(Published in the second edition of The Phish Companion...)

A show that will forever live in infamy. There was a sign above the bar at the grungy Living Room that read, “Maximum Capacity 175.” I estimate that there were at least four hundred in the room that crisp May night. After indulging in a little Sport-Death, a bad situation got a lot worse. Widespread Panic opened and they just multiplied the grunginess of that bleak place. The Living Room is an old warehouse that's been cleared out and set up like a club. The floor is covered with this black, quarter-inch-thick grime. It's just plain disgusting.
I thought things would finally get better as Phish took the stage after what seemed like forever. They started into “Mike's”. After the first few notes, my friends, Andy and John, disappeared, and I was left to fend for myself. They had found a bench outside in an alley and seemed to find salvation there. Once the band started up Foam, I just couldn't take it anymore. I could not handle that bass line. I tried to find refuge, which wouldn't come till I found an empty corner of the room during “Highway to Hell”, the first set closer.
We seemed to mellow out during the set break and got right up front for the next set. It featured the saviors of the evening, “Tweezer” and Henrietta's spotlight, “Love You”. Not to mention the “BBFCFM” encore with just about everyone slam-dancing. During “Lizards”, if I recall correctly, a kid who was sitting on the stage under Page's piano got up and fell flat to the floor. It took him about a minute to get to his feet, and he arose with one side of his face covered with the Living Room grime. He looked at us and said, "I needed that." A shout picked up on the tape sums up the evening perfectly: "Would you calm down?!"