After the Gorge and Tahoe, I’m completely confident we’re witnessing the magic emerge once again. For the first time since Phish started playing together again in 2009, I’m getting glimpses of the creative fire Phish exhibited in the past. It may take a while to get there, but the direction we’re heading in is glorious.

For the sake of expressing my point, there are five specific musical examples that I’d like to focus on: The Rock and Roll from the first night at the Gorge (2011), Light from the first night in Tahoe (2011), the end of Mound from Super Ball (2011), the transition back into Split Open and Melt, and the Have Mercy from Utica (2011). All of these musical moments are prime examples of why I started following Phish around the country so many years ago. (The Waves soundcheck from Bethel almost made the list, but it deserves its own post.)

Grab some headphones or turn on your speakers and try to follow along with the analysis below.

Rock and Roll • August 5th, 2011 – Gorge

At the 11:10 mark of the jam, Trey finds a darker upscale lick that he likes. Mike responds with some downward arpeggios, Page is layering on top and Fishman is listening for Mike to find the groove he wants to settle in on. At 11:48 the magic happens. Mike gives the go-ahead to Fishman and the entire band settles in on an incredible groove. The only way they could’ve found this uncharted territory is through extensive improvisation. All of them have such a focused ear at this point in the jam, listening to precisely what the other band members are laying down. This is a prime example of the Phish I fell in love with.

Light • August 8th, 2011 – Tahoe

At the 9:05 mark Page emerges with a Piano melody that inspires the rest of the band to find themselves. In what seems like a premeditated thought, Page finds himself in the driver’s seat at the the 9:20 mark. The jam heavily progresses forward, allowing Mike to emerge with a thundering bomb at the 10:20 mark. While the rest of the band backs him up, he finds the magic at the 10:30 mark. The rest of the jam is a shining example of what made Phish’s second set pearl choices so important. At the 15:22 mark, Mike finds a downright scary synth driven line. The rest of the band responds with a mediterranean-psychedelia inspired foundation. Close your eyes, it sounds like 1996.

Mound • July 3rd, 2011 – Super Ball

After the incredible interplay between Mike and Trey between the 2:05 and the 2:40 marks, the band is clearly feeling this version of Mound. They nail the composed sections of the song, and when the ending draws near, Trey decides to take the final solo instead of Page. In what could be a classic “Thank you Trey” moment, he absolutely shreds it into oblivion. It all starts at the 6:15 mark when Trey hops in with some minor notes over the psychedelic bluegrass foundation the band is throwing down behind him. Trey continues to lay down some beautiful notes while the rest of the band is clearly paying attention to him. At the 6:57 mark Fishman and Page lock in on a three-note rhythm that fills in Trey’s holes, and it makes for a gloriously enlightening feeling. This leads to an uptick, which in turn leads Mike to a thundering jazzy bluegrass scale at the 7:05 mark. Mike continues to meet Trey’s peak notes with fiery intensity. At 7:17 the entire band locks in on that fundamental bluegrass movement while racing towards the finish line. An instant classic in Mound history.

Split Open and Melt (and Have Mercy) • October 12th, 2010 – Utica

After a great Split Open and Melt to start the magic, the band moves into a beautiful rendition of Have Mercy. At the 2:54 mark, a very pleasing jam emerges. Fishman does a great job of using the rim of his snare here to provide depth. Trey leads the way as the driving force behind the beat, letting Mike play around in the background until he finds something he likes. At 3:54 Trey and Mike trade places, allowing the groove to turn into a classic soaring melody driven romp.

The piper deserves its own post, so for the sake of these examples, let’s move to the end of the jam. At the 8:51 mark of Piper, Mike starts hinting at a minor dissonance with an arpeggio. Fishman picks up on it and moves into the beginning of the end of Split Open and Melt. At the 9:20 mark of Piper, Mike throws down some off-key bombs that clearly signify the beginning of something special. Page is layering some very thick psychedelia on top of it and Trey is mimicking Mike’s one-off movements. As the track listing moves into Split Open and Melt, Trey throws down a “here I am” lick at the 0:08 mark that invokes a feeling of pure glory. Mike emerges with the original baseline as they nail the first three-hit transition back into the ending of SOAM at the 0:17 mark. Trey then channels his early-nineties self and shreds the rest of the tune apart. Simply stunning.

In closing, I disagree with most analysis that floats around, painting Phish’s musical evolution as one large movement, hoping they can be better than they once were. Instead, I like to dissect Phish’s music on technical and creative levels, with specific examples. When I’m comparing recent Phish shows to past shows, I am specifically comparing the levels of creativity showcased within the band, the way they listen to each other as musicians, the talent exhibited during an improvisational jam, and the overall energy they are putting out there.

At this point, I truly believe Phish is capable of being better than they have ever been. We are witnessing something magical here. For the first time in years, I’m noticing the band seriously try to impress its fans. The nostalgia act is officially over. You may have to see every single show on any one tour to catch a moment like I’ve explained above, but hopefully that won’t be the case in 2015. If Phish keeps moving in the direction they have been, I fully expect the old-school, non-stop creativity that dropped my jaw at every other show, to emerge once again.

This is a beautiful time. Phish sounds great again. Life is good.

———————————————-

The Beatles – I’m Looking Through You

I’m looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don’t look different, but you have changed
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

Your lips are moving, I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing, but the words aren’t clear
You don’t sound different, I’ve learned the game.
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

You’re thinking of me, the same old way
You were above me, but not today
The only difference is you’re down there
I’m looking through you, and you’re nowhere

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

I’m looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don’t look different, but you have changed
I’m looking through you, you’re not the same

Yeah! Oh baby you changed!
Aah! I’m looking through you!
Yeah! I’m looking through you!
You’ve changed, you’ve changed, you’ve changed, you’ve changed, yes you’ve changed!

For over half of my life, Phish has held a very special place in my heart. The band, its music and the surrounding culture have helped shape my beliefs and turn me into the person I am today. For this, I am eternally grateful. For the monumental shows that Phish has played, and the ones I’ve been lucky enough to experience, these are memories I will cherish forever. For those that haven’t experienced Phish first-hand, I don’t expect you to understand the thoughts I’m about to express with specificity to Phish. However, as a fan of talented musicians, try to empathize.

I’m currently on a flight back to Portland, Oregon after making the trek to Alpharetta, Georgia to see Phish play a pair of sold-out shows in a gorgeous, accommodating venue. The shows were a lot of fun, the crowd was full of energy, and even though the second night’s show was paused due to severe thunderstorms and a flooded pit section, the entire experience was absolutely monumental.

These days, the overall experience is all that seems to matter to most people, including the band members. The entire musical landscape that Phish originally helped shape — complex musical compositions, lengthy and emotional improvisation, thrashing musical mind-fucks, totally unpredictable shows night after night — has all but disappeared. Nowadays, people don’t walk out of shows talking about how Trey turned their brain into mush with a flurry of incomprehensible guitar licks. The days of being able to critique the music on a scale of complexity and improvisational craftsmanship are long gone. Instead, the entire show is grouped together as one experience. Either it was good, or it wasn’t. This isn’t the Phish that I remember, and quite frankly it’s a Phish that scares me for the future.

There was a time when it simply didn’t matter where (geographically) Phish was playing. Often times, the most epic and memorable shows took place in the most rundown of venues, in the most unfriendly of neighborhoods. With downright disgusting lot-scenes and relentless harassment from local authorities, we traveled to these places to see Phish play because the music was simply unrivaled and unabashed. These days, I can’t whole-heartedly say the same thing. Aside from the obvious reasons (you live nearby, you’ve never seen the band live, you were invited to a show for free), I couldn’t recommend going to see Phish at some of their favorite and historically successful venues anymore.

It saddens me to write these words, but they’ve been festering in my mind for far too long now.

The band refuses to take musical risks on a regular basis. They are settling for insultingly predictable setlists night after night. Fans that hop on tour for strings of 4 or 5 shows are being treated with multiple repeats. When Phish finally jams and enters some improvisational territory, people are surprised, and after the show you hear things like, “wow, I’m so happy they jammed tonight.” How is this the band we fell in love with so many years back?

It’s no doubt that Trey’s sobriety is massively stifling his creativity. He is clearly thinking about the notes he’s going to play, and is less-and-less becoming a “vessel for improvisational music,” like he used to describe himself. This leaves the band without an experimental, psychedelic leader who’s willing to take risks and fall flat on his face, in the hopes of reaching true musical bliss. The Trey that leaves my jaw on the floor simply isn’t in the building anymore. This isn’t a bad thing. Trey has a substance abuse problem. Him being sober means he gets to be a better father, a better husband, a better son and a better friend. If the music must suffer in order for him to lead a happy and healthy life, so be it.

Some of this can be attributed to father time as well. People get older, fingers move slower. Still, Phish’s ultimate success wasn’t brought about because they could shred Donna Lee at the drop of a dime. There are plenty of Jazz musicians out there that destroy insanely complex compositions, who are much older than any of Phish’s members.

Not surprisingly, Phish has a whole new legion of fans. At any given show you’ll have folks that are clamoring for old Gamehendge material (thus detaining the band in the past), folks yelling for new material (irking the fans that want to hear old tunes), folks yelling for Mike’s “funk” synth-bass bombs (which many fans think of as a pure gimmick), and folks who simply want to see Trey make his “O” face while he stares out into the crowd. They have so many people to please and so many different fans that are consistently traveling extensive distances to see them play, they don’t want to let anyone down. So, we end up getting shows like they have been playing on this 2011 summer tour.

Five minute 2001′s, nearly no Gamehendge material, consistently repeated Fluffhead’s, Possum’s, Down with Disease’s, and very minimal risk taking, if any at all. Songs that used to be special are now seemingly played to please crowds. Yes, every once in a while a show will stand out from the norm, but, that norm has become monotony, and the standout shows are a small glimpse of what used to fundamentally define Phish.

These days, going to see Phish is about having a good time, and enjoying the experience. It’s not about going to see something different night after night. It’s not about releasing all of your expectations and allowing the band to take you on a magical journey. As reluctant as I am to say it, unless Phish does things differently in the near future, they risk turning into exactly what they wanted to avoid… A purely nostalgic act that allows some of us to feel like we’re 18 again.

I’d love to see Phish mix things up once they’re done with this summer tour. While I doubt any of this will happen, I believe it would be in the band’s best interest to do some of the following.

They need to start playing smaller venues. Look at what happened in Utica last year. This is a prime example of how a small venue can bring about a truly creative, intimate energy. These days, that energy seems much harder for them to find at places like Madison Square Garden, in Atlantic City, or Camden. These huge, themed shows are some of the funnest parties on the planet, and the entire experience is sure to be a blast, but musically, they are generally forgettable. I’d love to see Phish skip some of these huge shows that gross millions of dollars, in favor of smaller shows, where there’s a chance that musical enlightenment will happen.

Phish has a chance to repeat something that most musicians will never get a chance to do even once in their lifetime. The musically-genius, creative journey that propelled them into international stardom in the mid-nineties, has a chance to be recreated here and now. But only if the band shifts gears. Otherwise, they truly risk becoming caricatures of themselves. And we know for a fact that nobody wants that. This isn’t about technical chops, or the speed of which Trey can play a certain solo. It’s not 1994 anymore, he just isn’t the same musician he was back then. I’m talking about creativity. If Phish were to take some time and focus on creativity within their music, they could potentially enter a glorious place of passion and inspiration for their (new or old) music. Either way, this is how we may ever have a chance to rival anything that happened in the nineties. Otherwise, we’re just heading down a road of even shorter songs, twenty song second sets, more judgmental Phish crowds, a wider set of people the band has to please at every show, and a musical act that seems to care more about the money than the music.

While you can still feel the phamily, these days Phish is also a large corporation. The big shows bring in the big bucks. Management makes more of a decision on when tour dates are announced, and ticket sales weigh heavily into future plans. For all we know, they may not even want to reach new musically creative territory anymore. Perhaps they’re simply content grossing millions and millions of dollars playing the same songs year after year.

Whatever happens, I’ll always be grateful for what Phish has given me. If there’s ever been a band that can transcend musical conventionality, it’s Phish… Let’s just hope they want to do it too.

Ellis is determined to keep living with wolves. It has cost him his family and home — his partner and four children left him because of his total dedication to wolves. But he truly believes he can make a difference.

When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?” – but then you’d relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.

My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs,” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a “dog person” – still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.”

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch – because your touch was now so infrequent – and I would have defended them with my life if need be.

I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her.” They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with “papers.” You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.

After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked “How could you?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you – that you had changed your mind – that this was all a bad dream…or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself – a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.

May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

The End

Copyright Jim Willis 2001, all rights reserved

“Most of us believe we’re acting safely on our bicycles, even if we break a little rule every now & then. But it only takes one bad call to cause a terrible mistake one that you may never recover from. We shot our PSA using LEGO bricks as a way to appeal to a wide audience of children, teens, parents, and retro-loving 20- and 30-somethings, and to teach a serious lesson in a lighthearted (yet hopefully memorable) way.” –Sean Kenney

He has lost the ability to smell the air, enjoy the sun, eat a perfectly cooked steak, or see the beauty in life. To him, the world is death, and terror is the answer. He hates the country in which he was born. He doesn’t care what the people around him feel like, or how he makes them feel. But worst of all, he simply cannot smell fresh air. Somehow, to him, wherever he goes, he smells pollution.

Dreaming about coffee in Italia, chocolate in Switzerland, hookers in Amsterdam, a perfectly toasted baguette in France… Once a shiny possibility, now seem like a distant wish. This man can’t smell that clean, fresh, beautiful air, feel that wind and enjoy the Earth’s warm glow. To him, his mind is cloudy, filled with storms, rain, depression and motives that drive everyone and everything in his life around a pivot of the truth that hasn’t been shared, uncovered, resolved or addressed in years. In other words, there is a shining nugget of truth at the core of his existence being denied. Everything surrounding this piece of information is a mask for Andre, an outlet where he can avoid facing the the underlying issues head on.

Rather than address these fears and rapidly multiplying insecurities, this man lashes out on people around him the only way he knows how, with personal attacks. He criticizes society, makes fun of stability, jokes at the concept of relationships, mocks being employed, plays games with people’s emotions, and remains rather ungrateful for the financial benefits, that “conforming to society” have made it possible for him to enjoy. Who would want to see this person, and why would anybody give him anything for free you may be asking? Well, the sheer joy of being around him is enough for some people. Every once in a while, this man breaks loose from his demonic shadows and catches a small, brief whiff of that cool, fresh air. The kind that makes you stop in your tracks, take a deep breath and ask everyone around you… “Ahhhhhhhh…. Do you smell that fresh air?”

Now, you may be wondering why I am even calling this person a “man” right? Well, he is sick. Very, very sick. He needs help. We all have similar demons as this man, only he does not win his daily battles with them. To this man, there is no voice saying “Be responsible… You can do this… You are a man…” – To him, the voices say “You are a failure…. a loser…. a little boy…” – Somehow, the most amazing little joys in life are simply non-existent. Replaced by existential battles and philosophical tirades that could posses people to do harm to themselves, and those around them.

As I write this, I can think of a million things that torcher my mind, wreak havoc on my brain, and try to bring me down. Is it any surprise by now that our mind is not our friend. It has been scientifically proven, and it is upon us to combat these thoughts with positivity. It’s our job to hammer these thoughts out of our brain and replace them with thoughts of substance. Things that can help us, further our lives and shed a new perspective on the way we will approach them next time. This… Is what we call life. This…. Is what we call living in the present… being able to persevere. This… Is not what we call conforming. It’s what is called being intelligent, wise, intuitive, confident, proud, happy, diverse, knowledgeable.

In a world of natural evolution, the sick will not stay around. Unless they get help, they will disappear. It is our job to help them. Help them understand how they need help, and make sure they get the help they need.

What’s really interesting is that fossils of these creatures can be found in Asia, Europe, North America and there’s some disputes over whether fossils have turned up in Africa or not. Particularly whether the fossils were actually Tarsiers, not whether they were found. However, due to their 45 year million long record of existence, it’s hard to compare seemingly 35 million year old bones to other creatures of similar size.

These days, Tarsiers are bound to Southeast Asian islands including the Philippines, Sulawesi, Borneo, and Sumatra.

From Wikipedia: Tarsiers are small animals with enormous eyes; each eyeball is approximately 16 mm in diameter and is as large as their entire brain.[3] Tarsiers also have very long hind limbs. In fact, their feet have extremely elongated tarsus bones, from which the animals get their name. The head and body range from 10 to 15 cm in length, but the hind limbs are about twice this long (including the feet), and they also have a slender tail from 20 to 25 cm long. Their fingers are also elongated, with the third finger being about the same length as the upper arm. Most of the digits have nails, but the second and third toes of the hind feet bear claws instead, which are used for grooming. Tarsiers have very soft, velvety fur, which is generally buff, beige, or ochre in color.

They catch insects by jumping at them, but they’re also known to prey on small vertebrates, like birds, snakes, bats and lizards. They can even catch birds in mid-flight when they’re jumping from tree to tree. Quite surprising when compared to the way they look when resting in a tree. You can see them in action for yourself in the video below.

“Gestation takes about six months, and tarsiers give birth to single offspring. Young tarsiers are born furred, and with open eyes, and are able to climb within a day of birth. They reach sexual maturity after one year. Adults live in pairs, with a home range of around one hectare.”

THE TARSIER IN ACTION:

Thanx to various flickr users for the photos.

• Eat yogurt every single morning with coffee
• Eat at a restaurant of different ethnicity every week
• Yoga stretches before bed, not just in the morning
• Consciously practice patience until it becomes natural
• Start working on that six pack (for real)
• Budget my money better
• Stay in contact with people that are important to me
• Build out a more diverse and global business network
• Double the traffic on my main websites
• Scout a new office

Whether you have new years resolutions or not, it’s important to take this chance and reflect on your life. Look back on the last year, think about everything that has happened to you. Were you in control of it? Could it have been better? Would changing something within your core mentality change your outlook on life? Make it more positive? Increase your patience? If you think anything can be done to improve your overall well-being, boost your happiness and feed your soul… Just do it.