5-24-02, Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, San Francisco, CA

Date: Sun, 26 May 2002 00:27:39 -0700
From: JC McIlwaine [email protected]
Subject: SHOW REVIEW SUBMISSION: TREY IN SF, 5.24.02


    The Trey Anastasio Band show at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium on
Friday, May 24th was magical.  I say this because the night played out as if
Providence was tossing silver coins left and right all night long.
    I got to the Civic just as Papa Pretty was welcoming Michael Franti and
Spearhead onstage.  Spearhead, as always, played a great set, complete with
rockers like �Rock the Nation� and more thoughtful pieces like �Bomb the
World�.  They ended their set with the song �Sometimes�, with a little help
on guitar and vocals from Trey.  The whole crowd was hopping and getting
down low.  It was quite a sight.
    Trey and his band opened the first set with �Money, Love, and Change�.
After setting up the song with a couple of verses and choruses the band
launched headlong into the first jam of the night, a rocking funk jam.  Trey
bobbed typically from side to side.  You could tell he knew it was a hot
jam, as he surveyed the crowd with a smile and licked his fingers as if to
cool them off.  Hot!
    The second song of the set was �Burlap Sack and Pumps�, during which
Trey played a screechy note on guitar that must have lasted close to thirty
seconds, and was met with cheers from the crowd when it ended.  I think it
takes a Phishy crowd to appreciate such screeches.  Next up was
�Mozambique�, a little Latin number with high school marching band horn
riffs.  At one point Trey put down his guitar to dance to Dave Grippo�s
saxophone solo.  I smiled, remembering the days when my friends had music
lessons with Mr. Grippo at my high school back in Vermont.
    Still smiling and looking around, I noticed a man I know from a few
years back, Gray.  He was standing there in the same old spot he�s always
in, aswarm in a sea of itty-bitty pretty bitties, surveying the scene from
underneath his fedora.  I said hello but I really don�t think he remembered
me.  If he did, then I�m just not female enough or pretty enough to
captivate his attention.
    Anyway, the band played a slow intro. into �Flock of Words�, a song I
found to be rather painful on the ears.
The band played �Last Tube� to end the first set.  As prophesied, the �Last�
became first (or, at least the end of the first).  The song was funkier than
I�ve ever heard it, replete with two or three false endings, each time but
the last leading back into the funk.
    We headed outside into the sea of smokers, where one of the security
guards was nice enough to pull out the barriers so we could stand more than
an inch apart and smoke without burning each other.  There we met a guy from
Sebastipol, who told us he�s lived with a girl named Cinnamon, a guy named
Sunshine, and people �named after every rock you could think of�.  As I
looked around, my gaze settled on the clich� image of the American flag
flapping in the breeze against the background of fog encroaching upon the
golden dome of City Hall.  Typical.
Heading back inside from the sea of smokers we met a girl who called herself
Bikini Top Tina, and commented that: �Smoking is so f**king toxic.  Just go
do some coke or something�.  Then, realizing that coke may not be the best
either, she said: �There�s just a time and a place for everything�.  She
wore no bikini top.
    The music started and we rushed into the room, this time heading for the
left side of the auditorium (stage right), where all the freaky and fun
dancers congregate.  Even without McConnell around, Page-side is still
better.
    The second set opened with �Small Axe� with a little help from Michael
Franti of Spearhead on vocals.  It was the first and last song of the night
with any real revolutionary content or sentiment.  It was great.
The next song wasn�t so great.  It was a weird tune with bells and sitar and
weird horns and even weirder vocal grunts and mumbles.  Then the flute came
out and the song got a little better.
    Picking up the tempo a bit, the band launched into Mr. Completely,
replete with great guitar riffs and some of the funkiest organ of the night.
It was on.  Trey was pumped and you could tell.  It was almost as if he was
masterguitarbating.  He had the face of an angry Ninja bunny, nose all
scrunched up, eyes squinting, just laying it down in true badass form.  It
was as if he knew just how hard he was smacking it down.
    And he�s not the only one.  If you�ve seen this incarnation of the band,
you know how tight and together they are.  Finally Trey has his own gig, his
own band to orchestrate.  There is the robot drummer, the rocksteady
bassist, the keyboardist, five horn players (one of whom is the only female
in the band): one trumpet, one trombone, and three saxophones (and an
occasional flute substitute) to round out the full horn section.  (Trey
finally does have a saxophone.  Now for the skyscraper.)  Rounding out the
ensemble is the newly added percussionist who, with his slew of rhythmic
devices, keeps the sound fresh all night long.  Did I mention the flute?
I�ve never heard a flute solo at a Phish show.  Rock on.  Right on.
Righteous. 
    The orchestration is really quite incredible.  The band responds to the
smallest hand signals from Trey.  He stands with his back to the crowd,
rippling his fingers like colors in a fractal pattern, the band members
responding to his every little nuance of hand motion.  After doing this for
a little while on Friday night, Trey picked up a stick and was conducting
with that.  He turned to the crowd, musical triangle in hand, and let out a
perfectly timed, delightful �ting�.  With a huge grin, he turned back to the
band and continued.  Trey these days seems a good heir to the Zappa
�throne�, if you know what I mean.
    Next the band started into an acoustic ditty.  Looking around again, I
spied Gray standing nearby, surrounded by his ever-shifting sea of
itty-bitty pretty bitties.  As I looked up from my and paper, having
recorded the synchronous oddity, I found him standing right there next to
me.  I almost fell over from shock.  Not really wanting to try in vain again
to initiate conversation, I closed my eyes, clasped my hands, and bobbed my
head to the melody.  Suddenly the band sang an awful note and I felt a
whoosh of cold air.  I opened my eyes just as Glenn passed by me, headed
toward the exit.  It was somewhat freaky.  I�m glad to have the whole
experience over and done with.  The same can be said for the acoustic tune
the band was just then ending.  It was a pretty song but the lyrics were
atrocious.  A note to up and coming songwriters: never use �discern� to
rhyme with �learn� unless your intention is to provoke grimaces and
chuckles.  
    Trey and the band then launched into a great reggae song, which more
than made up for the previous tune.  Next came �Push On Til the Day� and �At
the Gazebo�.  At this point I ran out of paper, took off my shoes, stopped
taking notes, and started dancing.  I figured the set had been so good so
far, and that it probably wasn�t going to get much better.
I was wrong.  It did.  As the night came full circle, Trey and his band
encored with �First Tube�, one of few Phish staples to make it into this
band�s repertoire.  In fitting manner, the �First� became last.
    All in all it was a fabulous night for all.  Myself, well, I couldn�t
have come away happier.  I got a free ticket, got to thank Trey and shake
his hand, put the boogie back in J. Boogie, saw friends I haven�t seen in
year(s), ground-scored forty bucks on the way out the door, and walked to
the car a happy man, �phatty� veggie burrito in hand.



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