[We would like to thank Michael Ayers for recapping last night’s show. -Ed.]

Reviewing a Phish show is a bit like trying to rate dreams—some nights you wake up inspired, others leave you squinting into the haze wondering what just happened. The line between transcendent and “just fine” can be razor thin, and sometimes you’re handed a setlist that feels like a spiritual test more than a musical journey.

But last night? Last night, the clouds parted, the heavens opened, and God—clearly a fan of tightly wound jams and whimsical segues—shined down upon me and said, “You, my child, shall have the show.” And lo, I did.

Before the show even began, my friend and I found ourselves deep in conversation with the couple seated in front of us—bonding over one of life’s great mysteries: an odd vegetable that came with my friend’s meal from the food truck parked outside. Nobody was entirely sure what it was, but the woman guessed it might be a radish. Turns out, she nailed it—it was a Daigo, a bright yellow pickled radish. My friend insisted I include this moment in case she happens to read this… because credit where credit’s due: she called it.

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