cmh6476

I think OJ's visitation is tomorrow here, should i?

Paid $8 for this Southwest wifi and it's so crappy I can't get our QBs file to load to reconcile bank accounts so instead I come here to say high

Slept in my phish tshirt and woke up bouncing round the room

dude was nails in RBI baseball

The weather here has been sh1t. First week we've had with some actual baseball weather. I took my daughter to the ku spring volleyball showcase yesterday, which is right next to the baseball stadium and they were playing. I can't tell you how bad I wanted a beer and hotdog and just go sit in the sun and watch some baseball.

Is beer vegan?

This can't be real. Can it?

Are Kansas and Missouri finally on a team together?

Cheapest tickets after fees for this show on stubhub right now are $811. In my section they are $1,379. You guys can act like you don't want to be there, but you'd fockin go too just to say you went

Pete Lunde When Phish sold out all four of the April concerts it had booked at the Sphere, just as quickly as everyone expected, the obvious question arose: Why not do more? After all, U2 opened the $2.3 billion venue that remade the Las Vegas skyline last fall with what was supposed to be a 25-show run — until demand built to a fever pitch, and the rock veterans shrewdly extended their stay, amortizing their investment in a dazzling, site-customized light-and-video show over an entire 40 nights. And yet as Phish prepared to take up the Sphere’s second residency slot, and the band’s fervid fans bid up aftermarket prices well beyond U2’s, guitarist and frontman Trey Anastasio hesitated. What would an extra weekend of shows mean for quality control? He posed the question to show director and co-creative director Abigail Rosen Holmes. “It’ll be good,” she told him. “But it won’t be great. If you just do four nights, it’s going to blow minds.” That was all Anastasio needed to hear. “Then we’re not doing it,” he recalled telling her. That is the Phish way. To the uninformed, it may come across as yet another breezy, shambolic jam band, inheritor of the Grateful Dead’s traveling circus. But devoted members of the Phish “herd” understand the complex dynamics that drive these erstwhile Vermont hippies. Anastasio and his bandmates want every show to be the aural equivalent of an Easter egg, offering joy and surprise and an unreplicable magic. At some shows, fans encounter an unannounced rock opera, staged with actors and elaborate props; at another, they’ll each walk away with a free box of mac-and-cheese. Phish never repeats a set, and it refuses to commemorate its classic albums. Not exactly what you expect to find among the A-list nostalgia acts that dominate the Strip, which in coming months will host residencies by Mariah Carey, Garth Brooks and the Killers, re-creating their 2004 album “Hot Fuss.” “There is a quality of Vegas where older bands go to play their old album, to make a lot of money late in the twilight of their career,” Anastasio says. “That’s not what we’re interested in.” So Phish will sweep into town on April 18, intent on playing about 80 songs over the course of four concerts, repeating none. And yes, that will include most of the new material from “Evolve,” an album fans won’t hear until its July release. (The title track drops Thursday.) Meanwhile, the Sphere’s high-tech 160,000 square-foot LED screen will offer the band a proper swirling canvas for its elaborate visions, as channeled by Holmes. She got her start as lighting director on the Talking Heads’ groundbreaking 1983 Stop Making Sense tour and has since collaborated with Roger Waters, Peter Gabriel, Miley Cyrus and Janet Jackson. She is also — as is required in the Phish camp — an excellent secret-keeper. Anastasio divulges that the four shows will be linked by a theme, but neither he nor Holmes will say what it is. “I’m not trying to be cagey,” she says. “I just want people to not have any idea what’s about to happen when they come into the room. That’s part of the fun of this.” The path to the Vegas Sphere began in an incongruous place: the tie-dye-friendly campus of the University of Vermont, where Anastasio jammed with longtime bassist Mike Gordon and dress-wearing drummer Jon Fishman for the first time on Dec. 2, 1983, in a student dining hall. A fourth member, guitarist Jeff Holdsworth, dropped out before graduation but the others kept going, soon joined by keyboardist Page McConnell. It was a Burlington band through and through, imbued with the crunchy spirit of a city that had elected Bernie Sanders mayor, launched Ben & Jerry to ice cream fame and nurtured Bread & Puppet, a politically radical theater company known for its antiwar, anti-nuke parables told through gigantic puppets. Phish built its loyal audience over a decade through constant touring, without MTV or radio hits. Eventually, after signing with Elektra, the band played “Saturday Night Live” and David Letterman’s show. But the musicians followed the Grateful Dead’s grass-roots model by creating their own company, Dionysian Productions, to handle tours and merch. It was perhaps not surprising that Phish intersected with certain other aspects of Dead culture. Every show was a freewheeling party, awash in exotic substances. As the party grew, so did Anastasio’s personal struggles, and the band made the difficult decision to break up. The farewell show in Coventry, Vt., grossed almost $9 million, but the guitarist remembers a more dizzying number — the 3,000 friends on the guest list for the out-of-control backstage festivities. But Phish never fully drifted apart. The musicians were best friends as much as bandmates. Even at Anastasio’s lowest point — he was briefly jailed after a 2006 narcotics arrest — he remained in regular communication with Fishman, Gordon and McConnell. Stranded in Upstate New York for 14 months as he completed a felony drug-court program, he found himself picking up the phone to call McConnell. “Like, a lot,” Anastasio recalls. “And he wasn’t happy because the band had broken up. Yet I never got that. I would call him, and he would answer the phone, and we would talk. I can’t even say how much I care about that man.” “I guess in my heart, I never actually believed that the band was over,” explains McConnell. In 2009, a rehabilitated Anastasio returned to the stage with the rest of Phish. There were some changes. The band members signed to a management company, Red Light, to liberate themselves of the pressure of overseeing a staff. And they altered the culture. No more open bar. Not even a can of beer. There was no discussion about this. It just happened. “I think everyone was relieved to stop having these huge scenes backstage,” says McConnell. “It was just, you know, Trey’s sober and do we really want a bunch of people drinking backstage?” Even while the easy, loose-limbed sound of classic Phish sprang back to life, the revived band’s prankster glee seemed to swell in scope and ambition. Lighting master Chris Kuroda handled a rig that grew so large it couldn’t always fit into arenas. At a show in 2009, Fishman was shot out of a cannon. In 2017, Phish played 13 Madison Square Garden concerts in a row (now known as “The Baker’s Dozen”) in which not a single song was repeated and a special doughnut was distributed to everyone in the audience. In 2018, a Halloween show turned into the debut of Kasvot Växt, an alter-ego band of white-suited Scandinavian ’80s-synth enthusiasts, with an entire set of new songs written just for the gig.

Someone asked on my Facebook the other day if you let politics influence your love for art.. yesterday on the way home she swallowed it by nwa came on my Playlist. I don't condone how eazy and crew talk about wimmens like they are minced meat. Just the same as I don't let a band's politics or their lyrics influence my appreciation for music. Bawitdaba, da bang, da dang diggy diggy

Going to Maynard's 60th birthday party April 30

https://aviewfrommyseat.com/venue/the+sphere%2C+vegas/202/

Section 201 mother fockers !%!%@$!$!%