Travel Burnout
SET 1: The Moma Dance, Bathtub Gin, Punch You in the Eye, Beauty of My Dreams, Frankenstein, Guyute, Run Like an Antelope
SET 2: Wilson > Birds of a Feather, Dirt > Piper, Sleeping Monkey, Ghost -> Johnny B. Goode
ENCORE: Julius
Phish’s final run in Europe for 1998 – and forever, it appears – was supposed to take place in the charmingly named Bikini Club, a discotheque open since 1953 (you know it smell crazy in there). At 800 capacity, the Bikini would’ve been right in line with the size of Prague’s Lucerna Theatre. But according to phish.net, “ticket demand” forced them to move to the larger Zeleste, which could hold upwards of 2,000 paying customers.
That change, made late enough that some of the ticket stubs still say “Sala Bikini,” is another reminder of the strangeness of this final European jaunt. When the band first went to Europe in the summer of 1996, it was quite obviously a move to expand their market internationally. When bands reach the top of the venue circuit in the United States, as Phish did by the end of 1995, they’re supposed to try to conquer another continent.
And Phish followed the playbook, first going over as predominantly an opening act for Santana, then doing their time down-bill on the big summer festivals, then headlining clubs and theaters on their subsequent visits. It seemed to all be going as planned, a parallel market to grow organically without significant sales or airplay, just as they’d done at home.
But 1998 cut that process off at the knees. The itinerary is, frankly, pretty baffling – three multi-night runs outside of the top European markets, scheduled during the biggest sporting event on the planet happening right over there in France. In those cities, Phish booked themselves in venues smaller than some they’d played the year before, plus one of the lesser-known outdoor festivals. The last-minute switch in Barcelona suggests Phish Inc. sold themselves short, but there doesn’t seem to have been much ambition in the first place to continue advancing the band’s stature abroad. It feels more like a vacation (or a film shoot) than a work trip.
And I think you can hear that attitude on the tapes as the tour progresses. Copenhagen was a return to the experimental workshopping of 1997’s European shows, but Prague was all party time. Then here, on the first night in Barcelona, they just sound happy to be playing a show on a small scale, even if the room is double the size of what they originally booked. There’s Edgar Winter banter, some back and forth with the audience about the World Cup semifinals, and a dedication of Sleeping Monkey to Beatriz from Chile, who even gets to come up on stage for the song.
These are the kinds of interactions Phish won’t be able to have in just one week, when they kick off the U.S. leg in Portland. There won’t be any more photo hijinks on the beach or impromptu Q&A scrums outside the venue or no-mics a capella. They won’t be playing on stripped down, half-rented gear or with a minimal Kuroda light show and a built-in disco ball. All those “chicks in the front row” will morph into a faceless wall of people for the rest of the summer, building up to 70,000+ in Limestone.
Then again, I’m not so sure they’re sad about that. On the first few trips around Europe, it felt like Phish was enjoying the nostalgia of revisiting their club days and making the most of their time out of the spotlight. But late 1997 into 1998 is the pivot point where they went from ironically portraying rock stars to actually acting like them. And even on this short European spell, it feels like they’re ready to get back to the big stages and crowds, not just for the VIP comfort, but because that’s where their current sound plays best.
So the first night in Barcelona is fun and crowd-friendly, but not particularly daring. Bathtub Gin bobs along for 18 pleasant minutes before slowly unraveling, an improvement on Prague but still nowhere near the masterpiece it will produce only three weeks later. PYITE might be the closest we ever get to my dream version that just never escapes the intro and Wilson packs a delightful succession of escalating metal themes (a jam that is cut out of the song in Bittersweet Motel, of course). But BOAF and Piper both get bottled and a promising jam in Ghost swerves too soon into some dunderheaded blues-and-Berry.
Plus it’s yet another quickie, with the second set barely clocking 57 minutes. Chased on the 9th by two sets that barely pass an hour, it sounds like they’d rather get back out and enjoy the Spanish nightlife instead of providing it. Meanwhile, the seams of touring below their status are starting to show. At one point tonight, a fan takes advantage of lax European security and rushes the stage, leading to a Pete Carini injury prophesized by his namesake song. Two nights later, the Zeleste sound system will shit the bed entirely.
What once was a charming back-to-basics circuit is starting to feel like amateur hour, serving up regular omens that maybe the utility of Europe – as a training ground, a laboratory, or a quick hit of small-time nostalgia – is wearing thin. After this Barcelona run ends, they’ll never come back, shifting passport-required focus to Japan instead in ‘99 and 2000, and staying entirely confined to North America thereafter. The band’s well-earned cockiness after the successes of the previous year meant it was no longer easy to shrink them back down to modest size, and their wanderlust paid the price.