Stories About Songs: “Fluffhead”

This is a new thing that I’m going to try here. Stories About Songs.  I touched on it here, and it got me thinking—over all the years and all the shows that I’ve been to, there are some songs, some moments, that stand out above all the rest.  Sometimes there’s a clear reason, and sometimes it’s a simple memory strongly connected to a song that was playing at the time.  There’s usually a story behind them, and I’m going to occasionally share some of them here.

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One year ago today I was in Hampton, Virginia.  I was there to see Phish, and it was a big deal.

Five years after announcing their breakup, the band was back for a run of three shows at the Hampton Coliseum, itself a special place in the hearts and minds of fans.  This was a group event.  The band has gotten back together, but our band had gotten back together too.  Some of my very closest friends were gathering to take it all in together.

It was hard to have musical expectations in that situation.  Five years after a break up—fueled by apathy and (sadly) drugs—I just hoped to have a good time, and hear some of the music I loved.

As the first show approached, people got to chatting: “What do you think they’ll open with?” “Do you think they’ll play…?”, etc.  Unless you’re very familiar with Phish’s music, it’s hard to appreciate the weight behind any of these songs; why fans may groan when the band starts up “Bug,” but jump up and cheer when they break into “Tweezer.” The names don’t mean anything.  It’s what’s beneath the names.

For a band that’s so associated with improvisation, a core group of their earliest and most highly regarded material is based on long, composed sections of music. Sweeping. Soaring. Technical. Epic. The type of material that doesn’t lend itself to a lack of practice and a haze of pills. Some of these songs were pushed out of the rotation as a result, and the fans knew it.

One of these songs is Fluffhead.  The ultimate combination of old fan favorite and Sweeping/Soaring/Technical/Epic.  On the way down to Virginia, my friend Byte said to us “I wonder if they’ll bust out Fluffhead?”  We chuckled.  ”They haven’t played it in years right?” “Nope.”

When the time finally came for the first show to begin, the energy inside the coliseum was at an all time high.  This was it.  It may be hard to understand how much this band and this music means to people. Years and years of travelling, stories, frustration, memories, and special moments were shared with the four guys that were about to walk on the stage.  And while time had passed, and everyone’s lives were different now, this was a moment that really, truly meant something.

So what were they going to play, or more specifically, what were they going to open with?  Anyone, myself included, would have told you it didn’t matter.  Just taking the stage was enough.  But everyone would have been lying.  It did matter.  It set a tone no matter how you looked at it.

We broke up.  We went to rehab.  We swore we’d never play again.  Now here we are.

When the lights went down as the band walked on the stage, the roar of the fans was about as loud as I’ve ever heard.  They all walked out and picked up their instruments like they had done so many times before, and like everyone thought they may never do again.

As the crowd continued their wild cheers driven purely by seeing them on stage again together, the first few notes of the opener started to drift out of the PA…

Fluffhead.

It was already so loud that it took a few seconds for the crowd to realize what they were hearing—for the shock to set in. All at once, this crowd that you would have sworn couldn’t get any louder turned the dial that stopped at ten up to twelve.

I honestly can’t think of a stronger musical statement.

We’re back and we’re not fucking around.

This one moment—this one choice—didn’t just set the tone for that show, or that tour, but for the rest of the band’s career.  And to be honest, it set the tone for how I would feel about them moving forward.  This was the real deal. So this is how it’s gonna be huh? They were clearly serious and I would take them seriously.

Of all the shows, in all the years, this one song—these few seconds as the waves of excitement expanded through the crowd—stand above anything else I’ve ever experienced. If you could bottle the feeling in that room at that moment you could solve a lot of problems. Pure, pure bundles of joy.

—Killington, VT  6 March 2010