It feels weird to write about something other than Deepwater Horizon. But I am going to report on Phish 3D, which I watched at the cinema last night. There is never an appropriate, culturally sanctioned time to discuss Phish, so we might as well go for it in the midst of a major ecological disaster. (Going for it in the midst of a major ecological disaster would be a good description of Phish tour. The carbon cost of Phish probably warrants a measure like extinctions per show; I think I spent more time in a private vehicle during my four days of tour last summer (a short, noobish run, by Phish standards) than I did during the rest of 2009. But because this perspective on touring requires some minimal systems thinking, plus an admission that the way we do things is for the most part not ok, it seems extreme, optional at best. However, the clarity of the narrative of the oil spill, with obvious and immediately understood causes and effects, makes it quite real-seeming and scary, though it can't really compete with the ongoing, not-new ecological disaster of our normal form of life.)

Expecting a sellout crowd, I got to Fancyland (our nickname for Cinematic Grand Stadium at Clark's Pond, the sort of movie theater that has advanced concessions, extremely steep seating, and everything else irrelevant to the cinematic experience) an hour early (yet another expression of my DSM IV-caliber Phish problem). I was alone in Auditorium 4 for a long time. When people started showing up (maybe about 20 in all, no nerdy element (besides me), no hippies, no scumbags, no one under 30, mostly working-class dudes with their girlfriends (who probably also go along for disc golf and sit through Derek Trucks on Pay-Per-View)), it became clear to me how awkward this social situation was. Since it's Phish, are you supposed to chat with the people next to you? Do you present yourself as you might at a show, where the myth of the Phish Community causes you to act knowing and kind and generally phony? (At a show at least you are assembled for a real event.)

One guy shouted as he came in, "Who's going to Hartford?" Why did he shout this? Did he have tickets to sell? (If he miscalculated demand and overbought tickets to summer shows, he is not alone.) Or was he thinking that most of us Mainers would just be catching Phish in Massachusetts, their nearest tour stop, whereas headier fans like he would hit the second-nearest stop as well? Did he mean to refer to last summer's Hartford show—mediocre till halfway through the second set and then redeemed by magic—which has made the Comcast Theater (formerly New England Dodge Music Center, formerly Meadows Music Theater) a sacred venue?

Aside from this outburst, cinema etiquette prevailed and distance was kept. Perhaps the audience understood that shared enjoyment of Phish is bizarre. If you're eating at McDonald's, you don't go up to someone at another table to talk about how awesome the food is. (Yet any time I encounter Phish music in the larger world, it's hard to resist making a great display. I heard "Free" at Rosemont Market sometime in winter 2009 and teared up and tried to explain to the cashier how hearing that song in public was kind of a life event for me. This amazing Disease jam was coming through the double-doors of a work room at the Co-op in Brattleboro (actual Vermont Phish!), so I had to peek in and talk to the guy washing the vegetables (it turned out to be from Vegas 96). Last month I heard "David Bowie" coming out of some guy's car in the Whole Foods parking lot; even though it was just the Junta version I felt like it was ok to walk over to his car and wave.)

Phish 3D has three acts, culled from performances at Phish's Festival 8, held in Indio, California over Halloween weekend last year. The first act is a composite that represents a normative nighttime set; the second is assembled from a daytime acoustic set (way out of the box for Phish); the third is from their surprise "musical costume," a Phish Halloween tradition—this time out they do Exile on Main Street, with a horn section and backup singers.

Like the stop-motion animation in the Mr. Fox movie, the 3D is kind of awesome for the first few minutes, then your brain adjusts to the medium and you stop noticing it, and it's up to the content to carry the rest of the film. (Maybe the recent proliferation of 3D movies can be explained this way: a pirated 3D movie watched over the Internet would just be a blur.) It turns out that Trey, Mike, and Fish are ok in 3D, but Page is extremely interesting; he sits within a multi-level keyboard fort (Rhodes, Hammond, Moog, Clavinet, Yamaha grand piano, others) that lends itself to geometrical study, and his reflection in the top of the grand looks really cool in 3D.

Without recognizing what was happening, I had the classic Phish experience while watching the movie: Why was I excited about this, and why did I inconvenience myself and others to get here? Phish is not good. I could get up and leave; that would be liberating. Phish is a business, and it's sick the way they manipulate their audience. I'd be having more fun reading in bed. Then an inner shift occurs, and you're in that other place, perfectly attuned, in awe of these masters of music, and they suddenly put down their instruments and bow and walk offstage, and you think, When can I see them again?

Amazingly, it was the acoustic set that effected my conversion. I couldn't believe that they actually sounded better, fuller, more colorful and psychedelic, without all their gear; plus their voices blended well. I love Phish pretty much unconditionally, but it was a revelation to hear that they can actually play. Then the Exile stuff: it is a rule of Phish that when you go to see Phish, you see just those four guys, no opening band, no guests. But here the additional players were the opening that allowed the music to happen; their excess noise-soup floated Phish along; the weird emptinesses were filled, they were playing against something, inside something, bigger than themselves. The sound of Phish is so incessant and fatiguing (especially new Phish; read this article about the compression and gating and digitizing of their live sound) that it's an incredible relief to hear them in a swirl of non-Phish sounds. They're relieved, too—you can see from their expressions how happy they are to be free from Phish, released into the larger social world of music. (My dream job: Phish jam coach. First order of business: Saundra Williams and Sharon Jones and the horn dudes are in the band now.)