Brian had given me a Grateful Dead "Stealie" sticker with a depiction of the state of Maine some years ago. That sticker lives loud and proud on the head unit to my speaker set up and I was back to pick up a few more.
I was safely in Maine for the next few days, feeling comforted by the presence of such a familiar face and voice. Brian can make any nervous traveler calm with his broad knowledge of the world. I was a little on edge after driving through the outskirts of Boston and up I-95 where 85 mph in the right lane is apparently slow.
A 7:30 ticket time inside the Cross Insurance Arena meant roughly a 8:05 p.m. first note time. To concisely elaborate on this, over the years you get to know the band pretty well. You remember curfews at certain venues. It gives you a good gauge on when you need to file into the arena or amphitheater. Portland was slightly different though. Being an all general admission show, there was more incentive to go in early. I was solo for this show, making it easier to move around without the aspect of friends in different spots. It dawned on me that I hadn't been close in some years.
After spending my first 5-10 shows on a mission to be as close as possible, it was evident that it wasn't 'the' place to be. Hot, angsty, sweaty men bumping into you turns out to be far from desirable. After spending 30 or so minutes traversing the compact, but vibrant lot scene across from the arena in the heart of downtown, I made my way in.
I was immediately hit with a heatwave upon entry. 'Ah, yes, a small hockey arena featuring poor ventilation filled to the gills with people already wet from a sticky from a hot day in Portland.' Makes sense. As I nestled into my tiny space of concrete roughly 10 rows back, dead center, it was 8:08 as house lights dropped. In a pleasantly surprising manner, the floor Wednesday night was spacious and relaxed. The sound, near perfect.
It was as if the band had looked at their extensive catalogue and picked out the songs that hadn't made it in to a set this tour. "Grind," "Cars, Trucks, Buses," "The Sloth," "Billy Breathes," and so on. A novelty first set, far from predictable, distant from breathtaking. A glimpse of 90s Phish 'fer sure, dude.'
The second set erupted with arguably Trey's favorite song, at least by body language, "First Tube." This gave way to, "Tweezer" > "Guyute." "Mike's Song" kept the energy afloat. A newer tune, "Tide Turns" fanned off the sweat-glistened crowd. It didn't occur to me that the energy wouldn't ever pick back up. "Devotion to a Dream" seemed ill-place and redundant as a 'cool-down' note. "Wingsuit" was solid, yet too slow for a now struggling second set. They struggled to begin and get through "Bittersweet Motel," a bummer for it being it's first placement in four years.
As they began "Fluffhead," some hope returned until the funky beginning was interrupted by a drug-induced fan who made his way on stage and into John Fishman's drum cubicle, grabbing a stick and slapping symbols as security dragged him away. A less than stellar "Weekapaug" concluded the second set.
An encore of "Contact" > "Tweezer Reprise" sent folks out with a bang.
My words are critical, but that's ok. It was my favorite show experience of tour thus far. Sometimes, they don't sync up, and that's why you buy a ticket for the next night. You never know when the show of the year will take place.
Stephen
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