Inspiration Flow

8/9/98, Virginia Beach, VA, Virginia Beach Amphitheater

SET 1: Punch You in the Eye, Bathtub Gin, The Lizards, The Moma Dance, Birds of a Feather, Esther, Roggae, Bouncing Around the Room, David Bowie

SET 2: AC/DC Bag > Sparkle, Run Like an Antelope, Brian and Robert, Waste -> Over the Rainbow > You Enjoy Myself > Frankenstein > Chalk Dust Torture, Hello My Baby

ENCORE: Terrapin Station

Listen on phish.in

The first guitar notes are quiet, barely audible, but before the riff has even completed one cycle, some “Name That Tune” dude lets out a primal yell. As soon as Trey starts to play it a second time, before Mike and Page have even joined in, a roar begins to build. When the drums settle in on bar 5, it’s pandemonium, which only dims briefly in disbelief for the first stanza of vocals. 

At every lyrical pause, the roar comes back again. When Trey hits the first solo break with a tone that perfectly splits the difference between his own and Jerry’s, everyone freaks. When they move beyond the “Lady With A Fan” section and keep playing, whenever they sing the song’s partial or full name, when that incredible chord sequence in the jam starts, and especially when the song ends – each moment is greeted with a cheer like the last out of the World Series when the home team wins. 

I’ve listened to the Terrapin Station encore hundreds of times, and while Phish’s performance is fantastic, it’s the crowd’s reaction that always gives me chills. For a band who loves tension/release dynamics, this moment is one of the ultimate releases of the 90s, the consummation of over a decade of “will they or won’t they?” drama. It may seem weird in 2023, from the other side of Phil & Phriends, Fare Thee Well, and dozens of sit-ins by members of the Dead with Phish and vice versa. But in 1998, it was controversial to even suggest that Phish might some day cover the Grateful Dead again.

Granted, that was mostly fan projection. As Goose fans know all too well today, it’s very hard to escape the shadow of your jamband forefathers, and playing a direct cover is just asking for the comparison to be permanently tattooed. Even in 1998, three years after Jerry Garcia’s death, it was still customary for the Dead to come up in every article about Phish, never mind that they were selling out virtually every non-stadium venue in the United States at the time. As a reflexive reaction, the “intelligent” Phish fan take was to make like Peter the apostle and deny the Dead’s influence entirely – okay yeah sure, they started out playing Dead covers at their first few dorm cafeteria shows, but they really grew into their own sound fairly quickly, you know.

How much of that attitude was shared by the band in the late 90s is a mystery. They didn’t do interviews as often any more, but when the Dead came up they gracefully deflected the question as always. The official party line was that Phish took inspiration from the Dead in a purely organizational sense – as in how you organize security and venue staff to make sure everyone has a good time with minimal bummers, or by swiping the “two sets and an encore” model as a reliable way to structure an evening with the band. When Fall 1995 came and went without any acknowledgement of Garcia’s death beyond Trey dedicating I’m Blue I’m Lonesome to him at Shoreline and a controversial maybe-tease on NYE, it seemed like the chances of a Dead cover had dwindled to zero. Phish didn’t want to carry the burden of the comparison any more than their fans did.

Even with the run of surprise covers in 1998, I don’t think anyone predicted that the Dead was back on the potential menu, and if they did, it was probably greeted with eye rolls. To echo what I said a few days ago, most of the covers felt like Phish declaring the full spectrum of their influences, pushing the Dead’s role in shaping them even further to the margins. “It’s true, Trey actually sounds more like Jimmy Page meets Eddie Van Halen meets Neil Young than Jerry Garcia” is a thing I can totally imagine myself obnoxiously saying in 1998, in response to the setlists rolling in each night.

But after it happened, it all made perfect sense. Of course Phish charting out their musical family tree would eventually land on the Dead, and if it wasn’t going to happen on Jerry’s birthday (another reason the Been Caught Stealing encore at Alpine is so disorienting and funny), it was gonna have to be on his departure day. To my ears, part of that incredible crowd response isn’t just simple joy at hearing Phish finally play the Dead again, but that they nailed the most tasteful time and way to do it.

Because Terrapin Station really was the absolute best choice, not Scarlet or Fire or Eyes, or the other songs they covered back in the beginning. It’s a very Phish-y song, from the Dead’s proggiest era, one with a bunch of complicated sections and wordy storytelling before they get to the instrumental emotional payoff. It makes for a good Phish-y gag too, as initial reports confused everyone back home over whether it really was the Dead song or just Fishman breaking out his old Syd Barrett cover*. It’s got a vocal that Trey can handle (though I adore his voice cracking upward on “rare and different TUNE”**), an arrangement that can be downscaled smoothly from six-piece to four-piece, and a jam that they can dig into, at least until the curfew officer starts tapping his watch.

It’s cute how nervous they are about it. By playing three additional songs after an obvious set two closer in YEM, it sounds like they’re putting off the big encore reveal as long as they possibly can, even delaying to shout out their massage therapist Eric before Hello My Baby. They play the song so well that it’s almost too rehearsed, missing the X factor of the Dead’s usual jalopy chaos. But I think you can hear how much it means to all four of them to be playing their parts – Trey doing Jerry, of course, but also Page channeling Keith, Mike Phil-ing his ass off, Fishman somehow approximating the glorious wobbly sound of two sort-of-synced drummers.

And by finally doing it, they sent a message much deeper than merely “man, it’s a bummer that Jerry died.” In some ways, overtly avoiding playing any Dead was worse than just giving in; it allowed the externally-enforced narrative around Phish to dictate their decisions. Finally playing the Grateful Goddamn Dead was a clear signal that Phish didn’t have to let the constant comparison bother them any more – 1998 is Phish’s imperial phase, the absolute peak of both their powers and their hubris, and if paying tribute to Jerry with a song that almost all of them saw him play felt right, then they didn’t have to second-guess it any more. 

Eight months later, Trey and Page would play with Phil at the celebration of his new liver. Soon after that, Phil would play with them on their terms, and then Bob, and a bit later, Billy. When the Grateful Dead celebrated 50 years of various existence, Trey would get the call of a lifetime to sit in Jerry’s seat, and he would nail the shit out of it. The Virginia Beach Terrapin broke the ice that prevented two of the great American bands from overlapping in the way that made the most sense, a healing of the cleavage that happened three years prior. That crowd roar is relief.

* - A joke they’d consummate the next year in Virginia Beach, natch.

** - Also very much appreciate his CORRECT pronunciation of “ci-cah-das”