Phish (40 page)

Anastasio told Whitehall’s chief of police, “You know what? I’ve got a drug problem, and I’ve got to take care of it. Everything happens for a reason.”

“He’s a real nice guy,” said the gendarme.

Rolling Stone
referred to the booking photo taken of Anastasio that night as “the most bemused mug shot ever.” This image soon turned up on T-shirts, amusing some of the more twisted members of Phish nation.

“I feel terrible about what happened last night, and I am deeply sorry for any embarrassment I have caused my friends, family, and fans,” Anastasio said in a brief prepared statement.

Leading up to the bust, there had been signs, once again, that all was not well. For instance, an odd exchange appeared in
Rolling Stone
a few months before the bust.

Perhaps this statement was less an amusing exaggeration than the reckless truth (and even, on some level, a cry for help).

I asked Phish’s former manager, John Paluska—now living in northern California and working for the Biomimicry Ventures Group—if he was surprised to learn about Anastasio’s bust with such a dangerous pharmacopeia two years after the band’s breakup.

“No.”

A long pause followed before he resumed.

“Trey’s personality is not particularly well-suited to fame,” said Paluska. “I don’t mean that in a negative way at all. He’s such a warm and giving person. He didn’t like to disappoint people, and he often assumed that he might be. I remember him saying at Coventry something to the effect that ‘I feel like I’m letting everybody down. I walk onstage, I feel like I’m letting those people down. I walk around backstage, and I feel like I’m pulling the plug on this thing and everybody, you know. . . . ’

“That was how he saw it. Over time, imagine the pressure of that, the intensity of that. I think I can make a generalization that those kinds of outcomes are just symptoms. They just illustrate how much
mental strain goes with being in the position that those guys are. It’s very difficult. The notion of being able to check out and get a break from it starts to look very appealing as the pressure builds. And then it’s a slippery slope.”

 

At a court hearing on January 3, 2007, Anastasio pleaded not guilty to possession of a controlled substance and driving while intoxicated. Because of the quantity of drugs involved, the district attorney convened a grand jury, which returned seven charges against him: one count of felony drug possession, two counts of felony driving under the influence of alcohol and drugs, three misdemeanor charges of drug possession, and a traffic infraction. He faced up to fourteen years in prison if convicted on all counts.

Four months later he signed a plea agreement in Judge Kelly S. McKeighan’s drug-treatment court in Fort Edward, New York. On a morning in mid-April—Friday the 13th, as fate would have it—Anastasio pleaded guilty to fifth-degree attempted criminal possession of a controlled substance. In return he was required to undergo a drug-treatment program for twelve to fifteen months.

Drug treatment required weekly court appearances, along with drug counseling and community service. He was required to move within an hour of Fort Edward for the first three months for random drug testing. The Glen Falls
Post Star
broke the news with this lead: “A world-renowned rock star will move to the area in the coming days, and he’ll be staying at least three months.”

The consequences of failing to complete the program were severe and unequivocal: If he failed, he would receive a one-to three-year prison sentence. On the other hand, if he succeeded, the sentence would be dropped to five years of probation. However, if at any time in the next ten years he was convicted of another felony, a prison sentence would be mandatory.

Anastasio made the most of his opportunity. He’d always exhibited tremendous self-discipline when it came to the creative process—witness twenty years of prodigious song output, rigorous practice,
and a legacy of nearly 1,500 Phish performances and hundreds more with his various solo bands and side projects. But regimentation imposed from outside, which he’d never really accepted or dealt with in his life, was the only realistic way to get the monkey of multiple addictions off his back. In the program, he did everything that was asked of him, including embracing the “higher power” concept that’s a fundamental tenet of twelve-step programs.

He made one misstep, showing up late for a required counseling session. It wasn’t because he’d relapsed; apparently, he’d gotten tied up in traffic. Still the judge was unyielding in insisting on absolute compliance, and Anastasio spent two nights in the lockup for this infraction. The stay, where he circulated among the general prison population, was described as “uneventful.”

During his fourteen-month program in Washington County drug court, he cleaned up the county fairground, getting a taste of the world of humbling physical labor that existed on the other side of the stage lights. He internalized the lesson in a positive way.

He also seemed to be lightening his load. He changed the mission of the Barn—the mountainside studio that had served as his and Phish’s recording studio, rehearsal space, and tree fort—in 2006, launching the Seven Below Arts Initiative (after the song “Seven Below,” from
Round Room
). Now the Barn serves as a place where artists-in-residence live and work for terms of several months. Seven Below also provides arts education to underserved populations in Burlington.

Shortly after his prison weekend, Anastasio told
Rolling Stone
: “When Phish broke up I made some comment about how I’m not going to go around playing ‘You Enjoy Myself ’ the rest of my life. . . . It’s not so much I can’t believe that I said that, but it’s symbolic of how much I lost my mind or how much I lost my bearings or something. Because at this point in time I would give my left nut to play that song five times in a row every day until I die.”

That was a far cry from “we’re done,” and it fanned hopes for Phish’s return. The “left nut” quote lived on, inspiring the title of the
bonus CD of unreleased live material from Walnut Creek Amphitheatre given away with preorders for the live DVD
Walnut Creek 1998
on the band’s Web site. Originally thinking they’d call it
Leftover Walnuts
, they shortened it to
Left Nuts
.

 

On the back cover of his solo album,
Bar 17
, released in fall 2006, Anastasio is pictured walking out of a tunnel. The photo was taken in Central Park, near the Upper East Side apartment where he and his family moved in 2005. A few footsteps ahead of him is the light. This hopeful image seemed obviously and perfectly symbolic of the corner he would soon turn in his life and the brighter days that awaited him—and Phish.

T
he four members of Phish reunited onstage on May 4, 2008, in New York City. They hadn’t come to play but to accept a Lifetime Achievement Award at the Jammys (the Grammys of the jam-band world). Three days earlier, Trey Anastasio’s mentor, Ernie Stires, had died of a heart attack at his home in Cornwall, Vermont. He was eighty-three years old. Anastasio referred to Stires in his speech at the Jammys.

“So much of that unique sound you heard with Phish was taught to me by him,” said Anastasio of Stires.

He also touched on the Phish experience in broader terms:

“I want to express something that’s been on my mind for the last five years,” said Anastasio. “I’ve always wanted to somehow have a moment when I could convey to some degree what all of this meant to me and I know to the other guys, too.

“It always felt like we were part of something that was so much bigger than the four of us. I think in retrospect it feels like it was even bigger than our group of friends and our scene. It felt almost like a
cultural kind of timing thing. As a musician, I feel like we’re servants, and that musicians from the beginning of time have been there to express the mood and the musical feelings in the air for whatever’s going on in that particular culture, whether it’s like rock and roll or swing band music. You play at weddings, you play at funerals, and it’s the greatest joy as a musician to be able to translate that, be part of something, and watch the scenery around you. That’s what it felt like being in Phish all those years.”

 

As it turned out, it wasn’t only Anastasio who’d received tutoring from Stires. Mike Gordon visited Stires a few times in 2008, not long before he passed away.

“I was working on some composition stuff and getting really inspired by him, ’cause he’s such a musical genius,” Gordon recalled. On one such trip, he taped their conversation, which focused on his philosophy of composition and his general disdain for rock and roll.

“He wasn’t really into rock and roll, because most rock bands use a simple melody and don’t take the effort to do interesting stuff to accompany it,” Gordon explained. “He thinks that music gains its essence in the harmony, in the harmonization more than the melody. Usually people would say the essence is in the melody, so that was pretty interesting to think about.”

Stires’s original approach to music merged aspects of jazz, as a performer’s medium, and classical, as a composer’s realm. Nowhere did his vision resonate into the world more than his influence on Anastasio and therefore Phish’s repertoire. By extension, his philosophy got disseminated—though few may have realized it—among anyone who’s ever enjoyed Phish’s music.

 

The “braphecy” came true. The brotherhood of Phishheads who’d been prophesying a reunion apparently were reading the right tea leaves. The signs and symbols had been accumulating throughout summer 2008.

In June, Page McConnell posted a letter to Phish fans in response to reunion rumors. In it, he was both candid and encouraging: “I’m living a healthy lifestyle. I travel as little as possible and I sleep in my own bed. It took a couple of years after the breakup to begin talking to my old bandmates, but once the conversations began to flow, it wasn’t long before the friendships were rekindled. And I can honestly say that I’m closer with all of them now than I’ve ever been in our 20-year relationship.”

Over the 4th of July weekend, three band members were present for different reasons at the Rothbury Festival in New York state. Two of them played a couple new Anastasio-Marshall songs (“Backwards Down the Number Line,” “Alaska”) when Anastasio guested during Mike Gordon’s set. Jon Fishman joined in on drums for a set-closing cover of the Beatles’ “She Said She Said,” making it a three-quarters reunion. On September 6, the entire band performed three songs at the wedding of longtime road manager and friend Brad Sands. The tune selection—“Julius,” “Suzy Greenberg,” “Waste”—was less important than the gesture, which sent fans into a feeding frenzy. They were now fully there.

The reunion became official when this brief statement, followed by ticketing info, was posted on
Phish.com
on October 1: “Phish returns to the stage for three concerts at the Hampton Coliseum in Hampton, Virginia on March 6, 7 and 8, 2009.” This trickle erupted into a torrent on January 7, 2009, when Phish announced plans for a two-part summer tour. Among those dates were two shows at Bonnaroo 2009. While it might seem like they—or Anastasio—had cried wolf by packaging their 2004 breakup with such seeming finality, the forgiving fans were glad to have them back, alive and healthy. In fact, demand for tickets shut down both Ticketmaster’s and Live Nation’s online service.

Phish spent a few months working hard at a rehearsal space in New York City to ready themselves for their return.

 

On Friday, March 6, 2009, at around 8 P.M., Phish walked onto the stage of the Hampton Coliseum, in Hampton, Virginia. It was the foursome’s
first show since August 15, 2004—going on five years. The roar of welcome that greeted them was deafening. They had a strong opening gambit: “Fluffhead,” including the four-part “Fluff ’s Travels,” an extremely difficult piece of music whose precise delivery would demonstrate that they had their chops together. They performed the various sections nearly flawlessly. The roar of approval that greeted its conclusion sixteen minutes later was even louder. “Fluffhead” was just the start of two straight hours of music—an unheard-of length for a first set.

It made a resounding statement: After all the complications and time off, Phish was back. The general consensus was that Phish was once again playing with precision and focus. The chatter among Phishheads on the floor of Hampton was animated and approving: “Do you believe this?” “Can you believe how crisp they sound?” “They haven’t sounded this good in [ten or twelve or fifteen] years.”

Page McConnell was playing completely out of his mind.

Anastasio was obviously well in his right mind.

Fishman and Gordon were solid, Zen-like, and controlled as they anchored the band.

Everyone was exactly where they needed to be.

The group seemed to be back in that fugal frame of mind where four strong, independent voices meshed as one. Chris Kuroda was back on lights, locked in as well as ever, creating unprecedented visual panoramas to accompany the music.

The jams made room for all four members. Their complementary musicianship recalled all those collective-improv practice sessions where they’d honed their skill to a fine point in the first half of the nineties. Moreover, they’d figured out a way for McConnell to be an assertive instrumental voice without necessitating that Anastasio recede ambiently into the background. In fact, McConnell was probably the biggest surprise and the MVP of the three-night run, with his assertive yet integrated playing.