I just looked at the calendar and, indeed, it is not 1997 any more. I suspected as much, given the way my back feels when I get out of bed, but it’s good to double check sometimes. It doesn’t seem like it should be 15 years since Phish destroyed America. I want to call it a few years ago, five at the most, but the gray on my head and in my beard, like Mike, says no. So it must not be that Phish just played DCU last week; it must be true that the last show of the summer took place just hours ago. I was feeling old going into the Dick’s run, and I felt that the promise shown by Long Beach and BG3 had faded as the second leg went on, and I was wondering where the band was at and where it was going. I did not, however, forget one of the original commandments: Never put anything past Phish. These guys will make you throw out your preconceptions and will melt your face at the drop of a hat. This weekend was a jaunt in the WABAC Machine, three shows that will be talked about for years while they find a place among the greats. Debating how exactly to rate Dick’s 2012 can wait long enough, though, for us to appreciate that Phish closed out the summer in classic style, with a series of fist-pumping peaks in the first set and deep, inspired type-II jams in the second.

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