My First Phish Concert
And quite the concert it was
“Stretching is essential this early in the game,” I heard above me as I sat, stretching on the floor of Dick’s Sporting Goods Park in Commerce City, CO, before the show started.
It was night one of a four-night run here for Phish. The man who said this was white and heavyset, with a big, red beard, looking like he was in his early 30s. He proceeded to ask me if I was going to all four nights of the legendary band’s performances. I was not, but he certainly was, as were the majority of the other fans I met that night. Before this interaction, that man was a complete stranger, but for the next four hours at the Phish show, we were basically brothers.
Phish is what’s referred to as a jam band. Jam bands are known for live shows that feature long, improvisational sets that usually include some parts from pre-existing songs, but then go off in a completely different direction before coming back full circle. Much like a psychedelic trip, no concert of any jam band will ever be exactly the same. They play off of each other’s energy with no true leader, making the concert sound very fluid. Psychedelics, LSD in particular, make a great companion to jam bands because you never quite know where they’re going to take you. Like during any long trip, you’re just along for the ride.
The original jam band – you might know them – was The Grateful Dead, whose first performance was in 1965 at one of author Ken Kesey’s Acid Tests, a series of parties held by Kesey centred around the use of LSD. These Tests marked the beginning of the 1960s counterculture movement, with The Grateful Dead and psychedelics right in the center of it.
Phish has been around since 1983, but gained more mainstream popularity during the mid-90s after Jerry Garcia, the de facto leader of The Grateful Dead, died in 1995. The Grateful Dead were never truly the same without him. The band’s loyal fans, known as the Deadheads, needed somewhere to flock, and Phish scratched that itch for many of them. Despite Garcia’s death, however, The Grateful Dead didn’t go away entirely – they’ve come back in many forms, most recently as Dead and Company, which consists of original Grateful Dead members Bob Weir, Mickey Hart, and Bill Kreutzmann, with the addition of John Mayer and Oteil Burbridge. I’ve been to a few Dead and Company shows, and the vibes and crowd are quite similar to what I saw at the Phish show.
These days, after 40 years, Phish is still touring, and there I was, at my first concert ready to be initiated into the Phish family. I started the evening by taking 2.5 grams of mushrooms in a hotel with the people I, a guy in my mid-20s, was attending the concert with: Two mid-60s New York Jews, one of whom is my close friend’s father. Quite the vibe.
About 30 minutes after ingestion, we Ubered to the venue. Similar to The Grateful Dead, Phish concerts aren't just about the music – they’re about the environment as a whole. Outside of the venue, a marketplace known as Shakedown Street, which happens at almost every show, bustles full of excited concertgoers and vendors selling anything and everything you can imagine.
Wandering through Shakedown Street was chaotic. Everyone was yelling over each other, trying to sell people their items. Fans were cutting in front of other fans, trying to get into the stadium. Maybe it was just the fact that we were starting to come up from the mushrooms, but these people seemed hostile. It was anxiety-inducing, and I needed to get out of there. For people who are supposedly all about love and community, they didn't seem to care about anyone but themselves. I didn’t like it. I couldn’t wait to get into the venue, so we hurried through Shakedown Street and got in line, where security searched our bags and pockets for the mushrooms we were currently digesting, scanned our tickets, and let us in.
Once inside Dick’s Sporting Goods Park, the vibes were substantially different. Our tickets were nothing fancy – just general admission spots on the field, so we wandered over there, found a spot that seemed just right, and sat down to wait for the concert to start.
Unlike the previously threatening energy of Shakedown Street, people around us on the field were smiling and laughing, talking to their neighbors and each other, and just seemed to be having a grand old time. We got up from where we were sitting and moved around a bit to meet new friends and people-watch. Along with my companions, I was slowly feeling the mushrooms lift my cheekbones, and I was getting giddy as I waited for Phish to appear onstage. I needed to move around and dance; standing still was getting difficult. Finally, at 8:02 p.m., the moment came. I heard the first chord strum from a guitar and jerked my head up, eagerly watching the band come onstage and the people around me lose their fucking minds.
Phish started to play, and I stood there staring at the people around me dance and move in ways it seemed like they hadn’t done in ages. Maybe it was the mushrooms, or maybe it was just my mind, but it almost seemed unnatural. There was no judgment from others. Everybody was just moving and grooving. Everybody was the same – we all paid for tickets, and we all came together as one to be there and listen to whatever Phish felt like playing. No worries, just vibes. That’s when it finally clicked for me: I understood the mass hysteria that jam bands like The Grateful Dead and Phish have cultivated, why so many loyal fans drop everything to see them more than once, why so many people follow them on tour and spend thousands of their hard-earned cash to watch these bands four or five nights in a row. For Phish fans, it’s not about the band itself; it’s about what the band represents. For them, it’s not just a band. It’s an escape from reality.
Phish represents freedom – freedom from judgment, society, expectations, authority, and everything else that could get you down. People from all different walks of life gathered to watch, celebrate, and dance to this iconic band, and anything went. Literally.
At that moment, in front of that stage, it didn’t matter if you were rich, poor, white, Black, skinny, fat, or anything else. Everyone is equal at a Phish concert. (All that being said, I’d be doing a disservice by not mentioning that these people from “all different walks of life,” while true as it may be, were still about 99% white).
For many fans, Phish is a huge part of their identities. So huge, in fact, that I truly believe they would be in crisis without them. Of course, this is just my assessment and I could be completely wrong, but I don’t really think I am. Obviously, not every Phish fan is like this, but many more are than in any other following or fandom that I’ve ever witnessed.
After the concert, I walked back out through Shakedown Street to grab some food and sit atop a grassy hill while watching people inhale the biggest nitrous-filled balloons I’d ever seen. Icy-cold had a whole different meaning. I couldn’t help but get a little sad as I looked out and saw people who seemed lost. Not directionally, but spiritually. LSD no longer seemed to be the drug of choice – I don’t think there is one anymore. For a culture that grew out of the psychedelic movement, I think they could use a little more of them right now. These events feel like they’re more so an excuse to get as fucked up as possible and forget about everything else in the world, if only for a night… or four. But is this really so different from any other large party, concert, event? I looked over the crowd from my vantage point.
I can’t wait to go back next year.
Cam Leids is an entrepreneur and a psychonaut through and through. He’s the host of The TripSitting Podcast and the founder of Conscious Retreats, a company that helps people find the best retreat center for their psychedelic journeys. He loves all things psychedelics-related, from the mental health and spiritual aspects to the downright crazy and nonsensical trips. He’s always down to hear and talk about it all.