It was 2004 and until I walked into the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas I was not a Phish fan. Where I grew up their name was synonymous with The Grateful Dead and the mention always ended up as the butt of a joke having something to do with dirty hippies and/or patchouli.  It wasn’t for me. My music was different. I listened to rap, funk, psycho-billy, grunge, industrial or whatever I could crank up loud and get crazy to. I needed a visceral connection driven by hard-charging rhythms and chest thumping beats. In 2004 I was 2 years out of college, living with the woman of my dreams and as life’s usual irony would have it, she’s was a Phish fan.

When we were first dating her interest in Phish was simply a curiosity I just didn’t understand. She knew I didn’t think much of Phish and I knew she didn’t dig what I was into. We figured we were even. Then one day she came home excited and declared we were going to see Phish. Not just one show either. It was going to be 3 shows over an entire weekend. I remember thinking this must be some sort of karmic revenge.

Anyway, I learned something during that Vegas Weekend 2004. I learned that all those bad jokes, clichés and assumptions I held were all baseless and ignorant. I didn’t know anything about them so I took the easy route and believed the hate words of others. So when I walked into that joint I figured that I’d have to endure the show. In my head I was the dutiful boyfriend accompanying his better half to an unavoidable event.

For me the true test of any band is whether or not they can perform well live. There is nothing like listening to good musicians play live. A great album is good but a good concert is great, if you catch my drift. During that first night I quickly realized Phish shows weren’t the glorified drum circle I had imagined. The music didn’t simply speed up and slow down or become louder and then softer while jamming like some kind of formulaic monotony. To the contrary, the music seemed to take on a life of its own. It sounds ridiculous but I swear it seemed like the music flowed right through those fellas like they were a musical conduit instead of a group of entertainers grinding out songs for the enjoyment of their followers. My respect for the band as musicians grew almost instantaneously.

Since then every Phish show I’ve attended I’ve noticed that people get swept up into something I can’t put into words. It’s not simple intoxication like cliché would dictate. It’s more profound than dropping acid or hot-boxing a joint in the hope that you’ll reach some kind of enlightenment (which never comes). Whatever it is at some point the music, lighting and undulating crowd seem to connect on plane no combination of booze and drugs can equal. The closest comparison to this I’ve personally seen would be in a religious context, like a church. Swaying congregants reach high into the air, eyes closed, heads tilted back as if they have attained a state of spiritual ecstasy. The situations may be completely different but the intense emotional connection between the band and the crowd seem the same.

I don’t own any Phish albums and probably never will. I don’t know all the words to any of the songs and I don’t know the significance of the on-stage antics that only true Phish fans know. I do, however, enjoy the shows. I enjoy the music. I enjoy that feeling of being free of worldly hassles if only for a few hours and I enjoy the sense of belonging no matter what.

Most importantly, I love that my wife loves it. When we go to one of these shows I see a side of her that I don’t see at any other time. It’s a personal happiness from within that I can’t provide. So as long as Phish tours and as long as the wife’s down to go, you’ll find me there.