Set 1 Notes:
Tweezer hits as cold as the Rockies, the mountains are blue, the band is ready to go. Sorry. The band gets slinky heading into the jam in this first Tweezer of fall, with great Mike right off the bat. The band remains patient as Mike Meatballs it up, dancing around Trey’s robot-funk wah hits. They have all the time in the world to develop this one, it’s the first song, after all. The funk siren makes its first (?) true appearance this fall, setting the stage for some more liquid playing by Mike, with Page signaling to the mothership and Trey laying down some low-key, extremely melodic lines. This builds to some straight Rockstar-Trey peaking action, with Page laying down great padding below him. Post-peak, Page encircles your brain with true stereo swirling, with the band laying down what I only noted as “great drug-funk”. This leads to Reba, an old favorite version. I am reminded of band comments on using complex composed pieces, like Reba, as a way to get into a mindset where they are connected, prepared, and locked in for an improvised jam. Finally, I hope, the band will start some real jamming on this tour (can you sense the sarcasm?). We float along happily for a bit, with Mike being very assertive. I begin to have deep wonderings about the commercialization of deep experience, having seen targeted ads for herb during this 4/20 season. If other loved substances in this community were ever to be legalized, wouldn’t it feel a little vulgar to receive ads for them? Can you imagine how just "off" it would feel someday to receive an ad, patronizingly dressed up in tie-dye imagery, with some fuck-head-capitalist-bro encouraging you to “Get trippy (whoa dude) on this Bicycle Day, with some Problem Child (trademarked), available only at your local dispensary!”? Look, I want decrim-legalization of everything, I just don't want things to be so commercialized. Is that even possible? I’m snapped back into Reba by a nice, relatively cleanly executed ending (they all stop at once!) There is no whistling! I thought that all good songs have whistling? (See Set 1, 11/14). Train Song is next, and I have always appreciated that they stuck this little low-key interlude here. Before dropping into the next song proper, we are warned about the haunted territory we are about to enter with some appropriate “~Wooos~”. The Ghost that follows, then, is surely one of the all-time “reference” Ghosts, one that, no matter what Ghost you say is your favorite, someone is going to say, “But what about 11/17?” We embark into the jam with some Superbad Trey, riding on the lumpy liquid Cowfunk below. The aliens (that mothership Page signaled in Tweezer) begin to take notice, arriving to hover throughout the arena, a close encounter of the Type-III kind. The funk pulls me into the groove cavern, and I’m so glad to be in this dark, dank, wide-open space. The UFOs pick us up and begin their cruise through the galaxy, time becomes relative, before in a burst of light, we arrive in their beautiful home dual-star solar system. We pass amazing ringed gas-giants, before moving into a closer orbit of a solid planet, appearing very Dagobah-like (I had to look that name up, I am not armed with the ready knowledge of those nerds). The alien’s craft begins to scan the misty surface with some wah-blasts, and we find a landing spot in some primordial swamp sludge-funk, promised more “dancing pleasure”. Fire emerges, another example of the Hendrix-on-the-brain we see throughout this tour.

Set 2 Notes:
DWD starts with a tripped-out intro, a little more so than usual, I thought. I consider how, in this time of global pandemic, I am so lucky that my worst affliction is boredom, which can be cured with simple herbal medicine. This Disease, to me, is straight Rockstar Trey. I interpret this jam, which I think tends toward uni-dimensional raging, as the band blowing off steam and celebrating the previous set, which is surely one of the best single sets that Phish had played up to that point. Trey and the band are a speeding fireball of energy through the whole jam, but still manage to hit (reference) that ending coda for a split second. Olivia’s Pool sends me into weird, highly cynical vibes, just as the band intended, I’m sure. Johnny B. Goode emerges with more Rockstar Trey, and I think, “Alright, let’s see where this goes.”, often skeptical of pedal-down Trey-lead jams at this point in a second set. The band must have been highly caffeinated (or something) and riding the wave of accomplishment, because at this point in the set, they have hardly let off. Finally, some space begins to open up from the frenzy, and I hear liquid metal raindrop jamming. This evolves into a glitched-out post-apocalyptic future rock band jamming to the setting of the black sun. Soon, Page’s piano brings reason and order to this new world, sowing the seeds of stability and civilization. I am brought to a spot on the shore of a river, the music blowing off the water on a pleasant golden-hour breeze, birds chirping. Something nefarious, I can sense now, is looming in the trees nearby, throwing off the sense of calm I thought I had found. Quickly, though, this presence is banished by His arrival. Jesus Just Left Chicago is next. This I interpret as the band’s conscientious “Come back to Earth, poor little spunion.”, olive branch-song. I begin to consider Jesus himself making the journey described in the song, from Chicago to New Orleans, driving through Mississippi, at any point in the last 250 years. Man, what would he think of much of what he saw there? Not all Christ-like, surely Geez… I’ll leave it at that. Once again, with the blues-jamming out of this tune, I am given a “celebration” feeling. Surely the band knew that they had delivered what was the show of the tour at this point in the timeline (overall, you argue?). In this sense, When the Circus Comes is self-referential, a "Thank You" to the citizens of Denver and their honored guests, providing a nice relaxation zone. YEM feels like one final celebration. Something about the structure of YEM is so satisfying, working through its turns, knowing that one last chance to groove is coming, but having no need to rush its arrival. After the lyrics, we get more liquid Meatballin’ Mike, back to the swamp grooves of Dagobah, true psychedelic future-funk. This is, folks, a top-notch Grooving YEM, if that’s what you seek from your YEMs. The glitched synthetic grooving is carried down by Page in stereo, into a vocal jam that, actually, I think, tends towards some musicality. Hits of crazy vacuum noises feel highly appropriate here. The set ends with what I describe as a malfunctioning robot vocalizing its distress in a cheesy early-60s sci-fi movie. The Character Zero encore, at this point, is just icing on the cake, as there is nothing but one last rock-out needed. This is a huge, raging Zero, full of energy, a great Type-I example.

You don’t need me to convince you to listen to this show. If, by chance, you haven’t heard it yet: Download it! All I will add to the conversation is that this show feels to me, having heard 11/16 the night before listening to this, like Sets 3 and 4 of a four-set show. The band warms up, has fun during 11/16 I, gets locked-in for some great jamming during 11/16 II, comes out full steam ahead for the transcendent peak of a set during 11/17 I, and rages into oblivion during 11/17 II, going out with a huge bang. This whole tour, as I am not the note, seems like one long show, a single pulsing space-funk-jam, always present, being accessed across nights and songs. Here, though, the two Denver nights feel as one. Consider listening to them both in order, or at least 11/16 II> 11/17 I> 11/17 II.