(Published in the second edition of The Phish Companion...)

After a small detour of 140 miles due to overshooting our exit a tad, we managed to wend our way to Townshend. We didn't get there until 3:00, terrified that we had already missed the first of what we knew were going to be three sets. But we were encouraged by the scene that greeted us.
A taste of things to come greeted all comers as we entered the parking lot; cars with Stealie hubcaps, tasty grilled consumables being grilled and consumed, T-shirts, T-shirts, T-shirts, and sack-hackers dotted the blazing, tangible sea of tie-dye and good cheer. Proceeding off through the woods, the human train of joyous aphishionados forded the mighty stream (mighty shallow, at any rate) that separated the parking area from the fields via a rickety, zig-zagging, wooden bridge that led, seemingly, right back into the woods. As one climbed the bank on the far side of the stream, up through the seaweed and the sli-i-ime, one emerged with astonishing suddenness into what truly had to be the center of the universe that day — the Townshend Family Park. This is no ordinary park, mind you, but a lush green bowl of trees and sunshine and water and vast plains of greenly stretching lawn with a well-secluded miniature-golf course hidden right in behind where the stage was located.
I had heard tell of rain all weekend, and that's what I expected. It rained everywhere else in the world on Sunday. The universe was gray…except for Townshend, VT, where the clouds parted and vanished altogether, leaving the undulating, sweaty, joyous crowd dancing, singing, and basking in the glorious heat of the day. All around on a plain of grassy wilderness were hundreds and hundreds of people doing all those things that people do when placed in a setting of ultimate perfection, just before the purpose for existing in that moment becomes fully clear.
And then it was all revealed to us. Over the next five hours, we were forcibly and wonderfully reminded exactly why it is that we follow Phish to the ends of the earth (or at least the ends of New England). They proceeded to play three of the most rip-snortin', kick-ass sets of music that I have ever heard anywhere. It was clear that the whole band was just as into the day and the weather and the scene as the crowd was, and everyone was grooving. The first set was played sans horns, as the guys started us off with a killer “Reba”. Again, without setlist in hand I can't recall much, except for learning the true meaning of the word "peaked" as “Divided Sky” took on whole new worlds of meaning for me. Trey had me taking pictures of the “Famous Mockingbird” as it swooped down to land on “Icculus'” shoulder on top of the mountain to our right, which had crumbled and exploded before us just moments before. The horns were hoppin' with their color-coordinated tuxes, personal trampolines, and shoe-dancing. The band was singing and swaying in the sunshine, Trey soaking up the heat and pouring it back out of his fingertips into the strings, Page riffing his way through massive solos in “Suzie” while basking in the shade, Fish did not one but two Henrietta appearances including the Doors' “Touch Me”. And even Mike was rocking out, in a relative, Mike kind of way. He was smiling a whole bunch. And to top it all off, they ended with a hip, hot, happenin' “Big Black Furry Creature from Mars” that had everyone flailing and slamming.
Whoof. That's all I can say. While writing this, I have vicariously relived it yet again, and I loved every microsecond. The general consensus among those interviewed was that it truly was the best concert in the history of mankind. The day, the weather, the location, the crowd, and most of all Phish, made Sunday, July 14, a day that will never be forgotten for Phish fans anywhere. It's shows like this that make it all worthwhile.

This was a great show, and the horns were amazing. It was an incredibly chill scene as well. I remember drinking a beer and chatting with a VT state trooper at one point. As a Phish fan, this was a great time to be living anywhere in VT, NH or western MA. The band seemed to be playing everywhere all the time.

(Published on the legacy Phish.net site many years ago...)

Hey there, phriends and neighbors!

What a weekend! Anyone who went to any of the stunning array of shows available to us Phishy pholks this past week can attest to the fact that there is simply no band on earth quite like Phish. And with the addition of the Giant Country Horns, they've moved one major step higher to the outer limits of the rock and roll ionosphere.

I can't speak for the Burlington or Keene shows, but a Lenox and Townshend one-two punch was just the elixir to calm the ragged nerve endings of a rebelling 9-to-5er (especially when you have great pholks like Rami and John to experience it with...). I don't have set lists handy, but I'll post them as I refine them.

Lenox was an odd show, since the BPAC was a real theater more then a venue or auditorium of sorts, and they actually tried to enforce some semblence of assigned seating. HAH! That didn't stop us as we flocked towards the stage to dance, though many took advantage of the spacious and plentiful balcony space to tape, dance, and just watch in a relaxed manner. And relaxing it was, relatively speaking. The first set was quite mellow (although that MIGHT just have been me...) - list to follow. Big surprise of the evening (if you didn't see any of the previous nights' shows) was a rip-roaring rendition of the Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein. That sax riff in the middle is one of my favorite musical phrases in existence, so needless to say I was eating up every aural ingot and writhing on the floor in Gothic rock 'n' roll ecstasy. Thanks, Mary Shelley, for making it all possible.... The whole show seemed a bit short. But then again, that time dilation is a really curious effect.

By now, of course, you've probably heard about the Townshend show this past Sunday... Words just can't begin to do it justice. But not currently being posessed of a more effective means of mass communication with all of you, I might as well use a few, eh?

After a small detour of 140 miles after we overshot our exit a tad, we managed to wend our way to Townshend. We didn't get there until 3:00, terrified that we had already missed the first of what we knew were going to be three sets. But we were encouraged by the scene that greeted us.

A taste of things to come greeted all comers as we entered the parking lot; cars with Stealie hubcaps, tasty grilled consumables being grilled and consumed, T-shirts T-shirts T-SHIRTS and sack- hackers dotted the blazing, tangible sea of tie dye and good cheer. Proceeding off through the woods, the human train of joyous aphishianados forded the mighty stream (mighty shallow, at any rate) that separated the parking area from the fields via a rickety, zig-zagging wooden bridge that led, seemingly, right back into the woods (and I must say, friends, that having LARGE, SCARY, BRIGHT YELLOW security guards at either end of the bridge might have proven to be a bit much for the delicate mental constitutions of some of our more chemically refreshed comrades - TRUST me on this). But as one climbed the bank on the far side of the stream, up through the seaweed and the sli-i-ime, one emerged with astonishing suddenness into what truly had to be the center of the universe that day - the Townshend Family Park. This is no ordinary park, mind you, but a lush green bowl of trees and sunshine and water and vast plains of greenly stretching lawn with a well secluded miniature golf course hidden right in behind where the stage was located.

I had heard tell of rain all weekend, and that's what I expected. It rained everywhere else in the world on Sunday. The universe was gray... except for Townshend Vermont, where the clouds parted and vanished altogether, leaving the undulating, sweaty, joyous crowd dancing, singing and basking in the glorious heat of the day. All around on a plain of grassy wilderness were hundreds and hundreds of people doing all those things that people do when placed in a setting of ultimate perfection, just before the purpose for existing in that moment becomes fully clear.

And then it was all revealed to us. Over the next five hours, we were forcibly and wonderfully reminded exactly WHY it is that we follow Phish to the ends of the earth (or at least the ends of New England). They proceeded to play three of the most rip-snortin', kick-ass sets of music that I have ever heard anywhere. It was clear that the whole band was just as into the day and the weather and the scene as the crowd was, and EVERYONE was grooving. The first set was played sans horns, as the guys started us off with a killer Reba. Again, without set list in hand I can't recall much, except for learning the true meaning of the word PEAKED as Divided Sky took on whole new worlds of meaning for me. Trey had me taking pictures of the Famous mockingbird as it swooped down to land on Icculus's shoulder on top of the mountain to our right, which had crumbled and exploded before us just moments before. The horns were hoppin' with their color-coordinated tuxes, personal trampolines, and shoe-dancing. The band was singing and swaying in the sunshine, Trey soaking up the heat and pouring it back out of his fingertips into the strings, Page riffing his way through massive solos in Suzy while basking in the shade, FIsh did not one but TWO Henrietta appearances (I think - that's how I recall it. We'll know when I mix down the tapes) including the Doors' Touch Me. And even Mike was rocking out,in a relative, Mike kind of way. He was smiling a whole bunch.

And to top it all off, they ended with a hip, hot, happenin' Big Black Furry Creature From Mars that had everyone flailing and slamming (and stage-diving), and Trey assured us that they'd see us next year, some bat-time, same bat-channel. So any of you who missed it, they'll always be more and better still to come!

Whoof. That's all I can say. While writing this I have vicariously lived though it yet again, and I loved every microsecond. The general concensus among those interviewed was that it truly was the best concert in the history of mankind. The day, the weather, the location, the crowd, and most of all PHISH, made Sunday July 14th a day that will never be forgotten for PhishHeads anywhere.

It's shows like this that make it all worthwhile.

Crispy SBD available for this show. There’s also a beautiful matrix that was put together that’s worth seeking out.

The recording starts off with Trey mentioning that he’s overdressed as the show took place during National Nudist Week. A really nice Reba gets the show underway. Llama rips per usual. Hank pulls out his bone for a nice solo in I Didn’t Know. Well played Possum to close the first set.

Cool lazor gun sounds caused from a slinky thing pulled into the audience from the stage. Strong Suzy opener. The horns fit nicely in Caravan. The rest of the set is pretty standard fair for this tour. The Antelope closer is the clear highlight of set 2. Guest vocalist during the Marco section? Possibly one of the GCH members?

A decent Bag kicks off set 3. The horns sit out during Esther and a lively Chalk Dust. The second jam in Mike’s seems to have improved the most with the addition of the horns. “Fish has gone to take a leak, when he returns he’ll be transformed into…” extended HYHU with horns. Mike teases Contact before launching into a gorgeous Hood set closer! Standard Contact>BBFCFM encore with some added GCH spice!