[We would like to thank Elizabeth L. Woods (@tweezeher) aka @organic.music.society for recapping last night's show. -Ed.]

It’s been a quiet life for me here in Catskills since my family moved here in 1968. My father, a rare dog breeder, decided that the city was no place to raise a family (or a dozen or so chow-chow’s at any given time). I was only 15 when I took the trip to Yasugur’s Farm. I had smoked a little pot with some friends back in Brooklyn, but who knew it would take me leaving the metropolis my father feared would change me to blow the hinges clean off my doors of perception, leaving me born again in a field with 400,000 muddy psychonauts.

The world has changed a lot since then, and whatever good-fight we thought we had won after three days of peace, love, and music has been forfeited in exchange for a world less tethered to reality than I was at 15 years old on 200µg of what I was told was called “liquid sunshine in a bottle,” which I had later learned to be LSD-25, trying to sell wet dogs to the strangers in the rain.

This Phish show was nothing like that though…Other than some mud & psychonauts.

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