[We would like to thank Rachael Wesley, author of the book SECOND SET CHANCES (Vine Leaves Press) for reviewing last night’s show. Find her at rachaelwesley.com. —Ed.]

The grumblings of Phish’s venue and date change from their usual Dick’s Labor Day weekend to a 4^th of July Folsom Field run have been a constant since tour was announced in February. Or at least that’s how it appeared to this Denver denizen. Since we are everywhere in this city, I often ran into fellow phans, and our conversation was certain to include a complaint about the switch. Folsom sucks. It’s so far. What, no shakedown? I certainly did my fair share of bitching.

For me, that all transformed during Thursday night’s magnificent show. Leaving the venue Friday night, after that nearly perfect second set, my feelings grew even more positive. And so, walking in last night, I was awash in various sentiments. Stoked for the night of music ahead, excitement to dance among friends, and curious about how many others’ ill feelings about Folsom had shifted throughout the run. However, there was one emotion that ruled above all the others.

Sadness.

You see, last night was my last Phish show while living on this continent.

In February, my husband learned the rumor going around his office was indeed true. His company had secured a contract with the United Arab Emirates government. “Mesh, are you interested in relocating?” We didn’t need a lengthy discussion on how he would respond.

Phish broke up the year I graduated from college. I skipped the ceremony and went to Coventry with the ticket my parents purchased as my celebration gift. What do you do when your band, a major part of your identify, is no longer? I moved to South Korea to teach English. And it was through that experience I gained another piece of my identity, this one encompassing a little Tony Bourdain and a little Indiana Jones (a muted version of all that adventuring). When Mesh’s opportunity arose, I relished the idea of living as an expat again. This combined with the fact that if there was ever a time to leave America, it was now. Let’s do it.

Let’s move to Abu Dhabi.

For the past several years, Mesh and I have been living by the mantra “less travel for music and more travel for travel.” Missing out on YEMSG isn’t a thing when you climb a volcano in Guatemala instead.

As of late August, we’ll really be adhering to that motto.

The reality of our decision hit me hard in May. Instead of focusing on our future in the Middle East, I obsessed with what I was leaving behind. Life in Denver has been more than swell. We’re spoiled by one of the finest music scenes in the country and have endless opportunities for outdoor fun. This community we’ve built over the last decade of living here. I’ll never have another like it. Gah! What did I get myself into. Oh, stupid buyer’s remorse.

A few weeks ago, my brain turned numb. I surmised my inability to process emotions was a survival tactic, one I approved because my mental health is extremely high maintenance and can take the most drastic turns with little warning. An unfortunate side effect of this was I was unable to drum up any excitement for the Folsom run. I could focus only on the negative, which grew with each passing day. None of our usual Phish crew could make it this year. It feels so weird for Phish to be here this early in the summer. Taking a shuttle to Boulder is going to be the biggest pain in the ass. Should we even be going with all that we have going on?

But life really is about timing, and Phish turned up when I needed them most, helping me to find my soul again. And boy, did I miss her, even the mournful side. What else makes a human feel more alive than the emotions that course through us. I had an ugly cry during “Roses Are Free” on Thursday and a more composed one during “Simple” the next night.

Come Saturday afternoon, with my interior unthawed, alongside my marveling about other fan’s shifting feelings toward Folsom, I wondered when I would lose my shit tonight. My last show (so dramatic) combined with it being the 12th reunion of the greatest random reunion in all of Phish history (read the book), I had no doubt I would lose it at some point.

Colorado weather is as unpredictable as my waterworks; at 7:15 an evacuation warning filled the venue, confusing a stadium filled with fans as we lifted our gaze toward innocuous looking skies. Thankfully, this Front Range show didn’t play out as the last show I reviewed for Phish.net had, and the band took the stage at 8 PM, a mere thirty minutes past their curfew sanctioned start of 7:30, otherwise known as a typical start at any other venue.

A “Buried Alive” opener is as auspicious a first tune as we can get. This short and punchy tune is almost always a bellwether for a banger of a show and the crowd roared in appreciation as our bodies got to work. “46 Days” followed, a compact version filled with those swampy tones I’ve come to associate with the song. I heard CCR’s “Green River” on the drive to PhanArt on Friday and John Fogerty crossed my mind during the short jam. Would his bayou music benefit from such an effect? Hmmm…

More shouts of approval from the crowd as “46 Days” ended, and “Birds of a Feather” sounded. In the midst of dancing, I couldn’t help but send out my hopes to find my own flock in Abu Dhabi, but I remained composed. A perfunctory yet fun version, “Birds” finished with a “they attack” sample and the first “Sigma Oasis” of tour appeared. Oh, there’s that timing again, telling me, most famously, I’m already there. I know I’m already there. But what does that mean for my future? In the immediate sense, another lesson from Phish. You never know where the song will take you. Mesh rolled his eyes when he heard the notes to start Sigma, but I reminded him to wait for the jam. This was only about four minutes but contained some ethereal synths from Page that led to a gliding soar in Trey’s guitar. Lovely!

“David Bowie”, lacking Trey’s sliding guitar, had an odd start but no debate necessary as to whether Fishman’s high hat indicated “Bowie” or “Maze”. Two of my besties did full summer tour in 2003 and were so sick of “Bowie” by the time I was able to meet them at It. How? But I get it. Great songs grow old. The Beatles were my first music obsession and will always be my favorite band, but I don’t listen to them much anymore. But last night’s “Bowie”? That was fun and would surely win a thumbs up from Ashley and Nat. My daily Celebrex did its job yesterday and I was able to throw down hard for the song’s climax.

I love the poppy ditty that is “Evolve”, the importance of what it means to grow and change. It’s a bathroom tune for many and you got to take advantage of those. Second set Saturday, with its lack of a solid bathroom number, served as a reminder for how important those are. As the song was wrapping up, I thought maybe I should have done the same. The next song would show whether my gamble paid off.

“Blaze On.” Yes. Yes I did make the correct call (for me). If I was quick enough, I could even grab a cold beverage and be back for the jam. Another risk that proved fortuitous, the bouncy, very rhythm driven jam was so fun. There’s been a ton of bliss this run, and I prefer my Phish evil, but I’ll take this euphoria any day.

My first tears showed up during “The Lizards,” overwhelmed by the sight of the dance party taking off everywhere. Around me in the stands, on the floor, and all spaces in between. The invisible thread holding us all together tangibly appeared in our movements. God, I am going to miss this.

The rarely played cover, and my very first favorite Beatles song, “A Day in the Life,” closed the set. If their Ween cover caused my ugly cry on Thursday, this Beatle’s cover cry gave me one of the most grotesque sobs of my life. How Phish has led me to other music obsessions, like Ween, or reaffirmed my undying love for other bands. How my life has been saved time and time again by rock and roll. I’m tearing up now as I write these words. Shit.

After what may have been the shortest set break in their history (thank you for making up that delayed start, Phish), the band came out with “Wilson.” Like “The Buried Alive” opener, this short tune enabled the crowd to get down in preparedness for what was ahead. In the number two spot, “Fuego”. Like my pals and the surplus of “Bowie” in 2003, the 2014 summer of “everyone gets a “Fuego” ruined the song for me. Its recent encore performance Sunday night at The Hollywood Bowl, however, has revived my appreciation for it. My eyes were locked on the red spaghetti lightshow that morphed to an all-green display to match the brief swampy murkiness that flows into full sci-fi robot. Some deep thoughts for a few moments as I realized how similar the two sounds can be, depending on what the other instruments layer around it. I had suspicions the tune would turn into “Plasma,” but some bass balls pivot us into the most organic of segues to “My Friend My Friend.”

I checked my watch. 10 o’clock. One hour of Phish left in my life. They answered my pleas for evil Phish, flowing back into the “Fuego” jam amongst deranged cries of “he’s got a knife,” devolving into a controlled madness that oozed with similarities to “Split Open and Melt.” I wanted more.

For some reason, “Crosseyed and Painless” never crossed my mind as a song I wanted to hear this run, but it’s always welcome. I’ll also take the bliss this version of “Crosseyed” delivers. The band played a happy birthday tease and a quick shout of “Wu-Tang forever” for RZA in attendance before the jam rose me into the heavens, washing me in love and optimism. The power of transportation in these audible moments is absolutely wild.

But then I curse the notes that follow “Crosseyed.” “Everything’s Right.” Not my favorite, but If I hold tight, will I be rewarded with a sick jam. Yes. At some point, I hear “Help/Slip,” but that could be my ears playing tricks on me. There’s some very startling sounds from maybe Trey (my musically uneducated ears sometimes can’t discern who is playing what sound) that cause me to jump. The abrupt circle back to the benign boy band “nah nah nahs” cause me to jump again and the cheesiness builds with “More.” I do love some cheese, but, like a Colleen Hoover novel, I think the song can do better. But tonight. I dance to it with gusto, vibrating with all that love and light.

“Slave to the Traffic Light” closes the set, and I can’t think of a more appropriate song to finish, with its climax always sounding like a perfect book end of a conclusion. That’s it. My time with Phish (for the time being) almost done, but there’s still the encore. What are they going to gift us with?

Another appropriate song, given the venue. “Buffalo Bill” for the CU Buffalos, and its duration echoes both set opening songs. Fish’s drumbeat got my hands and feet moving again. Since my best friend learned to play drums and has become the most bad assed rocker chick, I’ve taken up air drums and I let my instrument fly with abandon. I get to continue my stellar playing with “Harry Hood,” as Fish’s drum pattern continues into “Hood.” Chants of “Buffalo Harry” become a “hairy buffalo” that’s going to take us past the 11 PM curfew and no one in attendance should complain about that.

“Harry Hood” is another song that lost its sparkle for me at some point but has found its way back into my heart and soul. One final glowstick war to witness, one more Mr. Minor to thank, one more time to feel good about hood. I walk out feeling real good. Good about Folsom. Good about this last show. Good about what’s to come.

Change is always hard, even when it’s wanted. And while this change in time and date to our annual Colorado Phish run was not welcome, wow, how it all worked out. I got to experience several new things on account of it. I participated in my very first Phish vending at PhanArt on Friday, finally meeting in person and collaborating with fellow Phish author, Elizabeth Beck. Instead of hanging on the grassy knoll on Dick’s Lot, we lingered over food and drinks at The Sink and I got to engage in the best conversation with Little Phans author, Kelly. (Book nerds sticking together). Typically a show planter, with various friends all over the venue I partook in some rare show wandering and got to experience each night from various vantage points. Hell, had the band kept to its usual Dick’s Labor Day run, I would have missed my final Phish run while living in Colorado.

The lesson provided by our favorite band to embrace change may be the most integral and timely of my life. I have tons of change coming my way. I plan to surrender to it, while designing trips back “home” around Phish tours. I will never be done with this band, no matter where I live. I didn’t need any reaffirmation of that, but if I did, this Folsom run would have exceeded expectations in that job.

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