Gone Phishin’

Austin Sandkuhler

When I try to think of a sensory experience, one that comes to mind is a Phish show that I went to about two summers ago with two friends. That summer of 1997 was something else indeed. I can remember when I went to the beach in North Carolina with my two best friends, Pat and Erik. We had a great time going to the beach during the day. I can recall, very painfully, how the sand would burn our feet on the days that were especially scorching. At nights we would go down to the bonfires on the beach and meet up with other kids. We definitely met some characters. We were hanging out a lot with some surfer kids from Florida that were our age. I remember one guy in particular named Kelly who was a very stereotypical surfer. He had long hair and simply looked the part. I found myself laughing at his expense on more than one occasion. He would say something along the lines of, "Yo bra, can you toss me another brewskie?" At his words, Pat, Erik, and I would laugh hysterically.

We were just having a good time at the beach and as if that wasn’t enough, we had a big Phish concert coming up later in the week up at Virginia Beach. As excited as we were, we continued having a good time at an easy pace. We passed the time by lounging on the beach, meeting people and playing hackey sac out in the streets. Erik’s girlfriend would join us on occasion because she was staying only about ten minutes away from us. Life was good, and soon it got better.

The day finally came for the concert and we were all so excited. We loaded up the car and headed off, running late as usual. Erik was driving, his girlfriend was in the passenger seat, and Pat and I were in the back. It was a good two hour trip so we just relaxed and enjoyed the ride. Suddenly it began to storm. The lightning looked as if it were almost alive. It looked like extraordinarily graceful, dancing stick figures lighting up an otherwise gloomy sky. Pink Floyd tunes filled the car and no one spoke. The silence was golden and nothing needed to be said. When we got to the Amphitheater in Virginia Beach, the sky had cleared and the sun was shining crisply through the scattered gray clouds.

We approached the venue with our tickets and I distinctly remember having butterflies of anticipation in my stomach. I could already hear the music faintly. They were playing Tweezer and I thought to myself, "Damn! I wish I got here earlier." As we entered, I was dumbstruck by the diversity of people. The ages probably ranged from twelve to about eighty. As I surveyed the lawn seats, it appeared as an ocean of colorful people that was constantly moving and dancing to the music. Because of all of the dancing, the overpowering scent was sweat. The body odor smell was masked only by the dank smell of marijuana. A cloud of smoke covered the entire crowd. My butterflies went away when I noticed that everyone was happy and chilled out, even the security guards.

We found our seats and on the way we bought some Evian. I smoked cigarettes and sipped bottled water while I danced. The foul, dry taste that cigarettes leaves in my mouth didn’t phase me a bit and I danced on. I was in a world of my own when I closed my eyes. The lights from the stage shined on the crowd and this was reality. When this wonderful reality would become too busy for my eyes I would close them again. With my eyes closed, I would suddenly see myself in a dark room by myself and the band was playing for me alone. This was an incredible instance for me because I felt singled out from the crowd.

The lead singer, Trey Anastasio, would joke with the audience between songs. He knew exactly how to get the crowd going and he was loving every minute of it, as was I. It was sometime in the second set that it started to rain and I didn’t even notice it until I was reasonably damp. It was so incredible how my friends and I would glance at each other throughout the show with smiles plastered on our faces. Nothing needed to be said and it was too loud anyway. Our non-verbal communication was as clear as a bell so nods and smiles of approval sufficed.

The show came to its inevitable end. We filed out still buzzing from the music. We didn’t talk then either because our eardrums were still ringing from the music. It seemed as if everyone was leaving the same way down this one huge staircase. As we were moving along sluggishly in line, it suddenly appeared to me that we were all a herd of cows. At least we were moving like a herd of cows so without thinking, I shouted out, "MOOOOOO!!!!!" and everyone laughed. Soon everyone was "moooing" like a cow happily.

We made our way back to the car and drove back to the beach house. We talked about different songs and jams the whole way home. We had a live Phish bootleg playing in the car and it was almost as if we never left the concert. I still have the ticket stub from that show and I look back on it as a great night of my life, hopefully with many more to come. Being with my friends at this event made it all the better and I couldn’t imagine being at this concert without them. These memories are unmatched and priceless.