'Hoist', 20 years later

Last year was the 20th anniversary of Phish's album 'Rift', a highly regarded masterpiece in the band's canon, and the Phish blogosphere and Twitterverse were all abuzz about it.

Last week marked the 20th anniversary of its followup, 'Hoist', and I can not find but one mention of it anywhere.

Even when it was released, it did not get the praise of its predecessor, at least not in the (much smaller) circle of phans. It was too poppy, some said; too slickly produced, said others; trying too hard to be commercial, said many.

Two decades later, many of its songs have been played dozens of times in concert, some hundreds of times, and it is to those performances that we have attached ourselves. Because a few have taken on lives of their own in concert, the album versions have been almost erased from memory.

Consider the following - who hears a huge "Down With Disease" jam these days and is reminded of its release as a (much slower) single? Who can imagine "Scent of a Mule" without the Trey/Page musical duel with the "Russian dance" theme? Does anyone remember that "Wolfman's Brother" used to be in the key of E? What about the long-lost "Part II" lyrics to "Axilla"?

What is fascinating about listening to 'Hoist' today is picking up on the details - the things that would never be recreated live. They made a true studio album, and that is the charm.

There are the front-and-center features, like the horns on "Julius" (not to mention its gospel choir) and "Wolfman's"; the strings  in "Lifeboy"; and the weird ending to "Axilla" ("Don't shine that thing in my face, man").

Listen to "If I Could" and hear studio recording at its finest. It starts as a basic Phish arrangement, but then Allison Krauss shows up for a lovely vocal turn; an acoustic guitar subtly underscores the rhythm as the electric plays the arpeggiated leads; a tamborine shakes with the chorus; and swirling strings swell into a climax that features backing vocals that have long since been abandoned ("Whooaaaaaa, if I could I would!").

Elsewhere, the more closely you listen, the more you are rewarded with sonic delights - the toilet flush in "Julius", the banjo in "Mule", the long pick slides and the stick-hitting-bottle in "Wolfman's".

Side note: If you do not know what the latter refers to, get your hands on a copy of the old VHS tape 'Tracking', which chronicled the making of 'Hoist'. Or just listen for it on the "and" of "two" every other measure. Once you hear it, your ear will never be able to avoid it.

At the end of the album, there is "Demand", a cute little ditty in its own right, with a winding riff that takes up about half of the actual song's two minutes. For the next seven, though, you get caught up in a wild car ride (complete with police chase) with a phan listening to a tape of the era's definitive "Split Open and Melt" jam from 4/21/93, until finally the car crashes (a la Kiss' "Detroit Rock City") and you float into the ether to the a capella harmonies of "Y Rushalayim Shel Zahav".

Phish would never be this theatrical and playful in the studio again. The arrangements would never be this detailed and rich. The next studio album would be a stripped-down, slower affair; followed by a rounder, funkier vibe; a country-tinged rootsy sound; a rough, unpolished collection; a lean, punchy record; and a jubilant, sparkling but mature rocker.

But in late March of 1994, we were treated to a version of Phish that remains singular in its sound - a young band doing the full studio treatment, playing in its sandbox, and throwing in the kitchen sink for the hell of it. Today, it is endlessly re-listenable. Too bad no one even notices.