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Yeah. I went to a Phish show last night, and yeah, I crushed it. See, I had some reservations about going. While I wasn’t all that sold on going to a mid-week jam band concert in the middle of a 100-degree Texas summer, Buzzed Will committed to going two weeks ago and had no choice but to respect his commitment and go. I don’t think I’ve been to a concert sober since my straight-edge punk days, so after work I poured a stiff cocktail and made my way to the venue for some heady jams and tasty beats.
Upon arriving at the venue, I was simultaneously occupied with people watching and trying to make sure I wasn’t sweating through my shirt. And while I failed at one of those things, the people watching really enlightened me to the crowd that Phish commands.
The People That Brought Their Kids
Somehow these people can afford Phish tickets and $10 Bud Lights, but they can’t afford babysitters for their 10-year-old who should definitely not be at a Phish show on a Tuesday night getting contact high during the second set. I mean, hell, even I shouldn’t be at a Phish show on a Tuesday night.
The Girls Who Are Trying Way Too Hard
You know, the girls who work those 9-to-5 generic marketing jobs that break out their hemp rompers and flower crowns once a year for a trendy concert and/or Lollapalooza. They Instagram the hell out of their night with captions like “#standard” when, in reality, nothing about their forced wardrobe or current situation is standard in any sense of the word. Once the concert gets a few songs in and realize they don’t recognize any of the songs, they get restless and bitch to their boyfriend, Todd, about wanting to go home before getting hammered on the overpriced wine served side stage.
The Dude Wearing Oakleys And A Homemade Phish Shirt
This is the dude who you’ll typically see saying, “Never miss a Sunday show” and tells everyone about the time he went to San Francisco purely to visit Haight Ashbury and “see where it all happened, man.” He’s got so much of a tan that you wonder whether he works construction, goes to the beach a lot, or is just straight up homeless. He’s got a bucket hat folded up and sticking out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts whose pockets are full of really shitty weed and a pint of Old Crow that he snuck in so he wouldn’t get gouged on liquor prices like I did.
The Phish Heads
No one knows how they do it, but they somehow manage to travel state to state to see every Phish show on the summer tour. Most likely living on their parent’s tabs, these trustafarians are quick to draw in telling you how much they “looooooove Phish, man.” And that’s not an insincere statement at all, but one has to wonder what happens when they’re in a job interview and they have to explain why there’s a four month gap between jobs every summer over the last eight years.
When you’re walking out, all you hear is them complaining about this show didn’t compare to Madison Square Garden in 1995, even though they were 8 years old at the time.
The People Who Have No Idea Where They Are
Everyone is looking at these people trying to figure out whether they came to the show without shoes, or somehow lost their shoes at the show. Their feet, caked in dirt, look like they’ve seen as much ground as Forrest Gump’s and have calloused over more than a 90-year-old welder’s hands. You’re not sure whether they know this is a Phish concert, or are just still lingering around the venue days later after attending a Widespread Panic concert where they also had no clue where they were. Their brains are so glazed over and fried with Molly, LSD, and acid that you have to wonder whether they even care about being a degenerate at this point, or whether you’re jealous of them because they legitimately have zero cares in the world. That is, until you realize their dreadlocks are more of a product of their lifestyle rather than an intentional stylistic choice, at which point you try to act like they’re not dancing too close to you because it gives you the willies.
The Token Southern Dude
“Bro, should I wear these sun-faded Columbia PFG shorts with my Masters polo or do I go with these 4” inseam khaki shorts that I got in Charleston? I was scrolling Twitter earlier and this new apparel brand I follow — Southern South — said that wearing Costas and croakies to a concert despite it being completely dark out is totally legit. Also, which pair of Chacos are y’all wearing? I don’t want to match.”
The Dude Who Has No Business Going To Concerts On Tuesdays But Instagrammed It Anyway
Never miss a Tuesday show, man. .