Sunset Classic five-mile race in Bloomfield

Run enough races in one area and some names and faces will inevitably become familiar.
 
At the Sunset Classic, a five mile race in Bloomfield that has been a fixture on the North Jersey running scene since the early 1980s, I saw my one-time arch nemesis Sergio Cano, who bested me in a series of races in 2010, as well as Maria Danna, who had so handily whipped me at the St. Jude's 15K earlier this month. There were also familiar running clubs - Clifton Road Runners, Garmin Runners, etc.

After the St. Jude's race, without any set marathon plans yet, I signed up for the Sunset because I always need something on my race schedule.

During the two weeks of intense training aimed at beating my PR of 30:24 from the 2010 Ho Ha Classic in Hoboken, I finished each workout with only the slightest bit of confidence that the 6:03 pace goal would happen.

It seems so long ago that I had first run this race in 2009 but I remembered one very important thing - at the left turn on Sunset Avenue, just after the first mile mark, there is a huge hill.

Gliding along with little effort, I was astonished to see the clock at 5:44 when I passed the first mile mark. I passed Maria and bounded up the hill figuring I would lose much of the gained time. Surprisingly, after turning left on Forest Avenue with some more uphill work, I hit the second mile with a 5:48.  I deliberately slowed to what felt like a crawl despite the cheers of the spectators and Maria passing me. It felt unnatural to slow down that much, but this was not a 5K - I was barely halfway done so I had to conserve some energy.

Run the race for which you trained, I kept telling myself. That meant a 6:03 pace, and it meant giving back those 34 seconds. Instead of using the downhill to gain ground, I relaxed around the turns on Osbourne Street and Essex Avenue. With a 6:24 third mile, I was closer to my target time but still ahead by 13 seconds. The math started swirling in my head - a 6:09 for each of the two remaining miles will net me a PR.  Certainly I can do that!

Except I suddenly could not. Was it the humidity, the 83-degree heat, the fact that I had started way too fast? Whatever it was, I was losing steam. Quickly. I pushed hard, but even with the downhill of the turn on Glen Ridge Parkway, I only managed a 6:12 in Mile Four. 

Back on Broad Street with only one mile to go, I had to pull a 6:06 or better.  I was grunting, groaning, and pushing with all my might, but never really feeling like I was accelerating. Downtown, spectators, energy, focus, push.

James Street, JFK Drive, home stretch, Foley Field....

Ah, Foley Field and the track finish.  There is something about finishing a race this way that lends an advantage to those of us that do interval training on tracks.  No matter how spent I felt, once we were on the track for the last 300 meters, my body instinctively kicked into high gear. Running tall with full leg extension, I overtook Maria and saw the clock just hitting 30:00 as I rounded the last turn. Finishing with a 30:11 (and Maria a mere half-second behind me), I had knocked out that last mile in 6:02.

It was exhilirating, but I was hurting, out of breath, light-headed, gasping in the humid air, and just about ready to puke.  I cheered for the next few dozen people coming around the track, and grabbed a water and a soda (no Gatorade?), and a yogurt (no bananas?). There was a barbecue set up with hot dogs - how nice, unless you are a vegetarian. I ate a plain bun while regaining the strength to be a cheerleader for the next few hundred runners, staying on the sidelines to cheer everyone in, right down to the last of the 600-plus participants.

Tenth place overall, second in my age group (though winning the first prize of a $20 gift certificate to the Fleet Feet running store in Montclair, because the first male age 35 to 39 was in the top three overall), and most importantly, a new PR made this another excellent experience. This would be the last race in my 30s. What a way to wrap up my first decade of running - four PRs in as many distances, over the course of three months.  Not to mention my fourth best marathon that had preceded them.

The Sunset Classic is a well-organized and enjoyable event for runners of all skill levels. It is not an easy course but the evening setting, mile clocks, track finish and hundreds of runners and spectators provide a quality experience. The selection of post-race food and drink could be improved, but overall this late-June mainstay in Bloomfield has enough to keep going another 30 years and more.

A confession about "Split Open and Melt"

After seeing much praise heaped upon the "Split Open and Melt" from last weekend's Randall's Island Phish shows, I must make a confession:

I do not really enjoy that song anymore, and haven't in a very long time, certainly not in the 3.0 era.

The jams are always interesting, there is no doubt. Sometimes, they hit on textures that are intense, thick and dark. The soundscapes they create can suck you into their vortex and envelop you. So why do I feel unfulfilled?

I have finally figured it out: It feels like those things do not belong in "Melt". If those same sounds were in, say, a "Sand" jam, I would be singing their praises all day. But every "Melt" feels like a missed opportunity to push for high, peaking jams, not thick, horizontal jams. I do not consider myself one of those old fans that longs for the past, but the 1990's "Melts" did it the way I like it - from the early '90s machine-gun soloing by Trey Anastasio to the all-in funky workouts of 1999. The pinnacle was 7/15/99 and, I dare say, I have not been nearly as moved by the song since that day in Holmdel, 15 years ago.

As a phan who first saw Phish in 1993 but has seen almost as many shows in the past five years than I did in 1.0 and 2.0 combined (I am a total 3.0 booster!), it pains me to say it. But the best days of "Melt" are long gone.

Phish at Randall's Island, July 13

Phish at Randall's Island, July 13

For my last show of the tour, I was determined to do it right, starting with getting there. I went for the simplest approach on Sunday - on foot. It was long run day anyway, and I needed to cover 16 miles.

I made a tentative route plan from Rutherford train station (so I could take the train back home) and used my phone's GPS for specific directions while my Garmin watch kept track of the distance. I hit the 10 mile mark on the George Washington Bridge, so I added a detour into the Bronx to pad it out to 16 miles.

The next step was to find a good spot with room to dance - and other dancers, too. My best memories of dancing at Phish shows involve being around others that are whirling and revelling as I am. I found that spot slightly in front and to the left of the midfield speaker racks on Mike Gordon's side.

The "Sand" opener threw down the gantlet early - it was time to get funky and it was now or never. Suddenly I was dancing like I had not just run 16 miles. On paper, to follow quickly with "Winterqueen" would seem like killing the buzz that only just started, but something about this ballad works so well. When Trey solos, the magical overtones of the lyrics seep into his playing and the notes sound like pretty colors painting a brilliant landscape. The fact that the song lasted roughly the same amount of time as "Sand" should tell you how much faith Phish has in this song to move people.

The rest of the set kept it mostly old school - five songs from the 1980's  - "Reba", with a lovely jam as well; "Possum", thankfully not placed as encore or set-closer; "Runaway Jim", with some excellent dynamics; "Bouncing Around the Room"; and "Split Open and Melt" which was interesting but did nothing to help my continued disappointment with the song - and three more from the 1990's ("Birds of a Feather", a knockout "Maze", and the tour debut of "Water in the Sky"). There was nothing from later than 1998 in the set except "Winterqueen".

The second set was the kind for which I had hoped at my last show of the tour. The opening "Chalk Dust Torture" took the ball from the previous one (only three shows ago) and ran. Just when I thought the Mann "Chalk Dust" would be THE one of the tour, out comes this 28-minute extravaganza that did everything right except not actually end (I have a thing about that). The band was so hooked up, they could not have played bad notes if they tried. And if the lack of a cohesive ending was a problem, well, there is "Light". When a jam is abruptly cut off for a new song, "Light" is usually the best choice to come crashing in (7/10/13 comes to mind). Heck, it is even in the studio version. The band sounds like they are playing "Gone" and then BAM - the clang of B and E chords!

"Light" always delivers a mountain range of peaks and valleys and this was no different. What absolutely slayed the crowd after 40-minute one-two punch of "Chalk > Light", was Phish launching into "Tweezer". After playing the shortest "Tweezer" in four years at the Mann, they gave this one more leg room. I spun around and saw all the other people dancing and going nuts nearby. That moment clinched it - this was exactly what I had hoped for in a great Phish show. So when "Wading in the Velvet Sea" came next, it was no less than wonderful to hear my all-time favorite Phish ballad played so beautifully in the calm glow of the 52 minutes of jammed out perfection that had come before.

The show could have easily ended there. I have seen amazing sets of Phish that came short of the one-hour mark (12/30/94). Instead, "Sing Monica". Not the best placement for the pop-rock tune, with such a changeup in the vibe. But things switched back after that detour with the set-ending "Slave to the Traffic Light", delivering the goods in a blissed-out building jam that squeezed all the emotion possible out of its sweet four-chord progression.

"Backwards Down the Number Line" seemed like an odd encore at first. As usual, it had a shaky start, but Trey Anastasio brought it home to a satisfying conclusion before leveling the place with the power of "Tweezer Reprise".

On the ferry heading back to Manhattan, the amazing feeling that this show was everything I had wanted was mixed with the sadness that I will not be attending any more shows this summer. My mother asked me, "After nine shows, aren't you all Phished out?"

Not a chance. I look forward to hearing the rest of the tour as the recordings become available. I do not want to miss one thing.

Set list:
Set I: Sand, Winterqueen, Reba, Birds of a Feather, Water in the Sky, Possum, Runaway Jim, Bouncing Around the Room, Maze, Split Open and Melt

Set 2: Chalk Dust Torture > Light > Tweezer, Wading in the Velvet Sea, Sing Monica, Slave to the Traffic Light

E: Backwards Down the Number Line > Tweezer Reprise

Phish at Randall's Island, July 12

It was a weird night. And this is a long post, but I have to tell this story.

Trying something different Saturday night, I drove into Manhattan and parked on a street nine blocks away from the ferry landing. Though it took a little while to negotiate the traffic getting there and finding the spot, I figured it would get me home more quickly, so I could get up and do a 16-mile run before last night's show.

I placed myself within the front few rows on Mike Gordon's side, determined to soak up the show, fully immersed in the music. From the predictable opener of "AC/DC Bag" to the out-of-control "Run Like an Antelope" closer, Phish showed again how the first set is not to be dismissed as a warmup.

When "46 Days" came crashing into the second song slot, it seemed it was going to be a balls-out rock set, and though "Free" gave us some more crunch later in the set, Phish's trademark left turns kept things more interesting than that. "My Sweet One", "Sparkle" (back in its usual first set placement), the pop cheerfulness of "Devotion to a Dream", and falsetto backing vocals of "The Line" brought happy vibes throughout the set. Interspersed, though, were some darker moments - the jams in "Free" and "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing", plus the minor-key but optimistic "Halfway to the Moon". "Back on the Train" provided some comedy when a sloppy ending to a great jam led the band (with some audience prompting) to re-do the end twice more (neither time getting it right).

More than a year after its debut, I am still not a fan of "Yarmouth Road", but being uprfront and so close made for a good experience with the song. But that positive up close experience was to be short-lived, for now I present to you a tale of how some audience members can ruin your Phish show...

I staked out my spot early. That is just what you do. If you want to be in the front, you have to be willing to get up there and stay there for hours. No one likes the assholes that decide, when the set starts, to shove their way through the crowd and squeeze into the front, causing (a) less dancing room for all and (b) blocked sight lines for shorter folks.

I encountered two such groups of dipshits. The first was as set one was ending. A group of three dirtbags forced their way in front of me, one so close and with such disregard for personal space that I caught a mouthful of his disgusting hair. He was that close. I understand it is a rock concert and people up front are in close quarters, but to stand literally two inches in front of me, so within the span of seconds I went from seeing a full view of the band to seeing only the back of someone's head, with his hair in my mouth? Come on.

Having inched my way left around hair guy, I started the second set excited about "Punch You in the Eye" when out of nowhere, a huge Cro-Magnon of a man crashed his way, you guessed it, directly in front of me, his elbow connecting solidly with my head. Again, I shifted left, around his petite wife (I swear she was a foot and a half shorter than he) who proceeded to blab in my ear once "Carini" started about how it is her favorite song.

Why was she talking to me and not her husband about this? Clearly, she is the Phish fan and he is the muscle to get her up front for every show. I told her flat out that I did not like that tactic and that they ruined my vibe (I mentioned the elbow, too). She apologized, but really, what good was that? It is not like she apologized and then moved back. It is like stealing somebody's wallet, apologizing, then keeping the money.

But even that girl became my ally when I was faced with a whole new type of wack-job. When I skirted left, I found myself in front of two particularly short folks. I am five feet, 10 inches - average, I would say - and behind me was a girl that was five feet at best. I felt bad that I was now in *her* way, so I asked her if she had an OK sight line. She said she did, but the gentleman next to her, and not much taller, was clearly having an issue. He tried working his way toward me and I was more than happy to let him pass when he encountered two guys in front of us - one older (50s with a short grey beard and bald head save for the male-pattern friar tuck ring) and one younger (shifty looking and gaunt) who stood firmly with both feet on the ground and whom I noticed were watching the show with absolutely no expression. To their left was at least one other guy that seemed to be with them, and in front of them was a huge open space with three girls and two odd-looking guys dancing around in it.

I asked the two creepy guys if they could move a bit so the short guy could get in on some of that dancing room. They did not even turn to look at me. I asked again. This time they turned their heads, almost in unison, as if to say, "I heard you and I am ignoring you."

I asked a third time and the old man said, "No." As I protested, he just kept saying, "No. No. No. No," even as I gently leaned on them to get them to part.

Meanwhile, Cro-Magnon's wife was working on the sketchy younger dude whom she said told her, "Stay away from our girls!" and pushed her back whe she tried to scoot around him. Perhaps he got a little scared that Cro-Mag would hurt him, so he softened a bit and talked with her.

From what he told her and what we could figure out, everyone in the group was related - the three guys formed the wall (perhaps there were even more farther left?) so the rail-thin girls dancing like they were doing ancient pagan rituals and the odd-looking dancing guys with the vacant eyes all could have more room than anyone else near the front. They were either inbred carnie-type weirdos or Manson-family-esque psychopaths. Or both. I tried hard to ignore all that, realizing I had completely missed the "Carini" jam and now "Ghost" was swinging into a full-on freakout jam, peaking and climaxing into waves of bliss.

Which gave me an idea. I would have liked to have taken the sketchball father and son (as we now determined them to be) by the necks and bash their heads together like Moe would do to Larry and Curly, but any physical act would probably get me kicked out and/or arrested. But this *was* a concert and people yell and scream at a concert, so with every peak of Trey Anastasio's guitar, I shrieked the loudest, most shrill scream I could, directly into their ears. They winced a bit, glancing at each other, knowing full well what I was doing. I kept this up through the gloriously climaxing "Wingsuit", singing and yelling and shrieking in their ear canals. But by the time the Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll" was busted out (yes, the one or two token covers each show really feel like bust-outs these days), I had had enough.

It was too much work to be this passive-aggressive and though it was fun at first, it dawned on me that as my energy was focused on irritiating these loony idiots who were ruining my show, I still was not enjoying the show any more than I was before. I started talking with the folks behind me and a dozen others were as fixated on these crazies as I was.

I had to get out of there. I found the shortest people near me (including that previous girl) and helped position them to get the best sight lines as I started working my way back. When they thanked me, it was the first genuinely positive vibe I had felt during the set. I was leaving having done some good.

"Harry Hood" began as I danced my way to the open areas in the rear of the field. The relief of being away from the nonsense must have shown because people were smiling at me as I grooved by. I would pause here and there in an open spot and every time I made eye contact with someone, I felt a shared happiness. I could not believe I had waited so long to get back to where I belonged - where the true fans were, dancing and vibing in the field.

As "Hood" came to a semi-climactic close (good jam, but not soaring to its finish), the set ended. It was 10:30. Friday's show had ended by 11. I hung around the exit as the "Tube" encore began. I did not want to wait on those huge lines again for the ferry, so I moved through the exit gates and enjoyed the end of "Tube" from a distance. I suspected there would be another, and as "Joy" started, I continued toward the ferry, figuring that at 10:55, I was timing it perfectly.

A group of us boarded the ferry, where we could still see and hear "Joy" as it finished, satisfied that we were seeing the end of the show from the boat and that it would leave when the last chord was struck. The boat's engine fired up and...

"First Tube"??! We looked at each other in disbelief. Pulling away from the island, motoring south toward the stage during the E-minor section, then passing it during the A-minor part, I felt a weird sense of disappointment about not hearing the song lift into its A-major jam before we drifted too far away.

But on the plus-side, I was home shortly after midnight (as opposed to 1:30 on Saturday morning), and when I went to bed, it was with the thought that after all the weirdness of my experience at this show, I would do Sunday night, my ninth and final of this tour, the right way - dancing and revelling in a spot with clear sound, a decent sight line, and, most importantly, good people.


Set list:
Set I: AC/DC Bag, 46 Days, Yarmouth Road, Devotion to a Dream, Free, My Sweet One, Back on the Train, Halfway to the Moon, Sparkle, A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing, The Line, Run Like an Antelope

Set II: Punch You in the Eye > Carini > Ghost > Wingsuit, Rock & Roll > Harry Hood

E: Tube, Joy, First Tube

Phish at Randall's Island, July 11

After 105 Phish shows, it amazes and amuses me that there can be new experiences - Friday's 106th was my first time rolling up to a Phish show on a boat.

Randall's is a piece of parkland that sits in the East River between Manhattan, Queens and the Bronx. The Phish shows are sectioned off on a field at its southern end. Getting there is easy, if not exactly convenient. For me, it meant driving to a train to take to Penn Station, walking from Midtown to the pier on the East Side, then taking the ferry (which was fun, don't get me wrong) to the island. The whole trip from door to ticket-scan took two and a half hours. I made it to Philadelphia in less time, and this was only 17 miles away. Maybe I will run there today for my long run, though the logistics of that may not work.

It is possible that on my seventh show of the tour that I am a little more nonchalant about really paying attention. After all, at this point, Phish shows have become my daily routine. So if I spent "The Moma Dance", "Kill Devil Falls", "Rift", "Sample in a Jar" and "Waiting All Night" catching up with a friend and enjoying the company of actually hanging with someone at a show, well, I suppose I can be forgiven. Besides, the continually excellent "555", climactic "Stash" first-set closer, and the best "Bathtub Gin" since...oh, dare I say, the Great Went...certainly returned my focus sqaurely on the band.

The second set was fiery and steamy - kind of literally - with a rocking "Fuego" and a sexy "Steam". Though the former showed that not every version had to be like the previous two exploratory monsters to be good, the latter was the worst performance of the song ever. Trey Anastasio seemed to be forgetful of the words, and then during the jam, he tried to crowbar a fast rock riff into the slow-burn groove. Points for trying something new, but a fail nonetheless.

On the other hand, "Down With Disease" rocked out into bigness even as it strayed into familiar territory (the return of the audience "Woo", thanks to start-stop jamming), and was all the better for it. The booty-shaker "Golden Age" surprised the crowd again as another cover made its way into the set. I defy anyone to not dance to that one. Ah, memories of Super Ball IX.

Jon Fishman proved that each of his limbs has its own brain during the tight reading of the complex "Limb by Limb". And just in case we had not had enough of fiery, frentic jams, we were treated to a killer "David Bowie" before "Cavern" closed out the set in classic style.

A raucous (as usual) "Character Zero" as the encore made the show satisfying for the one-nighters (like my friend) and left the rest of us excited for more.

Getting home took forever - waiting in line for the ferry, walking back to Penn Station in Midtown, waiting for the train to New Jersey, then driving home from Secaucus. But Randall's Island is a unique New York City venue and well worth the experience.

Phish at the Mann, July 9

Opening the sixth show of summer tour and the second of two at Philadelphia's Music Center with "Glide" was a rare treat and it sure felt nice to hear the words, "We're glad, glad, glad that you're alive." 

Had they not bungled the harmonies, it may have had a better impact, but by the time Phish played the final chord of an even more rare encore placement of "Weekapaug Groove", that misstep was forgotten, or at least forgiven.

What came between was a show that kept building momentum starting with the first set of well-played variety (which is becoming their forte) that kept the songs coming and easing back on the jams, even on "Birds of a Feather" and "Wolfman's Brother". The two more pop-rock songs from 'Fuego' - "Sing Monica" and "Devotion to a Dream" - made fine danceable appearances, while 'Joy''s "Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan" showed up for the first time since opening the tour last week. "Alaska", "McGrupp and the Watchful Hosemasters", "Horn", "Silent in the Morning", and "Sugar Shack" all were played for the first time this tour, and all played fantastically well except for the latter. I have yet to hear one version of "Shack" that Trey did not flub.

I spent the first set in the back of the terrace section on Mike's side, but moved backward to the lawn (also on Mike's side) for the second set, where I had a great spot with excellent sight lines to both the stage and the screen. In both cases, I had plenty of dancing room. And the weather, despite forecasts for more thunderstorms, held out and the storms blew past.

Set one ended with a frenzied "Run Like an Antelope" which set the stage for a powerful, rolling second set. A slower than usual "Chalk Dust Torture" stretched into a twice-peaking jam before slowing down into "Wingsuit", with its powerful coda. A beautiful rendition of "Winterqueen" bathed everyone in the glow of its loveliness before "Twist" got the crowd up and yelling "Woo". 

As with the previous night, Phish keeps making left turns that you never see coming. In this new era of playing almost no cover songs, "Crosseyed and Painless" and "Sneaking Sally Through the Alley", both staples of Phish's live shows in the past, now felt fresh and special, the former raging in its jam before quieting into "Waste". The loud-soft game continued once more as "Mike's Song" rocked the house, only to surprise everyone on three levels by leading into "Sally" - first, it is another cover; second...out of "Mike's"?! Third, no "Weekapaug Groove" to accompany it?

We got our "Groove" in the encore, but not before the fervor of "Julius" got everyone all amped up for it.

It did not top the previous two shows (a tall order) but last night's Phish show had blissful peaks, quiet moments, and plenty to which to dance. The second set will definitely be worth repeated spins. 

Next up on the tour, Randall's Island!

Set I: Glide, Sing Monica, Birds of a Feather, Wolfman's Brother, Sugar Shack, Alaska, McGrupp and the Watchful Hosemasters, Stealing Time from the Faulty Plan, Horn, Devotion to a Dream, Silent in the Morning, Run Like an Antelope

Set II: Chalk Dust Torture > Wingsuit > Winterqueen > Twist > Crosseyed and Painless > Waste, Mike's Song > Sneaking Sally Through the Alley

E: Julius > Weekapaug Groove

Phish at the Mann, July 8

The night was off to a bad start. I was late rolling into town and I had trouble finding the venue, located within Fairmount Park in Philadelphia. When I finally got there and made my way to the lawn, an announcement came over the PA instructing everyone on the lawn and terrace to go back to their cars and wait for the approaching storm to pass.

Back in the car, I watched the storm dump sheets of rain on the area, with lightning flashing and thunder cracking, and wondered if there would be a show at all, and if so, when the hell it would start.

Well after 9 p.m., the band's Twitter feed gave us the OK to head back to the venue, a typical shed ampitheater that seems to have a smaller lawn section than others, as the rain lightened and then ceased.

Maybe the venue security felt bad for us because they did not check tickets as I wandered to the outskirts of the reserved seating pavilion while Phish cranked out a spirited "Axilla" and a nicely funky "Gumbo". By the time I found a sweet spot with clear sound, a decent view, and plenty of dancing room (in the walkway between the pavilion and terrace), "Taste" was in full swing, followed by my new favorite Mike Gordon romp "555". 

Variety seemed to be the name of the game for this first set, with 1980's oldies like the fun slow-funk of "Camel Walk" and a too-short "Halley's Comet", 1990's chestnuts like "Sparkle" (back in its usual mid-first-set placement) and "It's Ice" (flubbed in the middle, where it almost fell completely apart), the early 2000's highlight "Walls of the Cave" which closed the set with an amped up, ass-kicking jam (thanks partly to its huge F# buildup), and the more recent fare of an ecstatically peaking "Ocelot" and the soft-rock groove of "Halfway to the Moon".

Now way behind schedule, they kept the set break short and came back after 11 p.m. with a hard-hitting "46 Days" which was followed by what is clearly going to be the new era's major jam vehicle, "Fuego", once again eclipsing the 20-minute mark with spiraling jams and creative textures. Placing two songs with the word "Line" next to each other - the fun new "The Line" and "Backwards Down the Number Line" which always has a sloppy start but usually ends with rousing soloing by Trey Anastasio - was probably a consciously cute idea.

After 47 minutes, with midnight fast approaching, they hit the last chord of "Number Line" as if it would be the end, Chris Kuroda's lights flashing and whirling. I guessed we had to accept that the weather cut the show short. We still had more than two hours of music and most bands do not even give that much. As I was thinking that thought, Trey started up "Tweezer". Not only were we getting another song, but a notoriously long one. 

But this is Phish, and the unexpected turns just kept on coming. It was the shortest "Tweezer" in years as Trey pulled the ripcord on it and crowbarred a baffling segue into "Ghost" which ended up being the better jam anyway. Most surprisingly, in this era of all-original songs, they fired up a delightful "2001", the first cover song of the tour (last cover was "Funky Bitch" at the 4/27 Jazz Fest show).

As if that was not enough, a sparkling "Harry Hood" gave us one more hot jam before "Tweezer Reprise" brought the show to an energetic climax at nearly 1 a.m. The "Possum" encore was standard-issue, almost unnecessary after what came before.

After a stormy start, Phish brought the real thunder to the Mann last night, my 104th Phish show and my first in Pennsylvania (bringing my Phish state total to 12).

Set list:

Set I: Axilla I, Gumbo, Taste, 555, Tube, Halfway to the Moon, Camel Walk, Sparkle, Halley's Comet, It's Ice, Ocelot, Walls of the Cave

Set II: 46 Days > Fuego > The Line, Backwards Down the Number Line, Tweezer > Ghost > 2001 > Harry Hood > Tweezer Reprise

Encore: Possum