In May '92, my brother and I were big Blues Traveler fans. So when our favorite magazine, Rolling Stone, published a very entertaining article about them putting together a summer touring festival with a bunch of their favorite and like-minded bands, my brother immediately went out and bought The Spin Doctor's "Pocket Full of Kryptonite," ARU's live self-titled, Widespread Panic's "Space Wrangler," and most fatefully, Phish's "Picture of Nectar." The drums>guitar intro to Llama blew me away, as did the rest of the song. That first listen, the fact that in five songs they'd played five different kinds of music (Hendrix-y rock, instrumental lullaby, funk, bluegrassy country, and calypso jazz jam) had me sold. In a sad sign of the times, it would be months before I finally got around to dubbing a copy from my brother because it didn't fit onto one side of a 90-minute tape, and I didn't want to cut any songs nor use a whole tape for one album (being unfamiliar with the concept of filler at the tender age of 15).

I was at summer camp for the first HORDE, but by the next summer I was well-versed in Phish's four albums (Rift coming out that winter) and even had a handful of tapes, comprising mostly disconnected sets, I think. So I was amped to see that one of the three HORDE dates that Phish was on that summer was at the Classic Amphitheater in Richmond, a mere hour and change away. Thank Something I decided to take a year off from camp.

I caught a ride from my brother's friend. He being 19 with more live music experience, he played me the live disc that local guitar wizard Gibb Droll had just put out. I enjoyed it, though I might have enjoyed it more if Peanut had just let me listen to it rather than telling me every two measures what Gibb was doing on the guitar. I only mention this because as an unexpected bonus, The Gibb Droll Band played on a small side stage on the concourse in between almost every mainstage act. I caught every set and was utterly blown away by Gibb's SRV-style shredding, not to mention the bashing and pounding of Mike Williams, the large black man known as "Chocolate Thunder" dwarfing his drum kit. I would see Peanut at these sets, but felt no compunction to hang with him for the rest of the day, so this was for all intents and purposes a solo venture for me.

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