The Case for Nassau Tweezer amid the Perils of First Show Overload
When carved out from Phish’s wider on-stage catalog, the Tweezer pantheon alone could merit a dissertation of comparative analysis. On top we have the near-consensus GOAT, the Tahoe Tweezer soaring high above the firmament to inspire everything from Ric Flair “woo” memes to painstakingly elegant grand piano compositions. Then there are the standard bearers like 12/2/95 and 12/6/97, musical triumphs in their own right that deliver copious charms upon both first and subsequent listenings. And at last we have our beloved Tweezer-fests, all-out hootenannies like what allowed an unsuspecting Dallas venue to rightfully claim its Bomb Factory namesake on 5/7/94 (see also: “Tweezepelin” 10/30/10 Atlantic City and 7/27/14 Merriweather).
In the interest of time, and perhaps sanity, I’d like to spotlight one particular rendition — the 2/28/03 Tweezer at Nassau Coliseum — that in my view could stack up firmly against just about any out there. It would also happen to play a seminal role in my first time seeing the band at age 15.
Given the 12 years that have passed since, the chilly February evening can split between what I definitively do and do not remember about the experience. Like many newcomers, I approached my first show with equal parts curiosity, trepidation, and excitement: curious about what all the fuss was about; trepidation about the specter of being force-fed narcotics by allegedly raffish strangers that might bear out my parents’ most irrational fears; and excitement about finally getting to hear a live rendering of the music I had only just come to love and appreciate.
My first memorable encounter would confirm an early suspicion. As we waited for the show to begin, a man seated a row ahead of us who wore a baseball hat over his long greasy hair produced a crumpled plastic pouch from his pocket. Blithely he proceeded to place a handful of dusty white caps onto his concession-stand pizza as if they were toppings from Sbarro, then wolfed the personal pie down in a happy few bites. My friends and I enjoyed hushed giggles from this in our pubescent naiveté, which also led me to remark to my friend Scott that the presence of an acoustic guitar on stage might forecast a Divided Sky, one of our agreed-upon favorites. (Plus, tbh, I thought I sounded pretty cool for making such a seemingly educated though ultimately wrongheaded prediction).
A number of other memories stood out as the house lights would soon fade to black, earning prosperous roars from the crowd that greeted the quartet to a hero’s welcome. I remember the puncturing ripple of Trey’s opening notes to Birds of a Feather, slapping Scott a high five, and singing the entire first verse before promptly being told that “there’s no singing” by the group in front of us. I remember hearing Page wail away on his baby grand at the start of Bathtub Gin with a force I couldn’t quite comprehend. I remember phans informing us of the Phistorical significance of hearing Destiny Unbound in the two-hole (not played since 1991) and Soul Shakedown Party in the second set (not played since ‘97). I remember the constant, pungent haze of marijuana snaking through a Coliseum space which I had to that point only associated with mediocre hockey and recreational basketball. It was surreal, all of it, and the start of a vigorous love affair that still carries on to this day.
But ironically, the show maybe stands out most for what I don’t remember; namely, the Tweezer that would open the second set with a flourish yet somehow fail to capture my musical attention. Truly. As I listen back, I have no distinct aural or visual memory of any of its dramatic sections. It’s an all-too-common consequence, I think, of the sensory overload contained in attending your first Phish show while having only a cursory understanding of the music. Jams blend into one another; beginnings and ends of songs dissipate; lights and sounds and colors meld into one big heady jumble.
As it happened, I wouldn’t come to grasp the enormity of this Tweezer until many years later, when my Phish education had long since earned its doctorate, and when I could access a for-all-intents-and-purposes free version on Spotify. Listening these days, I recognize all the hallmarks of an all-time Phish jam.
Following the song’s ripping composed section, Trey’s fingers start to channel notes in perfect fluidity with his body. Mike walks his bass down to slap-town and Page seems to grow a third arm across his fortress of keys.
After an early modulated peak, the band settles into a spacey groove featuring sailing interplay between Trey’s high notes and Mike’s trundling bass lines while Page pushes out protracted psychedelia. A quick tour across his keyboard then sends the jam into full type II territory. Trey seals the deal with a looping guitar riff that Mike gloms onto from behind. Fish remains sure-handed and fill-happy as ever during the boomerang-ing peak.
And just when you think the music has maybe died to a lull or segue, the tempo hastens to yet another section, more mature and democratic, each member contributing his share. The up-tempo improvisation yields a fierce upward trajectory as Trey plays quick syncopated chords over Page’s organ. This final build — at around the 20-minute mark — vaults the jam into something celebratory, like a coda to an Islanders Stanley Cup crown. The ambient jam to follow provides soothing come-down from the revelry.
The ensuing Soul Shakedown Party would give the band its hard-fought victory lap and, as a result, a place back in my memory bank. Pretty soon I’d get to witness my first Harry Hood glow stick war and the lyrical whimsy of songs like Contact (to which I recall chuckling at the “go out to your car and it’s been towed” line) and Mexican Cousin during the three-song encore.
Tweezer Reprise would of course cap the riotous evening until we watched in awe as Trey balanced his guitar high over his head, allowing its distortion to spill all throughout the room. In a matter of a few hours, he had managed to expose the fallibility of memory while at the same time transcending it altogether.
