#bradnelson

...the most acclaimed “Ghost” jam is from a 1997 show in Denver, so singular it is referred to among fans simply as “The Denver Ghost.” This version, which expands the four-minute studio version into a 21-minute odyssey, sounds like it’s falling apart as it’s being played, giving it the draggy energy of a tangle of wires. When Phish inch past the song’s compositional limits into unknown space, Trey Anastasio, the band’s guitarist and primary songwriter, starts playing stuttery disco scratches over Mike Gordon’s bass notes, which sink so far behind the beat it’s like they’re stepping in quicksand. No one member appears to be leading. Instead, each contributes to a running dialogue shared by the four of them. You can hear a synth tone that resembles a choir of bees emitting from some tier of keyboardist Page McConnell’s expansive synth rig, while drummer Jon Fishman reduces his drumming to expressive, atmospheric triplets on his cymbals. All of this sails us so far beyond wherever the groove was before that we’re floating in space. Hearing the jam alone, not knowing who played it, I would’ve assumed I was listening to the krautrock band Neu! [...] Even though it was impossible for me to see them amid the pandemic, this is the Phish I longed to see live, the Phish that made the increasingly small space that constituted my life loom as large as the cosmos. The Phish whose silliness was just an outgrowth of something terrifying beneath it. The Phish who could open up a black hole around their worst songs, swallowing them whole and spitting them back up turned inside-out. [...]  At its best, their improvisation could recall the dark and slanted jazz fusion of Miles Davis’ Agharta, or a Pink Floyd album being written in real time.