Groove Filling

10/7/99, Uniondale, NY, Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum

SET 1: NICU > My Soul, Dirt, David Bowie, Frankie Says > Possum, When the Circus Comes, Gotta Jibboo, Fluffhead

SET 2: Boogie On Reggae Woman, Heavy Things, Tube, Back on the Train > Mike's Song > McGrupp and the Watchful Hosemasters, Prince Caspian > Golgi Apparatus > Weekapaug Groove

ENCORE: Rocky Top > I Am Hydrogen > Julius

Listen

There are a number of musical thermometers for how Phish is feeling about their music at any given time. Quantitatively, you can count up the number of songs per show or set, the number of segues (even tally > vs. ->, if you’re a true sicko), or the number of bustouts. On the qualitative side, there are spongy songs such as Tweezer or Gin that adapt to the improvisational ambitions of different eras or songs such as 2001 or Tube that go longer or shorter based on their current levels of patience. 

But I’d like to propose a new metric that is a mix of both numerical and descriptive factors – the content of a Mike’s Groove. For the band’s first decade, they pretty much played Mike’s Groove the same way every time, Mike’s > Hydrogen > Weekapaug. In 1993, that rule started to loosen up at the same time the band started experimenting more broadly in their shows and setlists, and by the end of the year you were as likely to get a surprise in the middle as you were to get element #1. 

The insertion of Simple in 1994 pushed the envelope even further by turning the default trio into a quartet, and through the late 90s, they packed the space between Mike’s and Weekapaug full of more and more songs, sometimes using them as thematic bookends for entire sets as show flow became more of a focus. Even the opposite approach, the rare direct Mike’s > Weekapaug, could make a statement about a performance’s intensity and willingness to flaunt norms. 

Viewing 1999 through this lens pretty much tracks with some of the trends we’ve covered already. After Hydrogen returned at the end of ‘98 from a year-long semi-retirement, the summer tour brought the original trio out for a couple more spins, a revival that carried over for the Groove’s first fall appearance at a pretty by-the-numbers Shoreline show. In Las Cruces, they subbed in Train Song for the Hydrogen spot in the quartet version, a fairly 1-for-1 substitution in a stolid, straightforward show. The Memphis Mike’s Groove was as inventive as the show’s big jams, weaving in the weirdo chant trilogy of Catapult/Kung/I Didn’t Know where the funk breakdowns or instrumentals usually go.

And tonight’s final Mike’s Groove of Fall 99 is…just plain baffling. After a Mike’s jam where Trey’s keyboard distractions suck all the energy out almost immediately, McGrupp emerges from an ambient finale. The traditional Gamehendge finale is very cool to hear after a 70-show layover, but they double down on the mellow middle by chasing it with Caspian. Then instead of ramping back up with a set-closing Weekapaug, they detour into a very out of place Golgi. Compounding the zig-zag confusion, they sneak Hydrogen into the encore between Rocky Top and Julius – the only time between 10/31/87 and 4/20/24 that the instrumental was played outside the confines of a Mike’s Groove.

This turbulent ride is again representative of the show surrounding it. One would hope that the first two-day rest of an unrelenting tour and the return to the opening site of the pivotal Island Tour would refocus the band. But the first night of this tour-ending New York foursome is just as muddled as the shows that preceded it. It’s a little sloppy – check out the molasses starting tempo and awkward mid-song adjustment in the BOTT that precedes this Mike’s Groove – and a lot uninspired. I know some of you weirdos like it, but I remain convinced that any show post-1997 that drops a My Soul early on means they’re out of sync, given that it’s such a frequent soundcheck favorite. The longest jam of the night, in Bowie, does very little with that real estate; most of the runtime makes me want to poke it with a stick.

So in a show where, for whatever reason, they just don’t got it, they instead try to force it with left-field Mike’s Groove filling. That’s where the thermometer theory finds its ground-truth – when the band is locked in and thinking out of the box, it feels almost effortless for them to take the choices within Mike’s in new and unexpected directions that still function. But when the mood is awkward and they’re pressing, the classic bookends can find themselves wrapped around some clashing ingredients. Tonight’s version of Phish’s signature suite is symptomatic of a tour that hasn’t managed to come up with a convincing thesis in time for its grand finale weekend.