12/30/99 Big Cypress Seminole Reservation, FL—Jeremy D. Goodwin
This is a story about attending ceremonies and collecting snowflakes.
Our tribal ancestors observed the yearly cycle on a community level, observing such events as the planting and harvesting of crops, and the beginning and end of winter, with festivals. On the personal level, the life cycle was celebrated through proscribed rituals at the onset of adulthood, the occasion of a wedding, and the passage from human life into the spectral plane. Without really meaning to, the Phish community had approximated this instinctive process through its own rituals of the life cycle. The summer festivals, Halloween shows, and New Year’s Runs serve as a mythological recreation of these ancient customs, which serve to bond a community together through ritual. On a superficial level, they fulfill this role by annually marking the end of summer, the occasion of a holiday, and the passage into a new year. More significant meanings can also be found within the fabric of these Phish rituals.
The Phish community passed from puberty into adulthood with the onset of yearly New Year’s gigs (and later, Runs) in 1989, while simultaneously planting seeds for a future harvest. After playing in tuxedos in front of a big Boston crowd on the biggest party night of the year, Phish could no longer pass off as merely a fun bar band. They may have been commercially and culturally unknown throughout vast expanses of the uncharted North American wilderness, but at least in their own village, they were adults. Meanwhile, by making New Year’s an Event, the group took on a kind of responsibility for the first time. The setting of this yearly engagement may have been the first real obligation (or call it a promise) that Phish took on for its audience. By playing their largest room to date (an accomplishment repeated, on greater scale, at each of the next few New Year’s shows), Phish lay the groundwork for future possibilities, hinting at the chance to transcend their current identity and achieve something more.
The ritual of the Halloween costume brought with it all the ribald fun and shared anticipation of an exuberant wedding, where the wine flows and the music plays all night. Phish had moved beyond mere adulthood; now they could schedule their own ceremony at a chosen time. Word was sent through the community, and friends and relatives of all kinds showed up to celebrate together.
While the Clifford Ball was experienced overwhelmingly as a singular event, its success led to the installation of a third and cumulative event in the life cycle of the community. Even while filling amphitheaters and the occasional arena, in summer ’96 Phish was still enduring quite legitimately as a cult. To identify a fellow traveler, perhaps by spotting a Phish shirt or sticker, was still a surprise. A sold-out New Year’s Eve show at Madison Square Garden in ’95 was a revelation, but the sheer size of the Ball exploded all our ideas about remaining culturally camouflaged. We went into the Clifford Ball as fans of a cult phenomenon; we left as citizens of an undiscovered nation. Playing on an enormous stage in front of sixty thousand people, directly across the lake from the tiny bar in which they played their first gigs, Phish passed beyond the realm of poorly kept secret and into a new, as-yet unmapped plane of existence, whose boundaries remain evasive, and where mysteries endure.
By the end of ’99 the summer festival thing had become a scheduled routine, but Big Cypress was nevertheless going to be something unprecedented…the first genuinely unprecedented event since the Ball itself. It was a synthesis of two of the explosively energetic, creatively volatile rituals of the yearly Phish life cycle: the summer festival and the New Year’s Run. These two rituals were merging, and no one really knew what was going to happen. I pictured a mad chemist in a subversive laboratory, preparing to combine two highly potent chemicals, totally unsure of the effects.
As it turned out, pretty much the entire Florida experience worked out with remarkable success. The kind of success you just can’t plan, regardless of well-meaning effort. It was fortunate that an appointed rendezvous with a friend in the Delta went down successfully the morning of the thirtieth…but it would have served me little use had the same friend not walked by me in a bright yellow shirt ten minutes before show time. He then led me to a certain green tarp (even with the soundboard, in front of the stage-left video screen), which would have been enough…even if I hadn’t been greeted upon my arrival by one of my best friends from school, who I had totally forgotten was even attending the shows, and who I hadn’t seen since graduation the previous spring. That would have been enough…even if I didn’t then notice that the entire tarp was packed with wonderful friends, many of whom were currently living on the West Coast, who I also hadn’t seen in at least half a year. A lifelong New Englander, I was continually amazed that it was December 30 and yet I was dancing barefoot on a brilliant and sunny day. That would have been enough…even if Phish didn’t proceed to play three generous sets, including an incredibly beautiful “Light Up or Leave Me Alone”, an inspirationally rocking “Ghost”, an enchanting “Tweezer”, and a mind-meltingly intense “Mike’s Song”. Dayenu, indeed.
After enduring what was billed as The Worst Traffic Jam in North America If Not the World, I was rested and anxious to explore the grounds upon our initial arrival in the “Amy’s Farm” section. We arrived on-site around 3:30 AM, technically the morning of the thirtieth (though I don’t consider it morning until you go to sleep and then wake up). We scoped out the Delta and surrounding areas, amused and pleased to find a blues band rocking out to an appreciative crowd. Strolling along the boardwalk, gazing at the mysterious wooded area across the body of water, it was clear that the party was in full gear, despite the odd hour. When eighty thousand people find themselves in a surreal landscape with amusements of all kinds provided, I guess there really isn’t much down time.
I was glad to locate some funky house beats near the front of the campgrounds, where the Green Crew was shacked. Unfortunately, most of the tracks were unmixed…although there was a DJ (manning dual CD decks), it was more like listening to a compilation tape than a DJ set. Any constructive element of the rave scene, however, when integrated into a Phish context, is a positive thing in my view. It was quite a surprise for me to see the continued overlap between these two cultures, a phenomenon I noticed in earnest (after prophesying for some time) at Oswego, where I spent the first few minutes of the “Runaway Jim” across from The Greene watching the needle track across a drum and bass record, and saw prayer flags bearing such messages as “Ravers dig Phish too” and “PLUR.” (“Peace love unity respect”)
I needed to get some sleep before the aforementioned morning meeting (scheduled for 11 AM), so I headed back towards the campsite a little before dawn. I was glad to have gotten the layout of the event pretty much understood; at the Ball and the Went I had experienced a painfully slow process of getting my bearings. I got a few hours of quality sleep before heading to the information booth to find some friends.
That rendezvous was a roaring success, as just about everyone I wanted to see was in attendance. It was great to see everyone again. I had last seen most of these folks at the 9:30 Club Trey solo show, a few days before my college graduation. These reunions were sprinkled with a few introductions, as I had my first face-to-face meetings with Bertolet, Zerbo, and others. When Noah told me to meet at the info booth at 11, I had no idea it would turn into an all-out family reunion. There was no official Phish.Net gathering at Big Cypress, but the two 11 AM info booth meetings spontaneously ended up as essentially the same thing…although they were conducted informally among friends, and there was no public solicitation for other folks to come along.
When I returned after a solid hour or more, my friends were still sleeping. The morning was bright, warm, and glorious. The thing was underway.
These were possibly the longest three days of my life, complete with a daily morning appointment that provided a comforting sense of normalcy and continuity. It really feels like a spontaneous (but functioning) civilization at these things, not just a ramshackle lump of partying wanderers. It’s easy to be lulled into the feeling that this thing really could hold together indefinitely, if the surrounding outside world would just be so kind as to freeze into perpetual suspension, allowing us our own reality…alas, Temporary Autonomous Zones work because they are indeed temporary. It’s like collecting snowflakes.
A personal highlight of the first show was the “Weekapaug”. Ellis, ever watchful, had informed us all that it was midnight…the months of anticipation and speculation had melted away, and we became acutely aware that we were only twenty-four hours away from whatever the hell was going to happen in the midnight set. The realization that it was now New Year’s Eve 1999, combined with the insistently propulsive funk of “Weekapaug,” gave me the distinct sensation of being hurled into the future…it was New Year’s Eve already? Only twenty-four hours left before the twentieth century would become past tense? I didn’t feel quite ready. I wanted some more 1900s. The calendar didn’t seem real.
I managed to adjust, and looked around at the eighty thousand people, most of whom were behind our even-with-board position. Trey continued his “Weekapaugian” flights of glory, Mike jabbed at our sides with spiky bass lines, Page clamored on top of it all, and Fishman propelled us further…further…further into the future, further into the groove…we danced and danced and it was warm and it was New Year’s Eve and there were dear friends all around. That green tarp felt like just about the safest place in the world.
This is a story about attending ceremonies and collecting snowflakes.
Our tribal ancestors observed the yearly cycle on a community level, observing such events as the planting and harvesting of crops, and the beginning and end of winter, with festivals. On the personal level, the life cycle was celebrated through proscribed rituals at the onset of adulthood, the occasion of a wedding, and the passage from human life into the spectral plane. Without really meaning to, the Phish community had approximated this instinctive process through its own rituals of the life cycle. The summer festivals, Halloween shows, and New Year’s Runs serve as a mythological recreation of these ancient customs, which serve to bond a community together through ritual. On a superficial level, they fulfill this role by annually marking the end of summer, the occasion of a holiday, and the passage into a new year. More significant meanings can also be found within the fabric of these Phish rituals.
The Phish community passed from puberty into adulthood with the onset of yearly New Year’s gigs (and later, Runs) in 1989, while simultaneously planting seeds for a future harvest. After playing in tuxedos in front of a big Boston crowd on the biggest party night of the year, Phish could no longer pass off as merely a fun bar band. They may have been commercially and culturally unknown throughout vast expanses of the uncharted North American wilderness, but at least in their own village, they were adults. Meanwhile, by making New Year’s an Event, the group took on a kind of responsibility for the first time. The setting of this yearly engagement may have been the first real obligation (or call it a promise) that Phish took on for its audience. By playing their largest room to date (an accomplishment repeated, on greater scale, at each of the next few New Year’s shows), Phish lay the groundwork for future possibilities, hinting at the chance to transcend their current identity and achieve something more.
The ritual of the Halloween costume brought with it all the ribald fun and shared anticipation of an exuberant wedding, where the wine flows and the music plays all night. Phish had moved beyond mere adulthood; now they could schedule their own ceremony at a chosen time. Word was sent through the community, and friends and relatives of all kinds showed up to celebrate together.
While the Clifford Ball was experienced overwhelmingly as a singular event, its success led to the installation of a third and cumulative event in the life cycle of the community. Even while filling amphitheaters and the occasional arena, in summer ’96 Phish was still enduring quite legitimately as a cult. To identify a fellow traveler, perhaps by spotting a Phish shirt or sticker, was still a surprise. A sold-out New Year’s Eve show at Madison Square Garden in ’95 was a revelation, but the sheer size of the Ball exploded all our ideas about remaining culturally camouflaged. We went into the Clifford Ball as fans of a cult phenomenon; we left as citizens of an undiscovered nation. Playing on an enormous stage in front of sixty thousand people, directly across the lake from the tiny bar in which they played their first gigs, Phish passed beyond the realm of poorly kept secret and into a new, as-yet unmapped plane of existence, whose boundaries remain evasive, and where mysteries endure.
By the end of ’99 the summer festival thing had become a scheduled routine, but Big Cypress was nevertheless going to be something unprecedented…the first genuinely unprecedented event since the Ball itself. It was a synthesis of two of the explosively energetic, creatively volatile rituals of the yearly Phish life cycle: the summer festival and the New Year’s Run. These two rituals were merging, and no one really knew what was going to happen. I pictured a mad chemist in a subversive laboratory, preparing to combine two highly potent chemicals, totally unsure of the effects.
As it turned out, pretty much the entire Florida experience worked out with remarkable success. The kind of success you just can’t plan, regardless of well-meaning effort. It was fortunate that an appointed rendezvous with a friend in the Delta went down successfully the morning of the thirtieth…but it would have served me little use had the same friend not walked by me in a bright yellow shirt ten minutes before show time. He then led me to a certain green tarp (even with the soundboard, in front of the stage-left video screen), which would have been enough…even if I hadn’t been greeted upon my arrival by one of my best friends from school, who I had totally forgotten was even attending the shows, and who I hadn’t seen since graduation the previous spring. That would have been enough…even if I didn’t then notice that the entire tarp was packed with wonderful friends, many of whom were currently living on the West Coast, who I also hadn’t seen in at least half a year. A lifelong New Englander, I was continually amazed that it was December 30 and yet I was dancing barefoot on a brilliant and sunny day. That would have been enough…even if Phish didn’t proceed to play three generous sets, including an incredibly beautiful “Light Up or Leave Me Alone”, an inspirationally rocking “Ghost”, an enchanting “Tweezer”, and a mind-meltingly intense “Mike’s Song”. Dayenu, indeed.
After enduring what was billed as The Worst Traffic Jam in North America If Not the World, I was rested and anxious to explore the grounds upon our initial arrival in the “Amy’s Farm” section. We arrived on-site around 3:30 AM, technically the morning of the thirtieth (though I don’t consider it morning until you go to sleep and then wake up). We scoped out the Delta and surrounding areas, amused and pleased to find a blues band rocking out to an appreciative crowd. Strolling along the boardwalk, gazing at the mysterious wooded area across the body of water, it was clear that the party was in full gear, despite the odd hour. When eighty thousand people find themselves in a surreal landscape with amusements of all kinds provided, I guess there really isn’t much down time.
I was glad to locate some funky house beats near the front of the campgrounds, where the Green Crew was shacked. Unfortunately, most of the tracks were unmixed…although there was a DJ (manning dual CD decks), it was more like listening to a compilation tape than a DJ set. Any constructive element of the rave scene, however, when integrated into a Phish context, is a positive thing in my view. It was quite a surprise for me to see the continued overlap between these two cultures, a phenomenon I noticed in earnest (after prophesying for some time) at Oswego, where I spent the first few minutes of the “Runaway Jim” across from The Greene watching the needle track across a drum and bass record, and saw prayer flags bearing such messages as “Ravers dig Phish too” and “PLUR.” (“Peace love unity respect”)
I needed to get some sleep before the aforementioned morning meeting (scheduled for 11 AM), so I headed back towards the campsite a little before dawn. I was glad to have gotten the layout of the event pretty much understood; at the Ball and the Went I had experienced a painfully slow process of getting my bearings. I got a few hours of quality sleep before heading to the information booth to find some friends.
That rendezvous was a roaring success, as just about everyone I wanted to see was in attendance. It was great to see everyone again. I had last seen most of these folks at the 9:30 Club Trey solo show, a few days before my college graduation. These reunions were sprinkled with a few introductions, as I had my first face-to-face meetings with Bertolet, Zerbo, and others. When Noah told me to meet at the info booth at 11, I had no idea it would turn into an all-out family reunion. There was no official Phish.Net gathering at Big Cypress, but the two 11 AM info booth meetings spontaneously ended up as essentially the same thing…although they were conducted informally among friends, and there was no public solicitation for other folks to come along.
When I returned after a solid hour or more, my friends were still sleeping. The morning was bright, warm, and glorious. The thing was underway.
These were possibly the longest three days of my life, complete with a daily morning appointment that provided a comforting sense of normalcy and continuity. It really feels like a spontaneous (but functioning) civilization at these things, not just a ramshackle lump of partying wanderers. It’s easy to be lulled into the feeling that this thing really could hold together indefinitely, if the surrounding outside world would just be so kind as to freeze into perpetual suspension, allowing us our own reality…alas, Temporary Autonomous Zones work because they are indeed temporary. It’s like collecting snowflakes.
A personal highlight of the first show was the “Weekapaug”. Ellis, ever watchful, had informed us all that it was midnight…the months of anticipation and speculation had melted away, and we became acutely aware that we were only twenty-four hours away from whatever the hell was going to happen in the midnight set. The realization that it was now New Year’s Eve 1999, combined with the insistently propulsive funk of “Weekapaug,” gave me the distinct sensation of being hurled into the future…it was New Year’s Eve already? Only twenty-four hours left before the twentieth century would become past tense? I didn’t feel quite ready. I wanted some more 1900s. The calendar didn’t seem real.
I managed to adjust, and looked around at the eighty thousand people, most of whom were behind our even-with-board position. Trey continued his “Weekapaugian” flights of glory, Mike jabbed at our sides with spiky bass lines, Page clamored on top of it all, and Fishman propelled us further…further…further into the future, further into the groove…we danced and danced and it was warm and it was New Year’s Eve and there were dear friends all around. That green tarp felt like just about the safest place in the world.
