Matty Matte Modge Podge

I widened my stance early into the first Set to accommodate the growing need to dance. Lingering somewhere below my knees, this ripple was set into existence by Mike Gordon's Bass. Not to beat a dead horse, but given the right set of circumstances, and MSG is ripe for the challenge, implosion could ensue with the immense energy emanating from the stage, the speakers, and the Bass Bombs headstrong and hell bent on forging paths of sonic brilliance past and through any innocent bystander; May ye be warned, lest the vacates the premises, no prisoners of war will be taken, this is a fight to the bitter end, fraught with more than its fair share of casualties, no judgement just carnal devastation. My mind was engulfed in the mental projection of the bass registering through the amplifier, like a billowing orb of light and heat. Inside this fortress of bass relief, I was free to meander this musical mecca to behold the searing flesh and destruction taking place. Ladies and Gentlemen, The

I woke up one morning...in december...and I realized I loved you! My growing suspicions rumbled to a boil, spilling their froth from the still teetering lid of the cauldron that is MSG, on their way, dousing the jerseys and banners with their wicked slippery paws. Simple words, easy to utter; I am addicted. My name is Matthew and I am addicted to Phish. Who else feels this way; a massive wave of quiet abounds and I am left pantsed and alone in a crowd (with my 13 year old naked legs; pant legs crumbled like Obi Wan on the floor!) Night one was captured via my pen, moleskin notepad, and two rapidly fading thirty year old orbs of visual sensory; made new by curved lenses and forged plastic and metal-an archaic jerry rig if you ask me. 1. The pen captures the set list. It's ink globules trickle from the bouncing pen's erratic movement stuck nestled in the neck of my smoke embraced t-shirt, and in blind-frenzy fashion navigate the extra-terrestrial bounds of tiny lined paper and pe

So I wrote these random letters to the band members of my favorite band. A few were lost before I could ever transcribe them (lost, that is, to the myriad of fans I handed them out to amidst the transcedent, tranformation of a weekend in AC!) So, without further ado... 10/28/2011 Dear Trey, Happy Halloween. Organs blaze orange, as the red candle glow of a strumming hand engages the bass with a jack-o-lantern grin that presupposes a hi-hat crash will dive bomb emminently. I feel I've...dunnununt...never told you...dunt...the story of the ghost. So you know, if your wandered into my cavernous landscape and took a seat amidst the rocks and stalagtites of my miind, you might rejoice in teh retelling of the dawn of man, from humble beginnings to electric virility. We should harness the spirits and evoke the memories of the funk and mollasses, cruising the stratosphere and boardwalk of all hallows eve. Yours,

If it isn't self evident Concerning dead presidents I'd hold these truths to be misleading then Abolish all meaning then Couldn't stand hearing them Tailored my suits again Mis spoke truths again Wasn't quite rude and then Tried to be a better man But resting on my laurels can Ruin all chances of Earning my place above Crimson tide rub a dub Hoping for chance at love Fitting tighter than a glove Relaxing at home verse the club Soaking the suds from my tub Hoping patience is enough Prize fighters all acting tough Holding weak hand call my bluff Should I shave or wear this scruff With Pressed collars and French cuffs Wouldn't it be nice Calling shots and rolling dice Tubs and sonny running vice Go speed racer failed twice In the land of milk and ice Could have worked out very nice But words are labeled in concise Victims of their own device Failed attempts to fix the splice Twisted the wrist to hide these eyes Waiting for the chance to see the sights I could have cont

I Escapades into outer space, limited engagement- limited space, as Exits ceased to cut and evade even my frenetic pace evincing glimpses, turn the bend, of an altering mental state my mind spins and spun begins to replicate patterns and sound, sunlight circling, chasing the ground fretting each other in a primordial panic state. Wait for the baked cake to settle and dictate, batter whipped and dip-sipped, flour and eggs to create this half truth moment i helped to consecrate II From bettin against threats, neurons firing split ends retinas retain haggered edges and mends colors that form clear in weight, sleight of hand, picasso's houdini against the ornate and here I am straight from the gate anticipation rises eclipsing my lingering fate. Couldn't wait for the bus, such a simple tin crate then he ate in four shifts, dipped his head as his lips taste the meals that would not cooperate. stomach ached crackle vase tipped and slit traced the edges of this tourniquet held bandag

To say Sunday's show was an intimate affair was only to recognize that the Mullins Center 10,600 Capacity was half vacant, and all who were in attendance were in for jaunt down memory lane. Intimate would not describe the song selection of the first set; seemingly produced straight from the mind of a jaded lover attempting to (unsuccessfully, mind you) try to get over the scorn that he felt for his Lost Lover. Dazzlingly down trodden, if at all intentioned, Foolish Heart, with the guitar's lighthearted introduction of notes, led to a simple jam on the theme and dispersed into the air, the crowd combining to make each moment, the most exciting in anticipation of the next note and song. It seemed the smaller crowd, rounding out this mid level arena leaving the upper rows and back stage bare, were in full focus for the evening, bringing the event much more significance. The boys on stage had little concern of the size of the crowd, butmust have revelled in their intent and attenti

Lost my shit trying to act casual I couldn't have imagined life is what would happen at first stuck in mental traction back breakin', inaction In these dreams I was Charlie Chaplin walking waddle funny fashion tight thick moustache caneing around with bowler cap on But I've tied my means together needle and thread in one ear, for the better verses sewn through your head enleashed bombs, en masse with underlying captions. These words are like Webster's one life exits, one enters but I come through lyrically factual, thrusting opponents towards the actual Enemy troops that enter in gradual and recede with my tidal pool. Water's cool Then supernatural, like Northern Lights I brighten the sky, stars explode your eyes, wide shut, to capture it all. If this was try outs you'd be passed on blasted off like Vultron If this were Mask, I'd ask them to keep their mask on I'd ignite as if I'd spilled gas on this fire burning inside In wild fire f

He ripped open the smaller than normal top to the energy drink, that years later they, meaning those energy drinks for the ADHD of the sort digging into my now meaningless diatribe, would be the same size, if not bigger than regular soft drinks, would have come as a complete shock to both of us, but then again, nothing is as it appears 30 hours into the ultimate "return", having left Wyoming, and the grand tetanus, now somewhere on I80 nearing the border of two north eastern states--those of which I can only hope are virginia and pennsylvania…I digress, and seem to unwillingly, witty faux phrases that keep coming to my head when I look over and see what I can only imagine is hallucination coming to the being of someone who probably hadn't seen it come naturally, hallucination that is, in quite some time: His Ultimate Road Trip did start at a hippie festival, revolving around one band, in some hilly-billy meth inspired, back yard-religious compound of a portion of the nort

COLORADO NIGHT II 2011       Colorado II              To Start, Possum ripped with a fury that spelled out the "thick" to which we would be in "IT", soon enough; and one would have hoped, but not necessarily guaranteed, that that dead animal lying in the middle of the road would be a mere after thought, if not simply a mile marker indicating our embarkation through a tour de force performance on the second night of Colorado's three night run. To step back, and one needed only to open their eyes, to behold the foot hills of the Colorado Rockies, approaching the venue from the East, the natural beauty of the environs could have been enough for a flop show and some memories of a marathon weekend. It may not be the Gorge, but it sure as hell is one comfortable venue, with some gorgeous scenery. Back to the music…The pace did not lessen as the band dropped into the last Moma Dance of the tour, and quite possibly the year. As Possum ended and the open

Water seems to be a theme that pervades my existence; in all I can say that I would not be comfortable living in a space that was not remotely close to water, preferable salt water. There is a certain serenity to the ebb and flow of the ocean, spreading it fingers into the farthest crevices, mingling with fresh water, blurring the line between the salt that defines itself, and separates it from other water. It corrodes too, sticking to it's victims even after it's wet existence has faded, as if painting what it touches and leaving a sticky reminder of its presence. Memories persist of my youth, center stage, waiting to thrust into the week from the catapult of a summer Sunday. I would saunter in a youthful lolly gag across my shore house's sharp sting gin grass, crabby as my temperament of another weekend gone. My hair would be dried to a salted matte and my skin lightly salted as lay face down on the grass, my arms wrapped in front of me, my chin safely nestled in the bend

We are weeks out of summer tour, out of summer even and as the final punctuation mark is slowly pressed, from the pen of life, dipped into that deep ethereal ink fountain, and pressed upon on the canvas of our lives, I forget sometimes to stop and reflect. As each day passes, and passes quickly, I inevitably get trailed down to the bottom of the page, and finger licked, forced onto the next page, edges unintentionally dog earred, to slip, stitch, and pass into the next thought. So suddenly sometimes, waking to a wandering sense of musical undertones, one's just to faint to recall their rhythm or lyrics, but just sonic enough to gesture that silence is split, I attempt to collect that musings that abound, an reformulate them as one might a dream from waking out of it's intense and distant meaning. I wonder if music is THE gateway, needing it to dispel urges, spawn others, quietly manipulte reality all around me; to segue (or fuse, rather) my existence as a seam-filled, but all t

Colorado II To Start, Possum ripped with a fury that spelled out the "thick" to which we would be in "IT", soon enough; and one would have hoped, but not necessarily guaranteed, that that dead animal lying in the middle of the road would be a mere after thought, if not simply a mile marker indicating our embarkation through a tour de force performance on the second night of Colorado's three night run. To step back, and one needed only to open their eyes, to behold the foot hills of the Colorado Rockies, approaching the venue from the East, the natural beauty of the environs could have been enough for a flop show and some memories of a marathon weekend. It may not be the Gorge, but it sure as hell is one comfortable venue, with some gorgeous scenery. Back to the music…The pace did not lessen as the band dropped into the last Moma Dance of the tour, and quite possibly the year. As Possum ended and the opening licks of Moma captured the audience, there was a

What an opener it was. Nestled in the rear section of the pavilion, next to a brother sister combo, whose combined age could not have surpassed 12, embarking upon their first show, I felt a little nostalgia for that feeling of stepping into something new, something that you have no vocabulary for, and no road map to help you to guide, or stumble rather, through a virgin experience. Unless you were on stage, no one could have foretold the opening pitch of opening day, and after a week and half of worry over the weather, the skies of my mind cleared and Tweezer was the only thing raining for miles around; and you could see for many of them here in Bethel. With the summer evening converging with what was left of the afternoon, the boys stepped into high gear, and while not dropping a half hour explosion, got the point of their musical thoughts while not cutting the jam haphazardly, strolling rather effortlessly into My friend, My friend with an air of Guyute teased through the beginning s