oh kee pah

I don't care, because when Phish plays Austin on Friday for the first time since 1997 at this year's Austin City Limits Festival, I'll be there, and unless the band self-destructs on stage, I'll enjoy it. While I can't say that I listen to the band much these days, I owe a lot of my love of music to Trey, Page, Mike and Fishman.

Unlike Austin, the Connecticut town where I grew up didn't have much in the way of independent record stores or music venues. Obviously, in the early 1990s Pitchfork or iTunes or Amazon.com didn't exist. Neither did the "if you like this, you might like this" recommendation system. If we wanted to buy music, there was a Strawberry's in a strip mall.

I wasn't exactly digging deep into the annals of music history. There was no access. I didn't have an older sibling to turn me on to anything even mildly rebellious. My parents listened to the local oldies radio station, but they didn't keep a record collection. As a result, I knew "Eleanor Rigby" but had no idea about "Revolver."