After too much COVID time spent vagankling, I was contorted into an awkward clamp. My left hand had no freakin’ idea what to do about the right. So when my favorite band decided to play my favorite indoor venue in the month of April, I was primed to whine. After all, it had been a mere 29 years since I saw them in the month of April. Please.

Things got off to a hohum start with an epic Carini jam. Yawn. So predictable! This transitioned into an old song, Possum. Why they didn’t choose to do any new material or GOTF songs is beyond me. Come on, Ohish. Play MY song choices, not yours.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what they played or how they played it. Trey didn’t consult me or my friends on how to craft the perfect return. We know the Rescue Squad, FFS. They’re just waiting to be called.

I was so irritated with the whole thing that I slept on a Bowery stoop not too far from the Manhattan Bridge when it was rattling to life with morning traffic. No one seems to set their clocks around my needs. Geeze, thanks for nothing, Phish.

See you at the next one