From: jojw@uhura.cc.rochester.edu (John J. Wood)
Newsgroups: rec.music.gdead,rec.music.phish
Subject: 7/28/92 - Santana & Phish @ FLPAC net.rap (no Dead content)
Date: 30 Jul 92 23:00:54 GMT
Organization: The Meltdown Association of Blown Minds;-)

7/28/92 - Santana & Phish
Finger Lakes Performing Arts Center, Canandaigua, NY
----------------------------------------------------

	It was ironic that I found that I would be catching Santana 
and Phish both for a fourth time.  Yet, the results have varied,
part of them due to a blurred deception on the latter.  Santana
had yet to disappoint me in three outings, including a memorable
birthday show at Syracuse's Longbranch Park in 1987.  Phish, though,
had been another matter.  While I had grown accustomed to what I
then considered "decent" chops, I was clouded by their music's
influences and Frank Zappa reminders.

	Tuesday night was the slap in the face I needed, as the
two unites joined forces to produce my favorite concert of this
year so far -- period.

	My meager Phish tape collection had grown to 8, but it
was obvious I needed a live setting.  I was still unfamiliar
with a portion of the material -- I mistook the ripping Chalkdust
Torture opener as Foam.:-}  Still, the remainder of the set was
the type that proceded to shred my recent (and stupid) opinions
on Phish, and put me aboard a new bus.  A playful Bouncing Around
The Room was complemented with a fun take of Uncle Penn.  The
jam out of Tweezer was impressive; twisted and swirling, yet
focused the entire time.  My appreciating for the talents of
Trey Anestatio and especially Page McConnell grew every minute.
By the time the driving Runaway Jim concluded the set, I still wanted
more, despite 7 songs at 40 minutes.  In four shows, I've seen
Phish grow from the small Ithaca club, the Haunt, to the Finger
Lakes Performing Arts Center, and their set was indeed impressive.

	Phish would also provide a factor in Santana's set, but
Carlos Santana was truly in impeccible form Tuesday night, offering
relentless clusters of soloes that whistled in the cool Canandaigua
air, while generously leaving room for keyboardist Chester Thompson
and company to fill the remaining registers.  Truly touching was
the Bill Graham recorded intro (from Carlos' latest MILAGRO), but
there was something truly spiritual in Santana's performance.  The
only flaw in the show was vocalist Alex Ligertwood and the softness
of some of the MILAGRO material, but Carlos' soloes and the band's
rich tightness more than compensated.  They could have played Barry
Manilow's "I Write The Songs" or Herman's Hermits "Henry the VIII"
and made it work.  The first 45 minutes or so also offered fresh
readings of the Black Magic Woman->Gypsy Queen->Oye Como Va trilogy.
As fellow nethead Al Sodoma pointed out in rec.music.phish, I was
not only wondering why the FLPAC attempted to endorse a seating
rule, but why one section remained *seated* throughout the entire
evening.  Me, I danced my face off...

	When Carlos invited Phish to sit in, though, the result was
the hottest musical moment I've had this summer, if not this year.
More surprising was the first notes of a stunning Exodus where the
*only* thing missing was Bob Marley himself:  chances are, he smiled
warmly.  Immediately, Carlos gave Trey the opportunity to lead the 
jams, at one point, egging him to the front of the stage, where
Trey responded with a beautiful series of notes for Carlos to build
on.  The call-and-response was relentless, and every musician was
jamming with a vengeance.  The blues jam that followed also featured
Jon Fishman on hand-held drums, and more of Trey and Carlos' guitar
conversations.  Bill Andrejko nailed it in his SPAC review:  the 
passing of the torch from one generation to another, but such was
the immense level of interplay that the Vermont Quartet deserved
the honor.  At this point, all the gripes and insipid comments about
Phish became two large feet, which drove themseves *deep* into my
big phucking mouth! Shit...I'm hooked.:-)

	There was even more:  a version of The Healer that made the
Darien Lake 1990 workout look like a wretched bar band cover.  The
one musician that shines most was Page McConnell, whose keyboard work
was nothing short of phenomenal; his piano relishes spry and energetic,
every note detrimental to its cause.  While Chester Thompson replied
with some riveting organ rushes, Page's raw talent and drive left
me stunningly impressed.  The next time I see Phish, I'll be *really*
psyched to listen to Page, a refreshingly original player.

	After a half-hour of stunning magic, Carlos and Trey exchanged
in a warm hug, bonding the newfound kindredship and respect of all
musicians.  Phish is hitting the big-time, and in terms of talent,
the quartet has many, many great things ahead. 

	What was even more amazing that Carlos and company maintained
that torrid pace *the rest of the show*.  Even a ballad like Somewhere
In Heaven exploded with energy and invention, Carlos Santana's form
stunning and spiritual.  The Zombies' She's Not There was a barnburner,
as was the rest of the show, right down to the great encore featuring
a powerhouse Soul Sacrifice, and the typical set-closer Jingo, all
fresh, relentless and danceable.  After 2 hours and 25 minutes of
impeccible quality, I was sated like I witnessed a complete Dark Star
meltdown...and then some.  How hard did I dance:  the next day,
my right knee was sore to the point I was limping.  Yet, this was
a beautiful kind of pain, and a reminder of the saturation given.

	I would like to apologize to all Phishheads whom I may have
offended last two years with my negative and obviously pathetic comments
about Phish.  You are more than welcome to give me sh*t for my stupidity,
as the slap in the face I received shut me up.  *Every* musician in
both units royally kicked my ass Tuesday night, and I loved every
luscious second of it; I now look forward to one hell of a ride
on the Phish bus, one that clearly filled with potential and memories.

	As for Carlos Santana, the man is one spirit who will always
shine, no matter where he goes.  He is the type of player and human
being who belongs under the definition of musician.  Even with all
of his remarkable talent and gift, it is his soul that shines the
most, and that soul gave more than generously.  When the day comes
when he has passed, there will always be a door open in Heaven, complete
with a maitre'd named Bill Graham holding it for him.

	Thank you, Santana and Phish, for one of the most memorable
evenings I've had this year.

	

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| John J. Wood                                  jojw@uhura.cc.rochester.edu  |
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| "You can't let go, 'cause you're afraid to fall,             		     |
|  And the day may come, when you can feel it all..."			     |
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Newsgroups: rec.music.gdead