Keep It Like a Secret

2/26/97, Stuttgart, GER, LKA-Longhorn

SET 1: Camel Walk, Llama, My Friend, My Friend, Harry Hood > My Soul > Tube > Carini, Rock A William, Dog Log, While My Guitar Gently Weeps

SET 2: Buried Alive > Poor Heart > Ha Ha Ha > You Enjoy Myself -> Kung -> Theme From the Bottom > Scent of a Mule > Jam -> Magilla > Scent of a Mule, Slave to the Traffic Light

ENCORE: Highway to Hell

Phish’s day in the southwestern German state of Baden-Württemberg got off to an early start, with an awkward but charming radio session for now-defunct Baden-Baden station SWF3. With the DJ gamely interviewing the band in English then translating to German for his audience (“Phish mit Pee-Ha”), the guys discuss Europeans confusing them with the former singer of the prog band Marillion, how they would totally cover Michael Jackson’s Bad for Halloween, and how the band benefits from the Internet, a magical new place where nothing bad will ever happen.

But the money quote comes early from Trey, as he talks about the band’s relative obscurity in Europe compared to back home. 

“We’re sick of being famous, we want to come here where no one knows us and hide,” Anastasio said. “If you like the song we’re about to play, don’t tell anyone, keep it a secret…We’ll purposely not play it all that good.”

He’s joking, of course, and the subsequent Talk is quite nice, the stripped-down gear emphasizing Page’s Guaraldi-esque piano part. But after two more slices of pleasant acoustic Phish, they do commit an act of live radio self-sabotage, swapping instruments to drop the “world debut” (broadcast, I suppose) of Walfredo on unsuspecting German listeners. The DJ is rightly flabbergasted — ”Is that usual that you switch the instruments on stage too?” Trey answers by confirming the premise of my first essay of the year:

“We’re always trying to think of different ways to stimulate creativity, so sometimes we’ll switch each other’s instruments or…”

“Clothing,” Mike deadpans.

The impishness continued that night in a surreal cowboy-themed club in Stuttgart, where Phish played their most bonkers setlist in years. There are notable show gaps a plenty — the first Camel Walk in 139 shows, the first Magilla in 259 — but the numbers only tell part of the story. Phish didn’t just play random bustouts, they plumbed the oddest corners of a catalog that is naturally eccentric: Kung, Dog Log, Buried Alive, Ha Ha Ha, Rock A William, Carini. Language barrier or no, the small portion of non-Americans in the audience must have been sehr verwirrt. 

Hidden inside the setlist shenanigans are some very inventive jams as well. The early Hood and the centerpiece YEM share a patience and hushed quality that would be hard to pull off in an arena. Ha Ha Ha gets an unusual heavy metal outro, somewhat similar to the rearranged Wilson from a couple shows back, while Camel Walk and Tube prove fertile turf for the band’s nascent funk style. And in the night’s most surprising development, there’s a very tolerable Mule, which uses Trey’s half of the duel for a brief transformation into the ol’ Johnny B. Fishman Jazz Ensemble, culminating in the Magilla revival for Page’s rebuttal. 

Both the obscurities and the unusual improvisation are moves the self-conscious Phish of Europe ‘96 would never have attempted. A recurring theme of this tour’s essays is Phish finally relaxing abroad, but this takes that vacation vibe to a new level — Stuttgart is the kind of delirious inside-joke show that Phish likely would not play in the United States at this time in their history, out of a (temporary) sense of professional obligation to their enlarged fanbase. Europe is now officially a playground where they can goof off for the diehard fans who followed them over and the perplexed locals who expected to hear Marillion’s greatest hits. Every night’s a secret show, where Phish can be their true weirdo selves.