leisurely, loopy stroll between Bouncin’ and TMWSIY, but in the menacingly meandering Maze before that and the Mike’s > Strange Design > Weekapaug that follows. Both bread slices of the Mike’s Groove sandwich top 16 minutes, and they’re most striking for the uniformity of the jams — they don’t break new ground, but they largely stick to one idea and develop it methodically. That’s an approach more associated with the final years of the 90s than those preceding, and the seed ideas on which it is practiced will only get better with time.

But including a chonky Mike’s Groove also backfires, recalling the version that anchored last year’s New Year’s Eve celebrations. Both halves are good, but their comparison point is legendary, an unflattering match underscored when both Mike’s and Weekapaug end in long Page solos (the 2nd is especially Keith Jarrett-y) that resolve into Strange Design and the Star-Spangled Banner instead of a cathartic Sea and Sand. They’re another repeat; two of the finest jams of the run, but still weighed down by the past instead of celebrating the year to come.