Phish in Telluride: Trip down memory lane
by D. Dion
It wasn’t anything like seeing Phish or a jam band back in the 90s. For one thing, I was 9 months pregnant and sitting in the back, stone cold sober, and too exhausted to join my one-year-old daughter in her feverish spinning dance on the tarp in front of me. For another thing, I can’t remember ever sitting down at a concert like Phish, or even bringing a chair to such a show. My friend, also 9 months pregnant, was sitting in the back with me. She leaned over and confessed, “I really wish I could have a hit of nitrous. I don’t really miss drinking, and I’ve never been much of a pothead or anything, but I have always loved nitrous.”
The whole night was like that, one long reminiscence. Seeing people twitching with that front-row frenzy, their internal speakers set to “11,” was like looking at myself ten years ago. And the songs evoked long forgotten memories. How long has it been since I sang “Would you please, please drive me to Firenze?” or “When you’re here, I sleep lengthwise, and when you’re gone, I sleep diagonal in my bed,” or since I stayed up all night literally bouncing around the room? There was something familiar and comfortable about the music, the lyrics and the way the mountains cradled the sound, which was, by the way, about twice as loud as any band I’ve ever seen play Telluride Town Park.
