Bonnaroo, June 2004. Photo by Regan Teti

The view outside of Vermont’s most famous barn reflects the mood inside the cavernous room. The mountains in the distance glisten with snow, while the birds of spring seem to sing with a renewed optimism. Inside, warm laughter keeps pace with the hard work at hand, as Trey Anastasio and his still unnamed band run through previously unplayed material. Inside and out, it’s a bright and cheerful scene.

“Let’s play ‘Low’,” Anatasio says smilingly to his bandmates, drummer Skeeto Valdez, bassist Peter Chwazik, keyboardists Ray Paczkowski and multi-instrumentalist Les Hall. Valdez counts off the beat as Hall (who is playing guitar for this song) strikes a Pete Townshend-like anthemic chord. Anastasio quickly joins in to lead his crew on the maiden voyage of “Low.”

His mouth is wide with wonder and his eyes full of joy as his band nails the track on the first attempt. The hard-driving rock song is not what people expect from him—and to all of those involved that is a very good thing. Expectations unmet can be poison to the creative process. The Barn is devoid of expectations and the music being made is deeper than the wood it stands on.

“Wow,” says Anastasio. “Did you guys feel that or what?” Everyone in The Barn is beaming.

Joy has returned to all aspects of Trey Anastasio’s life. He’s working, but to see him playing, it doesn’t look like work at all: the music is fun again and his enthusiasm for the new is transcendent. Relix spent time last week in The Barn in Burlington, VT, as Anastasio rehearsed new material with his band. In his first post-Phish interview, the former Phish guitarist graciously took the time out to talk to us over a two-day period about life post-Phish, working without a record label and turning 20 (yes, that’s 20).

DAY ONE

Relix: After Coventry, did you go through a phase of loss and depression, or was it more of a feeling of lightness and freedom?
Anastasio: Honestly, it was an enormous feeling of lightness and freedom, and yet it was hard. I mean, obviously, it was hard. I haven’t really felt a lot of loss because I know it was the right thing to do. No question, absolutely no question in my mind. I actually left from Coventry and left the country; got on a plane with my family that morning and flew away. I knew it would be really hard for a couple of weeks around here. It was a deeply, deeply emotional time, because Phish had become such a family. It was more emotional with people outside of the four band members: It was our office and our crew, and people who were close friends of mine, who were salaried employees, were all basically laid off.

That’s a heavy burden to carry.
Yeah, there were a lot of talks with people and it was hard. I had a lot of emotions. I mean, the stuff that I was writing actually became incredibly therapeutic in that period, as it always has been. Writing it all, writing it out in musical form…

So you had a stretch there where you were pretty prolific…
I was writing like crazy for about a month, September and October. I just put misery up and kind of hid in the music. I was writing and writing and writing. So, I suppose that’s loss to a certain degree. That’s a long time, 21 years. It was kind of scary, but I like scary stuff. So, that’s why, in a certain way, it was liberating.

Rehearsal session at The Barn, Burlington, VT, March 23, 2005. Photo by Tim Donnelly

You know it’s time when you know it’s time.
And I don’t think I could have even verbalized how much it was time until after it was over, and then I really knew it was time. It was the right thing to do.

You haven’t totally shut the door on your past. You say you’re listening to Phish now?
I can listen to Phish now and enjoy it in a sense that things were so confusing [then]. I [had] completely lost my perspective on everything. That’s the most important thing to realize—there was no perspective anymore, being in the middle of this whole thing. I started to almost resent it, because deep in my heart I had other things I wanted to do and I could not get out. It was so hard to get out at the end, based just on all of those things.

There was a thing that had built up around Phish that was safe. Safe and easy. For a lot of people it was comfortable and fun and all that, but at the same time, I was getting completely exhausted and it was almost like trying to live two lives. Which is the way I felt in my heart, and trying to continue to do this thing to maintain the status quo for everyone that wanted it to continue to exist… So I derailed it.

When you’re doing that, something’s eventually gotta give.
I was not healthy. The incredible thing about it is, really, from the minute Coventry was over, it’s just been like a giant intake of breath. It’s just been a complete release, really, from the second it was over. It was just… gone. And you know, Phish was… that was the most amazing thing that happened to us. I can’t even believe that it happened, and incredibly, I love it even more for the fact that it didn’t do us in. It was threatening too. Definitely things were not good at the end there. That’s cool, though, that’s part of it, and I appreciate how lucky we were. It was just an amazing thing that happened.

The weird thing is that I’m not really thinking about it that much, because I’m so excited about what I’m doing now, as you just heard in the barn. It’s such a relief to be singing these songs that are completely attached to who I am at this point in time in my life. Completely from my heart and soul, just being able to come right out and write this stuff and tell it like it is and play with these musicians. Every single day is an explosion of new creativity and to be practicing up there all day long… It’s like that every day, and we’ve been up there two-and-a-half or three weeks now.

That’s definitely invigorating, all the way around.
Oh man, it’s incredible. It’s actually given me more of a love for Phish because for a couple of years there I was feeling, like I said, like there was almost a resentment starting to build up inside of me—which is totally wrong—about something that I adored for 20 years, but needed to end. Now that it’s been ok and everybody goes out… I sat with Page today on the plane and we had the funniest time talking and everybody’s doing their own stuff. I see those guys a lot. I just saw Mike and Fish, we’re friends, and yet now I love Phish even more because it’s kind of let me go [laughing]. It’s just like, thank you.

How are you dealing with the changes within the industry itself—with everything up in the air with the label situations and all these other things that you’re coming to face with, now that you’re out on your own?
It’s been really exciting from my standpoint. I’m in a very lucky position, because we ended our contract with Phish. We handed in Undermind, our last contractual album, then we [the band members] went our separate ways. I don’t have a record contract. I’m completely starting over again, and it feels… I have that feeling I had when I was 18 starting with Phish: you just saw it.

I’m going to be able to start a brand new relationship with somebody based on how I want to live my life for the next 15 or 20 years. And all the conversations I’m having with people obviously touch on all the changes; you can look at it like, okay, this is going to be exciting, stuff’s going to be different. There’s potential to approach an album in a very different way than the big hit single and all that stuff.

There are formats now that will play long-form music; there are other avenues to get music to people. I feel like since it’s happening right now at a point when I’m at the beginning of something new, I can kind of feel like I’m embracing it and I can be part of this exciting new thing, you know?

When Phish started, just to put things into perspective, I don’t think they had invented CD players yet. I think it was the year they invented CDs. We started ’83. So it’s like getting to start the whole thing over again, embracing where everything is today and all the effect that has had on the music and the people you’re talking to. I’m really, really happy right now and I feel great about the whole thing. I was feeling old a year ago [laughing]. I was. And now I feel young again.

Trey Anastasio with Mr. Crowe's Garden, Higher Ground, S. Burlington, VT, 3/15/05. Photo by Rick Levinson

What are you, 40?
I’m 40. So, you know…

40 is the new 20.
Forty’s the new 20. I’m 20. I can drink next year!

Do you have a skeleton of a set list that you’re looking to do on this leg?
Yeah, I have a lot, I have more material. One of the things that happened is, the way you heard at band practice today, these guys have the capability to take hold of the stuff. It’s a really good band. That’s the best part. The turning-point moment was when I went out to dinner with Rick Beato and he told me about Skeeto. I don’t know if you were checking him out...

When he walked up to me and introduced himself, I was like, I know this guy from somewhere, I don’t know how I know him…
Everybody who meets him, it’s the first thing they say: “Whoa, his energy is just...”

I was thinking, how do I know this guy?
You know what I mean? You’re looking for that in a drummer, he’s got it. That’s it, he’s playing but he’s groovin’.

With a smile on his face.
Always. The first time I met him we talked about that. He said, “I decided that when I was 35 that every time I sit down at the drums, whether it’s in my basement or onstage, I’m going to play the drums like a 5-year-old kid.” And that’s the way to do it.

A lot of these songs, that I played with a ten-piece band or with a trio, have really taken off in the hands of this band. These guys kind of own it. I’ve found that I actually have a lot of material. They also learn real fast, so I’ll probably be just learning stuff along the way. They’re also kind of practice fanatics, so I’m really excited about that.

It’s almost like you guys are really embracing the rock part of it.
There’s no question about that. I’m fully embracing the rock. I kind of had to. Like I said, in the last two years, my perspective was gone. Gone. I was doing all this stuff—and it’s stuff I always wanted to do, like doing the thing with the orchestra that I did at Bonnaroo, and playing a lot of horn charts instead of a lot of guitar—and a lot of it was very outside of myself. I really wasn’t doing, I wasn’t singing a lot and I wasn’t playing a lot of guitar. It was writing a lot of charts and hiring a lot of extra musicians.

Did you put a lot of pressure on yourself?
I think I wanted to get out. Really desperately in my heart, and I didn’t know what I wanted. All I knew was I needed to change. So I [went] to Africa, played with Orchestra Baobab, trying to have a new musical experience. I was doing a thing with the orchestra, doing it with the youth orchestra, and I’m writing horn charts… As soon as I got out, all I wanted to do was sing and play the guitar. Then I became very, very interested in writing and writing lyrics and singing and being as personal as possible. As soon as I was released from the expectations, I found that it was easy to be in my own skin again. Does that make sense?

Yeah, but was it you whose expectations you put on yourself?
Well, probably, yeah, yeah. Now that you mention that, I’ve never thought this before. You know what it was? I remember with that orchestra thing, I kept feeling like time was running out, that there are all these things I want to do and I had been very lucky to land in this band and be having this success, but that over 20 years had gone by, and we were still in this clearly defined framework that we had made for ourselves when we were 18. And I started having this feeling like I’m never going to be able to get out of this thing and then all these other musical opportunities were going to pass me by, and life is going to go by… so I started getting very desperate about doing them, you know. “I’ve gotta write an orchestral piece and I’ve gotta write horn arrangements and I’ve gotta…” I think it was a little bit misguided. You know, I loved doing it at the time. But I mean, there was a desperation. Maybe I was being really hard on myself, I’m not sure, but all I know is that when the whole thing ended, I didn’t feel that way anymore. And I don’t know if that makes sense. All I wanted to do was just sit down at my guitar and kind of go up to The Barn and play screaming guitar for 15 minutes, for hours with those guys.

With Dave Matthews and Friends, Bonnaroo, June 2004. Photo C. Taylor Crothers

DAY TWO

Anastasio is auditioning his bandmates on the spot for the harmony parts on “Black.” Peter Chwazik is the first to step up to the mic, and his attempt is okay but not stellar. “Oh man,” says Anastasio. “I have to be [American Idol host] Simon Cowell here. Sorry Peter, that was a little flat, but you are not out of the running yet.”
Everyone laughs, and the conversation turns to American Idol. “I agree with Simon that the country chick Carrie [Underwood] is going to sell more records than any other Idol winner. She’s got it all,” says Anastasio. Ray Paczkowski chimes in with support for Bo Bise. There’s disdain all-around for the Scott Stapp-influenced Constanine Maroulis.

Anastasio’s problems today are trying to catch the last minutes of both The Apprentice and American Idol. “Man, could you believe that girl who mouthed off to Trump? She was going to move on until she insulted him,” he laughs.

Les Hall is the final contestant on “Anastasio’s Idol.” He nails the harmony. “We have a winner. Sorry Peter. Congratulations, Les.”

The chemistry between the band members is evident. They finish each other’s bad jokes, lend support and have an evident affection for one another. “You can feel it, can’t you?” asks Anastasio.

Relix: You have to come up with a name now.
Anastasio: Well, I have it named. I have it…well…I can tell you the story.

This image, this thing, came to my head: 70 Volt Parade. The idea was when the Phish thing was kind of going down, and when it was going on, it felt like I was part of it. I was picturing this thing in my mind, it was like… 70 volts being slightly more than half the power it takes to run a piece of electrical gear. You picture what would be happening here with wires frayed and sparks flying all over and it’s incredibly dangerous, and somebody’s about to get electrocuted.

But, things just keep rolling along, and that’s what stuck in my head, the image, that’s what I felt like I was in. And I liked it, even though it was threatening to do me in at certain points.

The idea is to go out on tour and this thing is a thing that’s inclusive of people as much as a band. That’s the point, right? So, it’s been in the back of my head, that I was gearing up for this tour and this thing has been sticking with me, sticking with me… this image that you go out there and it’s going to be dangerous and really electric at the same time and, you know, sparks and [explosion noise].

A parade is a community kind of event: people coming, and then they’re a part of it... It wouldn’t be anything without people. It’s a thing, as opposed to a show. That has been stuck in my head; it still hasn’t gone away. So now they’re putting up these posters and stuff, I don’t know… You know, Band of Gypsies started off with a concept, and people just started calling the band that.

Just don’t call yourself the bandleader, call yourself the grand marshal.
I’m wary of all that kind of stuff. Every time I went on tour in the past I had different personnel. I started with a trio, then it was a five-piece, then it was an eight-piece, then I had a ten-piece. Then I had Surrender to the Air or whatever, and you know, that was the other reason that this was kind of appealing to me. Because I never know where things are going to go, and the main thing I want to do right now in my life is embrace change, because I saw where it led me before, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, ever. So, it [70 Volt Parade] was a concept as much as anything. But it’s really sticking now. I also couldn’t anticipate how quickly this would start to sound like a band.

One of the things that I didn’t actually anticipate was we wanted to practice for a month, so we’ve been together for a month, we’ve been practicing together six days a week. And in the process living together, and driving the same car and everything, this has been just sort of a new thing. I was always sort of squeezing all this process in, and now that’s what’s part of made this feel like a band, you know?

That tightness.
It’s a team. It’s just been amazing up here, and one of the things that happened yesterday is a couple people came by the barn. Every time people walk in, everybody just lights up, and we’re playing and just lighting up anyway, but we kind of need an audience now. We’ve been hitting it for a month. Everybody’s ready to get some people dancing. I can’t wait. I just am so excited.