A well-thought out and articulate piece (as usual), Wally, but I have to take issue with something you've been iterating in different posts and threads for several years now.

You constantly harp about the "emotionally-withdrawn nerdiness" and "intellectual experimentation" that, regardless of the semantic labeling, clearly serves as a hallmark of their origin story. It pains me to see/hear someone so damn bright so clearly missing out on what I (and many others, from the looks of the boards) consider to be the band's nadir of both creative and cultural impact.

Why does the experimentation, the playfulness, the technical envelope pushing have to be mutually exclusive of the emotional, the depth, the gravitas? What if those tools (because really, that's what what those things boil down to) could be a roadmap to emotional release?

Maybe it's because I've read most of your reviews or simply because I know where your ears tend to land when it comes to Phish's different eras. But I think you're sorely understudied on the "emotionally withdrawn" years of the band, namely 1991 through 1995.

I think Charlie's response speaks to this (and he was there much earlier than I). There is a spiritual heft to songs like the 4/21/92 Weekapaug, a glorious hallelujah in the 10/6/91 Divided Sky, that easily and wholeheartedly outgun the emotional pull of this latest batch of songwriting. Page's clunkiness? Try the 2/15/91 Ya Mar, it's one of the finest things he's ever done (and a true whole band treat, everyone is on fire throughout).

When I was younger, there were two seminal moments that forever changed the face of music for me. Both happened at Phish shows. The first was the 6/21/94 Split Open and Melt, the second was the 11/30/95 Tweezer. I would hold either of this "songs" up as canonical, spiritual experiences from this band. And what I think makes these particular moments that much more powerful is the RANGE of emotional density that these guys could traverse in one SINGLE song. We're not talking the simple pathos of a lost love, or a dying friend (not that those things evoke simple feelings, but for the argument...). These are the ridiculously complicated sturm und drangish yearnings of a band operating in a post-rock, simulacrum-filled world of Internets and energy crises, of multiple identity disorders and reality TV.

The jazz conversation needs it's own thread, but I think it's interesting that of the two bands, only one of them ever played straight-ahead jazz on a regular basis.

Also, the last few times I've seen Phish they (contrary to 15-odd years of arguing against friends and family) actually DID sound like the Dead. Several times.