Saturtrey

Trey at the Warfield. Saturdaynight. That's nothing but a sure bet for a good time so with floor tickets in hand Lani and I went in led by James who had hooked us up at the last minute. Friends had picked out a spot on the left side one tier up, just in front of the bar. The big speakers were directly in front of us, but we couldn't see all of the stage.

Lights down, roar up and they're onstage. They started right off firey. Air Said to Me, Plasma and Last Tube were all very sick with lots of heaviness in the bass section and tearing jams out of Trey's guitar. I've seen the guy play a million times it feels like, but never with this exact team. I spent a lot of time watching the bassist and drummer and the two guys were having the time of their lives. Huge grins and absolutely thunderous sounds coming from their instruments. And Trey's riffs whirled around them wholly locked in with frequent launches into blistering jams. Cayman Review threw a funky groove into the Warfield and the danceparty was starting to bubble up. Throughout the beginning tunes I noticed that he was letting things get a little dark, a little funky, a little weird and I loved it. I enjoy a little menace in my jams and it was the first time I'd see Trey let that back into his show in a controlled, interesting way. Each song was long. He let the songs live big and large and wasn't afraid to take them in a variety of directions before pulling them back in to their conclusions. It was kinda funny to hear the songs with horns, but not be able to see the actual horn players because they were out of view, behind the speaker tower. After Wherever You Find It came the acoustic portion of the set. Phish time.

Pebbles and Marbles. Man. I just don't know about this song. I want to like it. I know a lot of people really do. At some point in the future I might dig it too, but it's just one that I've never connected with. I guess it's because I don't like/understand the lyrics, that I spend most of the song thinking about what he's trying to say and less just enjoying the music. And the next one, Fast Enough for You is exactly what the lyrics lament, for me. It's just not nearly fast enough for me, and far too repetitive. But my bitchiness belies the enjoyment I had hearing him take some big Phish songs back to their essential parts. Except, I just didn't want to hear them.

I don't know what I would have preferred, but those two didn't do it for me. Others loved it, I know. Inlaw was great. The song is beautifully composed and Trey simply nailed it. All night his playing was stellar, he looked great, his voice was excellent and he was clearly having a great time. And he got me dancing, for sure. And then... and then... "and then he slayed me" is what I should be writing right now, but I simply can't. Here, instead, the pain of pleasure passed dug in and twisted around. He played Sample In a Jar into Bathtub Gin on his acoustic guitar and we all wailed along with him, filling in the parts where Mike and Page and Fish would normally live. It should have been divine. For many I'm certain it was. But for me it contained too much of what I missed for me to simply enjoy it for what it was. It's my problem, I know. It was obvious Trey loved playing it and I was having just as much fun as everyone else singing along but it was like walking to the store for your favorite sixpack instead of discovering an awesome bar you never knew existed. The place that has rare, delicious beers on tap, a great jukebox ten of your best friends, an empty pool table and hot, generous bartenders. It wasn't that. It was walking to the store listening to your iPod, buying your favorite six pack and then strolling home to watch simpsons on DVD and smoke bowls. Still really great, but just... unsurprising.

What would I have rather heard? Not Phish, or maybe some other rarer Phish acoustics. I'd like to have Les out there and hear some Oysterhead. I'd like to see him throw in a great cover or two, maybe Dylan, maybe Jerry, maybe Jimi, maybe Floyd. Going back to the Phish right now when I'm in the midst of trying to get my head around his new songs and new groove was jarring, unsettling. But again, this is me. This is how I felt it. The show was amazing I knew, but it was coming in through my mind and not my heart. The acoustic Phish songs were poignant and powerful and perfectly executed. I just couldn't fit them into my brain and soul all the right ways. After a great Gin singalong, he got back to the electricity. And there was a guest! Les is coming Les is coming Les is gonna play! I thought with a thrill, suddenly knowing this night was about to get superinsane and we were going to blow the roof off this place. But I was foiled by my own expectations. Instead it was Jerry Harrison who I'd vaguely heard of, but didn't really know, even though I'm a huge Talking Heads fan. I have trouble with band member names, I always have. As Trey did the introduction and those two words emerged from his mouth: Talking Heads, I suddenly thought that maybe one of my musical fantasies was going to come true and I was about to hear Life During Wartime, live and in person. But no, they played Road Runner. It was a song from Jerry's other band Modern Lovers and it was totally fun. Poppy and rocky and definitely something I'd heard before, but at this point in the show I noticed that my head and ears were hurting like crazy.

The huge speakers in front of me had suddenly become a stack of destruction. As I sit here 2 nights later, I can still hear/feel a slight ringing in my left ear. Yesterday it was both. And whenever it's quite I can feel high pitch buzz and I remember the moment during Road Runner when I thought to myself: this time it's going to stick. And I'm kind of pissed off about that. I should have been smarter and worn earplugs the second I stared those enormous speakers in the face, but instead it wasn't until nearly 2 hours later that I thought to take precautions. Lani and I conferred, she tried to get earplugs, but instead we just used a bit of cocktail napkin and the relief was immediate. Unfortunately, the ringing persists.

Road Runner didn't last long, and it felt like a slightly strange diversion in the show. And then came Simple Twist Up Dave, which I thought had already been played as the second song, but that was Plasma, so I spent a little bit of time trying to figure out what song it was I had mislabled in my mind but Gotta Jibboo brought me right back to the Warfield and they rocked it utterly. Ether Sunday sent a breezy groove through the place and we all moved around in the soaring licks. The Halls in the rhythm section continued to keep it very thick with a solid, bouncing bass line throughout and precise, fluid drums. Tuesday and Mr. Completely brought back Trey's signature tension and release jams, but Low, despite it's absence from the official setlist, definitely came in at the end instead of the rest of Mr. Completely.

I was impressed with how long he had played when Low ended. When he came back out for the encore only five or ten minutes had passed and by the time it was done, he had played nearly three hours of music. Come Together and then I Want To Take You Higher were both pleas and affirmations of what Trey can do. And he did it well Saturday night at the Warfield. He brought us all together. Me and my wife and our friends. People we haven't seen in a while, people that don't go out every night, musicians like Jerry Harrison who deserve huge accolades for all their great work, Trey himself, just getting to hang with him for an evening in such a special venue, it was truly a treat. But I remain conflicted because I still cannot sit here and say it was as great a rock show as several other shows I've seen in the recent months. And that I cannot say that when it was by all accounts a great show, that tells me something. That I knew I was watching a great Trey show and that it was all coming together and that the bass player and the drummer and the other guy on guitar were all meshing with the horns when they showed up and that Trey was soaring over them all with precision and grace, doing what he does best and still letting all of them get into the mix and play around, it should still two days later all still be filling me with thrill and magic, and yet somehow it doesn't, the show didn't. I wanted to love it for exactly what it was, for what he was doing and part of me does love that. I love that he's starting fresh and trying all kinds of somethings new. But my ears are still ringing, and I can't take a bath without Page opening the Gin for me, and when Trey wheels around because he didn't hear what someone said, and there's no one there but empty stage, it reminds me too forcefully of what I have seen and been a part of, and what wasn't there Saturday night.

It's early still, and there's so much potential for Trey and for all his musical efforts. But the subtext, the humor, the spontaneous insane magic of Phish that is the sum greater than its four parts plus lights times each of us, is difficult to disregard. That glorious shadow looms over all Trey's music, for me, and the conduit of musician, audience, music, musician, audience and then that extra step where joy and magic live, it simply never stayed long enough in me to give me the chills when I wasn't looking. My mind is filled with what my eyes didn't see. I loved watching him play so well, but this time, for some reason it's my ears that are still ringing while the thrill in my soul has slowed and stopped, it was doing that even as the show let out.

I love that he is clean and healthy and has his voice back. I love that his jams are tight and flawless again. But in the end I simply didn't love the show as much as I wanted to, even though I know he gave it his all. I'll be back though, next time, and they will be even better, I'm sure. We came together and we all had fun, but just like he said, I wanted him to take me just a little bit higher.