Phish Plays Rescheduled New Year’s Eve Concert At Madison Square Garden: Setlist, Recap & The Skinny

Almost 39 years. Over 1,700 shows. All across North America. Europe. Bonnaroo. The Great Went. Nectars. Dick’s. Red Rocks. The Gorge. Big Cypress. Deer Creek. Walnut Creek. All the creeks, valleys, cornfields and concrete jungles. And let us not forget the “World’s Most Famous Arena,” Madison Square Garden, where Phish performed their 67th concert on Friday for a rescheduled New Year’s Eve show, as the venue hosted more of the band’s performances than any other room.

With such an extensive track record, it’s no easy road. The potential for struggle in strife, though unseen, it drifts around, catching creators’ breaths and knocking them down. The Frankensteinian “Force Majeure” clause in a professional performance’s contract essentially states that Mother Nature does what she wants. And because of that, shows get:

1. Delayed: Alpharetta 2011 — Barraged by water in the sky, featuring a first set “Mound” closer and a second set “Mound” opener.
2. Postponed: Toronto 2013 — On the wind and underwater.
3. Relocated: Mountain View 2021 — El Fuego kept the train rollin’ and rollin’ from Tahoe to Shoreline.
4. Downright Canceled: Curveball 2018 — you got me back thinking that you’re the worst one. I must enquire, Watkins Glen, after 2018, can we still come back and have Phish-y fun?

Buses break down. Venues flood. Drummers get waylaid in the bear-beset Colorado wilderness. Sometimes Santana is around to save the day [1996, in the land of Italian spaghetti]. Other times, one has to call the “Rescue Squad” to return a certain red-clad clone and his a Koa-crafted axe from the bottom, from the top of The Garden. [Incidentally, that very same axe was axed by an au courant apparatus, aptly introduced as, “The 4.0 Guitar.”]

Two months after Phish’s chief songwriter, singer and guitarist Trey Anastasio was met with only-ness, aided and abetted by a seemingly faulty plan, a Force Majeure of millennial magnitude shook this soul planet of ours to the core. In a span of [+/-] 46 days amidst the first and second quarter of 2020, we lost hockey, baseball, football and the term “March Madness” took on all new meaning. Plus, a year after New Orleans Jazz Fest celebrated its 50th anniversary, the 2020 installment was canceled. The same applied to SXSW, Coachella, Bonnaroo, LEAF and many other events. Tours were dropping like bugs as the entertainment industry drifted away to a tranquil and motionless sleep.

Humankind moved through stormy weather, knowing our days could be few. But we dreamed and we struggled together, and our love for Rutherford, McGrupp, Izabella and Esther, well, it carried us through, at least until the rescheduled tour dates were reshuffled and confirmed last year. The legions of “Lizards” that had spent their formative years chasing Anastasio, Mike Gordon [the bombardier of bass], Jon Fishman [the donut-clad drum machine], and Mr. Page McConnell [the Chairman of the Keyboards] were ready to take care of their shoes –- dancing shoes. Traveling shoes. Fifth Avenue boutique shoes. Sparkling white Crocs, adorned with aquatic charms. Pedicure sandals. 4.20-inch stilettos, adorned with pink-frosted breakfast deserts. All the shoes. And on July 28, 2021, in Super Walmart on the Arkansas/Missouri border, Phish enthusiastically declared that they’d never needed us like that before. They got the show on the road –- the bears and clowns and noise –- offering a vast reward each time they safely crossed another date off the 35-date 2021 Summer and Fall Tours.

But it wasn’t long before live music — and sports and schools and dining out — was down with disease once more. The only solace? We could feel good, good about the “Hood” with which our Sci-Fi Soldiers encored in Sin City. We watched helplessly as our next opportunity to get more down was getting less and less likely. Omicron was expanding exponentially, like some reclusive [but seemingly] weaker virus, and the last two weeks of December 2021 felt sickeningly familiar.

Once the powers that be made the decision to get more [locked] down, Phish pushed the annual four-night Big Apple bacchanal into 2022. But time was only part of the equation — there was both a caveat and a twist. The caveat: Madison Square Garden is home to more than just the thousands of weekend wooks that worshipped at the Altar of Icculus. The New York Knicks could perceivably find a groove, and run at the NBA Playoffs would supersede the holiday shows. Lifelong Knicks fans were turning on their team, creating social media accounts to track the chances of their first postseason run in almost a decade.

And now for that twist: the proposed run was scheduled to launch on April 20th. 4/20 has long been associated with the recreational consumption of Tetrahydrocannabinol, and wouldn’t you know it, the great state of New York had just become the most recent state to legalize. Sweet serendipity. Long story long, the Knicks fell short [because Phish always wins], and therefore … Party Time.

Circling back around to the original premise, when a regular show is postponed, one could safely assume that the only thing that would change is the date. However, New Years Eve is not a regular show. What fans were promised: three sets on the third night, a.k.a. “Fake New Years.” Everything else was shrouded in mystery, because … well, after almost four decades of pranks ranging from Tom Hanks with a volleyball to John Popper with a trampoline. Vets discovered years ago to expect the unexpected, and then to expect that they’re wrong.

On the morning of the fabled 4/20, Phans from far and wide deboarded their cars, trucks and buses and were instantly aware of the scents and subtle sounds of THC and NYC. They stood and watched the smoke behind the buildings curl. It was finally time to feel the feeling they forgot. The four-night run kicked off as a clear warm-up for all parties involved. The Garden’s grand 7th Avenue entrance was overrun with a maniacal maze of scaffolding and construction debris. Hard tickets were becoming a thing of the past. Early entry was being retooled in a lottery-esque manner. And of course, COVID still existed, but protocol remained vague. Further, the pentagenarian protagonists to our story had only played four shows since Clueless Wallob, Pat Malone, Paulie Roots and Half-Nelson descended upon the MGM Grand Garden Arena on Halloween six months prior: three nights along the sea and sand South of the Border, and an audience-less outing on the final night of 2021, beamed far and wide from the mysterious Ninth Cube.

So, on Wednesday night, Phish brushed off those dusty strings one more time and delivered a entertaining night of classics [“Reba”], big jams [“Down With Disease”] and some exciting potential for “Leaves” and “The Howling,” two relative “noobs” to the setlist rotation, having debuted in 2017 and 2021, respectively. Thursday night, however, was a llama of a different color. The late-night, post-show dissections netted top-tier results. Jams that were both girthy and carrying substance appeared in the second set [“Chalk Dust” > “Tweezer” > “2001” > “Maze,” “Harry Hood”] as well as the first [“Wolfman’s Brother,” “Ghost”]. Age-old semi-rarities “Esther,” “The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday” [replete with the kosher “Avenu Malkenu” meat to that particular jamwich] and “The Mango Song” brought tears of both joy for the present and longing for the past.

Day three arrived practically pulsating with love and light. After all, there was plenty to celebrate. The end of another work week, stragglers finally got to town and the weather was the nicest it would be all week. Fans hit the streets en masse, dining on pizza, pierogies, bagels and lox. Faces as familiar as the four to appear that evening showed up at the usual haunts. After all, there were holidays to be celebrated: 4/20 lasts all week! And it’s “Fake New Years Eve!” And on top of all that, Earth Day 2022 fell on the very same day and that turned out to be a more important note that originally assumed.

As soon as the doors opened and the word got out that there were no mega-bags of balloons by the billions attached to the circular ceiling, expectations were adjusted accordingly. No balloons? Fine. And perhaps it means that there would be no “Auld Lang Syne,” no prank, just a show that happened to be 50% longer than usual. And more is definitely good. And while there were plenty of folks dressed in the exact same outfit they’d picked out for New Years Eve, others dressed for a regular show. Despite the shift, however, the energy of the crowd was palpable.

Lights went down for the first of three times, and a lead-off “Everything’s Right” manifested a continued energy shift towards the positive. Hold tight! It’s time to officially leave the forced second hiatus in the dirt. It’s New Year’s Eve! Long live Phish 4.0! The opener shifted modes a few time before immediately finding a bliss jam that would normally be found in the second set. Heavy guitar distortion overtook McConnell’s bright and bouncy bubbles of synthesized sound, and in the distance, an audial asteroid was headed right for 34th & 7th Avenue. It’s so stupendous when “Tube” lands in the #2 spot, especially one with an old-school swamp funk groove from the rhythm section and a hip little series of licks from Trey that was reminiscent of the James Brown motifs of the previous night’s “2001.” One of the most commonly played Mike songs, “555” had an extended bass solo to kick it off. “Back On The Train” blew out of the station at full speed, finding the first big peak of the evening.

Full-bodied major piano chords and an extra-bendy classic rock guitar riff welcomed The Chairman’s 2.0 ballad, “Army Of One,” to the setlist. Played only once or twice a year, “Army Of One” prompted declarations like “Oh! I forgot this one! I love this tune!” Then, “Axilla” roared out of the gate, firing on all cylinders, and after the couple bars, the lyrics revealed the tune to actually be the less common “Part 2,” featuring a slog through a shady grove of gritty guitar and spooky banter. Trey mumbled to LD Chris Kuroda to shine a light elsewhere, while Mike yodeled atop Page’s Moog madness.

“Bathtub Gin” kicked off with an extra enthusiastic Gershwin impression for Page, while Trey scratched his strings in anticipation for the jam to come. After a quick left turn from Type I to Type II, four bars of start-stop jamming that elicited a “Woo” or two, before finding a chicken-scratch country rock groove. Chris Kuroda pierced the palace with intersection acute angles of light, turning the sequin-clad revelers on the floor into infinite disco balls and then switched to underwater exploration of a robotic nature, and finally combining the two styles for the climax. “Gin” faded into glistening stardust, Trey’s chunky chords emerged from the black whole, and The Garden filled with the smell of space. “Say It To Me S.A.N.T.O.S.” reminds us to always remember where we were: a few blocks west of the Empire State Building and hovering over Penn Station in a spaceship of gold. Time to have a cup of water and catch your breath.

Read on after The Skinny for the rest of the recap and more.

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After an unusually rapid “15 minutes,” the weekend’s first installation of the “Soul Suite” kicked off the second inning. “Set Your Soul Free” debuted in 3.0, decades after the blues cover of “My Soul,” and just a couple years after the band played “Soul Planet” for the very first time, riding the ocean of love in a pirate ship fit for a king. And it turned, some of that ocean magic never left. “SYSF” took some breaths in a comfortable pocket for several minutes before finding an urgent, ghostly groove w/ perhaps unintended hints of “Waves.” After some teasing tension-and-release, a sequined peak washed the arena floor with colorful confetti, glitter and glam. And the “Light” was growing brighter. The early 3.0 jam vehicle found all sorts of space, and the light grew even brighter. Kuroda’s polyhedral musings rolled along Fishman’s time-tested tread of toms … and the light grew even BRIGHTER! So bright, in fact, that the stage nearly burst into flames. This “Fuego” was smokin’, Fish’s jungle beats shot psychedelic shrapnel to every corner of the round room.

“What’s The Use?” arose like a Phoenix from Diego’s ashes, and the pianissimo pause was almost pin-drop perfect. Trey took an opportunity to wish his daughter, Bella, a happy birthday, while lyricist & B.F.F. Tom Marshall looked on. Another solid — if not slightly short — set in the books.

It didn’t take long before folks starting noticing the activity on stage. Each of the four musicians rigs were broken down and then rebuilt in a smaller and more compact configuration. What was all that room for? Horns? Rescue strings?

<looks around for rusty milk trucks & Mini Coopers>

Broadway dancers?

<checks Rosetta Stone App for “Meatstick” in Hebrew>

The Twyla Tharpe Dance Troupe, perhaps? Weren’t we promised that once upon a time?

Light went down for the final time before “the new year,” and smoke filled the cavernous chapel of Midtown Manhattan. Moments after the bold opening chords of “Free” rang out, the stage slowly began to rise! The band is actually floating in the blimp a lot!

<looks around urgently for the “Rescue Squad,” just in case>

One of Trey’s lockdown compositions, “A Wave Of Hope,” continued the set along the positive vibe “Free” tends to set.

<and the light is growing brighter now>

…on the wind & underwater, the Ocean of Love that ebbed and flowed only a handful of years prior rushed back in, carrying heavy shapes in the distance. Whale calls emitted from Trey’s rig, but they seemed the be coming from elsewhere as well. The venue continued to fill with mist and oceanic blue light … and then the sea life showed up.

Midnight came and went, devoid of any pomp or circumstance, which was fine due to the five or six dolphins frolicking about Kuroda’s rig. A gorgeous grey whale followed, and a milieu of CK5’s photon torpedoes and indescribable sheets of geometric neon rain brought the “Waves” back to shore. “Sand” would have hit stormy seas, if not for light and the guidance of the playful ocean creatures.

Fishman hit the drum break to kick off “Split Open And Melt.” The audience breathed deep, in a steam — and bubble and sequin — dream, plunging below the water line. Down went the lights, and grinding static gave way to the screaming calls of aging undersea robots and the plateau upon which the band perched began to crumble in a cacophony of shattered tundra. Cold, wet and dark, the Ocean of Love continued to pulsate with positivity, as the whale looked on.

The band left the stage for an almost unnoticeable encore break while a late spring thunderstorm froze solid and thrust the band’s perch back up towards the sky like a towering iceberg, rumbling like Mike’s ministrations at the beginning of “Down With Disease.” But as that too had passed the night before, Mother Earth’s elemental celebration concluded with a frisky, frosty, “It’s Ice.” The standard take on the frozen classic, ended with a bang of pink, blue and white confetti. Frosty cheers of joy surfed along the waves of bubbling mist and the light was growing brighter … but that just meant it was time to rest up.

Lay down and take your rest, little Phishes. One more sail on the sea of love to go.

Phish wraps their run at Madison Square Garden with a fourth and final concert tonight. Webcasts are available for purchase via LivePhish.com.

Watch pro-shot video footage of “Waves” and “Sand” along with fan-shot footage from last night’s third set below:

Phish From The Road Photos

https://www.instagram.com/p/CcrL9DaOKFX/ https://www.instagram.com/p/CcrPAVIue7h/

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