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PHISH-sorry if its a dupe
Dean from NYstreet boys asked
so here it is
PHISH
We met at Airborne Dans place late thursday night/early friday morning, I had been there a couple of days having just popped back from Europe.
Peter Panic and I in one van and Dan and Scott Free in another and in addition another 3 vehicles containing all the friends of Dans he’d used the comp tickets up with. (the tickets were $160 each otherwise and the gig had sold out so Dan had wisely calculated on not having to buy drinks for 6 months in select company)
It was raining at 2-30 am as we set out for the 4 hour trip which was uneventful until we got within about 20 miles of the gig. At that stage the right hand lane had stopped as people waited patiently (as only a Phish fan can) to get off the highway at exit 26 and continue the 8 miles or so to the site.
We were getting off at exit 27 as we had performers directions through the back way and so passed hundreds and hundreds of vehicles, the occupants of whom glared at us suspiciously convinced we were one of the many who trawled up the line looking for a break to sneak into. One guy even had a piece of cardboard with “thanks for fucking it up for everybody.” written on it.
The sun was rising through the drizzle as we ground to a halt about 10 miles from exit 26, the highway was jammed and the lane next to us had remained unmoving for 14 hours. our crew were all strung out within walking distance of each other so we just milled about waiting until it seemed a new energetic shift of police vehicles arrived, tearing down the outside of the highway in convoy to sort out the mess.
Not long after our lane started inching ahead and at this point we did see the dastardly line jumpers swerving into any space left open in the right hand lane.
We passed eventually the turnoff to exit 26 and the road cleared and we shot ahead to exit 27 and drove the back way in, exchanging our tickets for productions passes and catering passes Peter and I somehow got separated from the others and thinking we were following them we set off ahead.
We reached a gateway where Quad wheeled tractors would chain your vehicle to them, whether you were a RV or a car, and pull you through a sea of 2 ft deep mud up a hill and across to the part of the soggy grassland you could then call home.
Peter was not a happy camper, he didn’t like the whole phishy concept, he didn’t like the possibility that he might not get out before his next gig in four days, he didn’t like the fact that Dans phone didn’t appear to be working, he didn’t like the fact that we were a very long extremely muddy walk from anywhere interesting, he didn’t like the fact that he was missing the Olympic opening ceremony on telly, he didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t had time to buy provisions and he didn’t like each of those things in about 15 different vocal ways over an extended period until exhaustion overtook him.
Meanwhile, Dan Scot and a crew from NY who were part of our unit, finding the onsite accom below par, drove off to the hotel that had been provided us 15 miles away.
There they spent the evening carousing, only rarely wondering what could have become of martin and peter.
I presume they were all comfortably bedded down and sleeping at about the same time as I, contorted into the front seat of Peters van, was two thirds through my passive participation in his extended litany of dissatisfaction.
The next morning was a new day, same mud but new day, the sun was shining and we learnt that the event had decided not to allow any more vehicles onsite. people at this stage were strung out for countless miles on the highway and I’d presume that most of the vehicles we had passed the morning before were still stuck out there. there were 20 000 of the 70 000 ticket holders onsite at that stage and I though ‘Brilliant, a porta-potty each!’
But it was not to be, Phish fans are singularly determined and most of them simply drove off the highway to park in orderly rows before setting out on foot to walk upwards of 15 miles to the site, bringing with them an additional 50 000 sphincters to invade the porta-pottys that were rightfully mine!
I hung out in the mess hall knowing that sooner or later Dan had to eat and that I would then be able to buttonhole him and vent.
I met up with some of his cheerful happy freeloading friends instead and they took me back to their camping spot which was startlingly closeby and they tranquilized me sufficiently that when Dan did eventually turn up I hugged him like a long lost brother, weeping with gratitude and secretly wiping snot on his shoulder.
We had not done our intended parade the evening before as it was pouring but now on the Saturday the sun was shining and the event was at an airport which contained two paved runways so mud wouldn’t have to be a problem.
The NY crew were an interesting bunch, a three piece fire, gymnastic balancing module, part imp, part amazonian, part fire staff flinger. Also a guy with various superhero costumes with muscle padding and a spectacular brave gig where he inserts himself into a large balloon and roll across the top of the huge audience.
They also had a roadie called Seth, roadie doesn’t do him justice, he was a mega gofer, a master at procuring anything, I had my stilt bottoms sucked off by the mud and only one spare plumbers hose-clamp, Seth disappeared and came back with 10 clamps, I got short on gaffer/duct tape Seth disappeared and came back with 6 rolls, I needed a needle and thread to repair my costume, Seth led me to a trailer full of costumes and we borrowed some (and then returned it).
We worked, either going out onto the crowded landing strips and doing combo-juggling, fire, contact balance, stilt, drum stuff, or I would go off on my own, wandering around the happy chilled completely non aggressive crowds. Low ratio of drunks to trippers meant that the majority were just walking around grinning rather than lurching about driven by their brain stems.
Peter Panic was his own rogue unit, biking round with his gear wearing an old army helmet, dressed in green, juggling water polo balls at his own pace. He granted us a group show on the last evening in the rock field.
The band itself played its 3 sets a day finishing about 1 am, hour and a half songs that shifted all over the place, catching people unawares, the fans were a strange low key fervent, outwardly calm but determined and steadfast in their Phishy devotion.
My best moment was experimenting with the mud on the way to and at the main stage.
Some of the mudpools were slushy and shallow which was terrible for people but brilliant for stilts if you were careful. Some of the mud was deep and thick which was OK for human paddle feet but terrible for low surface area stilts. I was coping with the 6 inch sinking as I went through the crowd at the stage, coping also with the 8 and 10 inches as I moved further down the hill but at a foot each stilt I stopped, locked in place, trapped, stranded, doomed, but astonishingly instead of snapping my stilts (which are naturally dried Hickory only an inch square and the strongest / lightest stuff I’ve ever worked with) and landing face first in the mud in probably the fifteenth most humiliating episode of my career, people moved in and supported me, actually helping me pull each foot out of the mud and move forward towards a nearby rock where I could sit and take them off. It was like kind hearted Lilliputians rescuing a giant mantis. (given the hallucinogenic status quo at the gig thats probably exactly what it was.)
Photos at
so here it is
PHISH
We met at Airborne Dans place late thursday night/early friday morning, I had been there a couple of days having just popped back from Europe.
Peter Panic and I in one van and Dan and Scott Free in another and in addition another 3 vehicles containing all the friends of Dans he’d used the comp tickets up with. (the tickets were $160 each otherwise and the gig had sold out so Dan had wisely calculated on not having to buy drinks for 6 months in select company)
It was raining at 2-30 am as we set out for the 4 hour trip which was uneventful until we got within about 20 miles of the gig. At that stage the right hand lane had stopped as people waited patiently (as only a Phish fan can) to get off the highway at exit 26 and continue the 8 miles or so to the site.
We were getting off at exit 27 as we had performers directions through the back way and so passed hundreds and hundreds of vehicles, the occupants of whom glared at us suspiciously convinced we were one of the many who trawled up the line looking for a break to sneak into. One guy even had a piece of cardboard with “thanks for fucking it up for everybody.” written on it.
The sun was rising through the drizzle as we ground to a halt about 10 miles from exit 26, the highway was jammed and the lane next to us had remained unmoving for 14 hours. our crew were all strung out within walking distance of each other so we just milled about waiting until it seemed a new energetic shift of police vehicles arrived, tearing down the outside of the highway in convoy to sort out the mess.
Not long after our lane started inching ahead and at this point we did see the dastardly line jumpers swerving into any space left open in the right hand lane.
We passed eventually the turnoff to exit 26 and the road cleared and we shot ahead to exit 27 and drove the back way in, exchanging our tickets for productions passes and catering passes Peter and I somehow got separated from the others and thinking we were following them we set off ahead.
We reached a gateway where Quad wheeled tractors would chain your vehicle to them, whether you were a RV or a car, and pull you through a sea of 2 ft deep mud up a hill and across to the part of the soggy grassland you could then call home.
Peter was not a happy camper, he didn’t like the whole phishy concept, he didn’t like the possibility that he might not get out before his next gig in four days, he didn’t like the fact that Dans phone didn’t appear to be working, he didn’t like the fact that we were a very long extremely muddy walk from anywhere interesting, he didn’t like the fact that he was missing the Olympic opening ceremony on telly, he didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t had time to buy provisions and he didn’t like each of those things in about 15 different vocal ways over an extended period until exhaustion overtook him.
Meanwhile, Dan Scot and a crew from NY who were part of our unit, finding the onsite accom below par, drove off to the hotel that had been provided us 15 miles away.
There they spent the evening carousing, only rarely wondering what could have become of martin and peter.
I presume they were all comfortably bedded down and sleeping at about the same time as I, contorted into the front seat of Peters van, was two thirds through my passive participation in his extended litany of dissatisfaction.
The next morning was a new day, same mud but new day, the sun was shining and we learnt that the event had decided not to allow any more vehicles onsite. people at this stage were strung out for countless miles on the highway and I’d presume that most of the vehicles we had passed the morning before were still stuck out there. there were 20 000 of the 70 000 ticket holders onsite at that stage and I though ‘Brilliant, a porta-potty each!’
But it was not to be, Phish fans are singularly determined and most of them simply drove off the highway to park in orderly rows before setting out on foot to walk upwards of 15 miles to the site, bringing with them an additional 50 000 sphincters to invade the porta-pottys that were rightfully mine!
I hung out in the mess hall knowing that sooner or later Dan had to eat and that I would then be able to buttonhole him and vent.
I met up with some of his cheerful happy freeloading friends instead and they took me back to their camping spot which was startlingly closeby and they tranquilized me sufficiently that when Dan did eventually turn up I hugged him like a long lost brother, weeping with gratitude and secretly wiping snot on his shoulder.
We had not done our intended parade the evening before as it was pouring but now on the Saturday the sun was shining and the event was at an airport which contained two paved runways so mud wouldn’t have to be a problem.
The NY crew were an interesting bunch, a three piece fire, gymnastic balancing module, part imp, part amazonian, part fire staff flinger. Also a guy with various superhero costumes with muscle padding and a spectacular brave gig where he inserts himself into a large balloon and roll across the top of the huge audience.
They also had a roadie called Seth, roadie doesn’t do him justice, he was a mega gofer, a master at procuring anything, I had my stilt bottoms sucked off by the mud and only one spare plumbers hose-clamp, Seth disappeared and came back with 10 clamps, I got short on gaffer/duct tape Seth disappeared and came back with 6 rolls, I needed a needle and thread to repair my costume, Seth led me to a trailer full of costumes and we borrowed some (and then returned it).
We worked, either going out onto the crowded landing strips and doing combo-juggling, fire, contact balance, stilt, drum stuff, or I would go off on my own, wandering around the happy chilled completely non aggressive crowds. Low ratio of drunks to trippers meant that the majority were just walking around grinning rather than lurching about driven by their brain stems.
Peter Panic was his own rogue unit, biking round with his gear wearing an old army helmet, dressed in green, juggling water polo balls at his own pace. He granted us a group show on the last evening in the rock field.
The band itself played its 3 sets a day finishing about 1 am, hour and a half songs that shifted all over the place, catching people unawares, the fans were a strange low key fervent, outwardly calm but determined and steadfast in their Phishy devotion.
My best moment was experimenting with the mud on the way to and at the main stage.
Some of the mudpools were slushy and shallow which was terrible for people but brilliant for stilts if you were careful. Some of the mud was deep and thick which was OK for human paddle feet but terrible for low surface area stilts. I was coping with the 6 inch sinking as I went through the crowd at the stage, coping also with the 8 and 10 inches as I moved further down the hill but at a foot each stilt I stopped, locked in place, trapped, stranded, doomed, but astonishingly instead of snapping my stilts (which are naturally dried Hickory only an inch square and the strongest / lightest stuff I’ve ever worked with) and landing face first in the mud in probably the fifteenth most humiliating episode of my career, people moved in and supported me, actually helping me pull each foot out of the mud and move forward towards a nearby rock where I could sit and take them off. It was like kind hearted Lilliputians rescuing a giant mantis. (given the hallucinogenic status quo at the gig thats probably exactly what it was.)
Photos at
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