[This post is courtesy of L. rufus on BlueSky who some of you may recall from RMP as squirrel. Read on to learn to whom Trey was directly speaking before launching into the encore. Fwiw you can listen to LivePhish Vol. 1 on YouTube Premium. -Ed.]

"ANGER, he smiles towering . . . !” The first time I saw Phish perform “Bold as Love” was as the encore to the 12/28/94 show in Philly. It was one of the best encores I’d seen, at the conclusion of a tremendous show that these days is overshadowed by the following night, but which at the time was transformational for me. “Bold as Love” thus became my favorite Phish cover. Prior to 12/14/95, however, I had only seen the song one other time (at the Mann on 6/24/95). Thus, while I still hoped to see “Bold as Love” at every show, I was starting to think I was doomed only to see it in Philly, if at all.

My original plan had been to attend the Binghamton show with my girlfriend at the time and her sister. Between the Phish Tickets by Mail order date, however, and the date of the show, my girlfriend and I had broken up. Her interest in the band had waned, and she was no longer interested in making the trek from Haverford College (where we were both students) up to Binghamton. To my enduring gratitude, however, she agreed to sell her pair of tickets to my friend Josh and his girlfriend, with whom I got a ride to the show. I’m not sure how or whether I would have been able to attend the show otherwise, being an 18-year-old with no car. The drive north to Binghamton was fraught, as we were buffeted with monsoon-like freezing rain. The roads were flooding, the car (it was a compact) was hydroplaning on the inundated roads, and I was feeling anxious in the backseat, trying to distract myself from my obviously imminent death by making a sign for the show.

The signs end up playing an important role in this story, albeit not the one I had originally expected. Due to the miserable weather and its unknown effect on our travel plans, and also because neither Josh nor I had seen a general admission Phish show before and didn’t know how early we should arrive, we had budgeted a ridiculous amount of travel time. As a result, notwithstanding the biblical weather, we arrived at the venue hours early and snagged a place near the front of the entrance line. Luckily, I had anticipated having a lot of down time (whether due to being in line or in traffic) and had brought along art supplies: enough not only for me to make a sign, but also to share with others.

If I had the 12/14/95 show to live over again -- and from among all the Phish shows I’ve seen, this is almost surely the one I’d choose -- “Brother” probably wouldn’t be the song I’d make a sign for. At the time, however, it felt like a pretty good choice. For one thing, the band hadn’t played the song since 1993 (when they played it just once), and the song hadn’t been in regular rotation since Spring 1992 [Ed. Note: 5/17/92's version is MUST HEAR.]. Unlike “Destiny Unbound” or “Tube” -- other popular sign requests that went mostly unconsummated in 1995 -- there wasn’t another song in the rotation that sounded very much like “Brother”: “Weigh” perhaps being the closest, but “Weigh” was hardly a common setlist selection by 1995 either.

In any event, we were prodigiously early. So as I sat outside in the snow (it wasn’t raining in Binghamton, thankfully), I grooved to what I could hear of the soundcheck, colored in my sign, and waited for the doors to open. When they did, Josh and his girlfriend opted for a pair of seats. I, however, snagged a spot on the front rail, just to the Trey side of Mike. It was the first show I’d ever seen from the rail, by Phish or any other band, which only added to my pre-show excitement. There were still several hours to kill, so I got to talking with other fans around me. No one I spoke to had seen more than a handful of Phish shows, and none had heard “Brother” before, either live or on tape. So I told them a bit about the song: how quirky it was and how cool it would be if the band actually played it. I even sang a verse of the song, so that my new friends would recognize it if the band did actually bust it out. Not everyone was convinced of the song’s merits; but a half-dozen or so were sufficiently intrigued (or just looking for a way to pass the time) that they decided to join in. I gave them paper and art supplies, and we all made signs for “Brother."

I’ve always been an introvert, much more comfortable behind a keyboard (or a book) or with a few close friends (or a cat) than interacting with a group of strangers. Even thirty years later, I’m still not especially gung-ho about meeting new people. But the sign-making materials I had brought along had the unexpected effect of helping me break the ice and form friendships with the other folks around me on the rail. Thus, when I recall why I love the Binghamton show so much, it’s not just the tremendous music, though obviously that plays a big part, but also because Binghamton is the show where I felt the closest sense of camaraderie and esprit de corps with my Brotherhood of fellow fans. The weather we had to negotiate in traveling to the show felt like an ordeal we had overcome and added an even greater aura of portent and anticipation to the pre-show festivities: a powerful, unmistakable, collective premonition that something unforgettable was about to happen. So I was already feeling amped up when the band finally took the stage.

I won’t say much about the individual song performances. If you’re reading this, you’ve probably listened to this show dozens if not hundreds of times, so you don’t need me to report the setlist. I was amused, however, to hear "Suzy" as the opener, as my previous show (12/1/95) had encored with the same song. And I was even more tickled to get my first performances of “Horn” and “Tela." The highlight of the first set for me, however, is the excellent performance of “Foam,” with Page’s performance especially outstanding. And I still laugh at Trey waking up at 1:11 and sharing a joint with Muammar Gaddafi during the band’s performance of “Makisupa,” exemplifying the random goofiness that was still an essential part of the band’s identity, even as they moved in the mid-90s toward longer and more exploratory improvisation. More than anything, however, was the immediacy of being right up front, bathed in the lights and the energy, without a thought in my head but feeling totally at one with the moment. I’m not sure the rail at a Phish show is something I have the knees for anymore, but it sure was a thrill when I was 18.

When the band came out after the setbreak, my new friends and I waved our signs and gave another big cheer for “Brother." Page looked at us, looked at the signs, looked at us again, and gave the universal wavy dead bird hand signal for, “guys, maybe not . . . ” It would turn out to be the final time in the set we’d get a chance to request “Brother” because, maintaining good concert etiquette, we were only waving the signs after the music stopped between songs; and in the second set, as you know, the music never stopped!

I’ve seen some pretty great sets of Phish over the intervening thirty years. Nothing, however, has yet surpassed for me the second set from Binghamton. The jam from “Timber” back into “Tweezer” is just awesome. But do I like it better than the jam out of “Halley’s”? Who can say? (Incidentally, the real Halley’s Comet appears every 76 years. But between 6/24/95 and 11/22/97 -- about 2 and a half years -- the band played “Halley’s Comet” 8 times, and I was lucky enough to catch 7 of them. A Halley’s sighting was almost always the sign of a great show.)

My favorite tape -- then as now -- was the second set from Bomb Factory (5/7/94), with its 67 minute “ Tweezerfest.” One thing I love about that set is the way it inverts the normal relationship between a song and its jam. Ordinarily, the band plays the composed part of a song, then they jam for a while around the song’s chord structure, then maybe they stray from the original structure into “Type II” jamming, finishing either by coming back to the song or segueing into something else. But in Bomb Factory and Binghamton’s second sets, I feel it’s the jam itself, rather than any song, that comprises the primary unit of music, and in the midst of exploring this open ocean of glorious jamming, the band occasionally encounters these little islands of songs. The “NICU” from this set is a perfect example: it pokes its head out of the jam just long enough to wave hello, impress with a dose of familiar awesomeness, before being subsumed back into the roiling sea of improvisation. It gives the set a sense of fluency and unity that makes it so much more than the sum of its (admittedly excellent) parts. Eventually, the set reaches its apotheosis with a stunning performance of “Slave” that was my favorite version at the time and probably still is.

By the time the band crested “Slave”’s final peak, my mind was obliterated. I felt as transcendent and awe-struck as I’ve ever felt at a Phish show. Obviously, I felt overjoyed; but mere joy doesn’t convey the immensity of the experience. It was more a sense of shellshock, as in, “holy Icculus, what the heck just happened? Who was that masked band?” So when my new pal on my right asked, “hey, do you think should we hold up the 'Brother' signs again?” there was a brief moment where I had forgotten what he was referring to. And in fairness, after that universe-realigning second set, the band could have come out and played nothing but “Tweezer Reprise” or “Bouncing”, or even just a short a cappella song, and all would still have been perfect with the world. But sure, I thought, what the heck, let’s make one more big push for “Brother” for “old times’ sake” -- for the show really had felt like an entire lifetime by this point, and the folks around me who had been strangers at the evening’s beginning now felt like old friends.

So when the band came out again, and Trey picked up his guitar and gestured toward our section of the audience with our “Brother” signs held aloft, and prefaced the encore with, “Sending this one out to you, the guy over here, the person that was holding up that sign before,” well, it felt like the most insane possible dream had been realized. I started bouncing up and down -- less like the “newborn elf” from “Guyute” than perhaps a maniacal, deranged elf dropped into a pile of lit fireworks. The other members of our “Brother” Brotherhood were also shouting and cheering: iI was amazing! We couldn’t believe it!! It was actually happening!!!!

Well, okay, maybe not. Trey met my eyes to interject a dose of reality: “It’s not you. Sorry, man. You’ve got to bring a sign, but you’ve also got to bring a sign for a song we want to play.” Years later, a Japanese animator would capture the precise look on my face. The next second seemed to last forever as I processed this new reality. But honestly, I wasn’t disappointed. How could I be? The entire evening had been so impossibly amazing, so far beyond even my highest expectations -- even Trey talking to me from the stage seemed surreal. At the same time, though, I couldn’t help thinking, “wow, what could possibly have beaten “Brother”?” And I won’t deny it, I did brace myself just a little bit for “Bouncing” . . . So when Page ripped into “ANGER, he smiles towering . . . ,“ I just had to laugh.

Ever since 12/28/94, I had been praying for a “Bold as Love” encore at every show; and now, at the one show where I was actually hoping for something else, they played it. I’m not sure whether there’s a lesson in that; but I do know this version of “Bold as Love” brings the heat. I let it wash over me with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. And I fully admit, “Brother” could never have been half as good as this gorgeous, epic version of “Bold as Love." It’s absolutely the most perfect ending to what is still, after thirty years, my most perfect show.

Epilogue: Phish did finally bust out “Brother” the following year, on 8/17/96 at The Clifford Ball, but I wasn’t there to see it. I had traveled to Red Rocks for the band’s 4-night stand earlier that month, then joined my family on a camping trip through Wyoming and Montana that occupied the next couple of weeks. The band played “Brother” another four times in Fall of 1996 and has continued playing it sporadically ever since. I’ve still never seen it live, however, several times missing it by a single show. But the “Brother” signs weren’t in vain. A couple of weeks later, wandering through Madison Square Garden after the band’s epic New Year’s Eve show, I heard someone call my name. It was one of my friends from the Binghamton Brotherhood! He had an after-show pass he couldn’t use, which he generously gave me. As a result, I got to go “backstage” for the first time, meet Mike, congratulate him on the show and on the new year, and receive his autograph on my ticket stub. Especially for a shy 18-year-old, this was the most miraculous conclusion imaginable to my most-favorite year of Phish.

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