Published on Nov 30, 1999
In theory, it’s a good idea. Take a band known not for any
individual song, or even album, but for their hordes of get-a-life
show-tapers, throw them into an arena with great acoustics for two
nights, make sure they play a completely different set each night,
make sure the non-originals they do are instantly-recognizable
titles to the consuming public, package the unedited tapes into a
six CD set with cool photos, an attractive magnetic box, and a
funny title (a poke at Peter Frampton’s multi-million selling 1976
double live album
Frampton Comes Alive for those of you under 25 who don’t get
the joke), and voila, who needs bootlegs?
Well, I fell for it, not realizing that as tight and
professional and awesome musicians the four members of Phish are,
six live CDs are still no substitute for the real thing. But at
least when it comes to Phish, six live CDs are better than one, so
it is only fair that
Hampton Comes Alive be recognized as a far superior
statement as to what Phish are all about than either of their
previously-released live sets, the single disc
Slip Stitch And Pass or the double disc
A Live One. The former of those suffered from poor song
selection and brevity, while the latter suffered from some
ridiculously long tracks, even by Phish standards.
Hampton Comes Alive is two actual full-length shows, with no
track longer than 15 minutes, and a reasonably diverse set of
material, from all of Phish’s seven studio albums, many non-album
favorites, and many cover versions that they seldom play.
There are a few gripes Phish fans will have though. First of
all, the non-album tracks included are many of the same non-album
tracks included on the two other live Phish CD releases – “Simple,”
“Harry Hood,” “Wilson,” and “Weekapaug Groove.” Phish perform a
seemingly-bottomless smorgasborg of original jams that never make
it to their “official” studio CDs, and could have thought a little
more about this. Only the bluesy hoedown “Possum” and the Zappa-ish
“Big Black Furry Creature From Mars” provide significant excitement
in the way of novelties. And the cover versions reveal little in
the way of new interpretation. The Beatles’ “Cry Baby Cry” is kind
of sloppily done, Jimi Hendrix’s “Bold As Love” is extremely tame,
and Stevie Wonder’s “Boogie On Reggae Woman” is remarkably
un-boogie-like.
What
Hampton Comes Alive does do that very few of rock’s great
live albums have done in the past, and that no Phish album has done
since their 1988 debut
Junta, is showcase the talent and the attitude of these
musicians. Phish’s “songs” may often be little more than vehicles
for 10-minute improvisations, but they have always avoided
accusations of self-indulgence, due to their tightness, their
refrain from self-centered upstaging of each other, and their
refusal to take themselves too seriously.
The extended jamming on all six of these discs may be good
background music, but it’s also good music to stick in your bedside
boom box, while you relax, close your eyes, and pretend you’re
there. You can almost smell the pot. And Phish’s sense of humor is
finally incorporated into a live album – who else would have the
chutzpah to bookend six CDs with covers of Gary Glitter’s “Rock and
Roll Part 2” and Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping?” Or to use the
hallmark organ riff from Argent’s “Hold Your Head Up” in an
instrumental entitled “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It?” Or to stick a bizarre
“Ha Ha Ha” chant in the middle of a song called “Free” on a six-CD
set that costs upwards of $50?
This brings us to the downside of this album, which is the sad
reality that Phish have gone corporate. And the even sadder reality
that although they are still second to none as a live act, one
can’t help but get the feeling that song-wise, they are coasting
somewhat on their past glories. About two thirds of the tracks on
Hampton Comes Alive that originally hail from Phish studio
albums hail from pre-1994 Phish studio albums. Disc one is case and
point – Phish launch headlong into “Guelah Papyrus” and “Rift,”
both tried and true Phish oldies, like there’s no tomorrow, but on
comes “Meat” from their most recent studio album
the Story Of The Ghost, and not only is the audience dead,
but the band sounds truly uninspired. We are rescued by – you
guessed it – another tried and true Phish oldie, “Stash,” which
still induces perfectly-rhythmic clapping from the crowd, and the
most hypnotic interplay between guitar and bass on all six of these
discs. “Not as good as your old stuff” is one of the worst insults
you can give a musician; Phish seem to be giving it to
themselves.
But alas, it’s true; among the songs here that were actually
written in the latter half of this decade, only “Guyute” (and
“Character Zero” to some extent) holds its own as a quintessential
Phish classic. To put this in perspective, at the risk of incurring
the wrath of many a Phish-head, it may be necessary to invoke the
Phish vs. Grateful Dead comparison one last time, if only for the
purpose of pointing out that the Dead too went through a period of
self-redefinition; in the mid-’70s, they released a few lengthy
(and costly) live albums of lasting value only to those who need to
have every recording with their name on it, took a bit of a break
from touring (which Phish are planning on doing in 2000), and then
reemerged with a new sound and a new lease on life. Ladies and
gentlemen, we are now officially in Phish’s very own mid-’70s.
Please take young children by the hand.