A veritable illicit candy store springs up wherever the band Phish plays. The adult playground was in full swing at the show at The Gorge Amphitheatre on Aug. 7. Acid, pot, X, shrooms, buds, nugs, tabs, chron, trip. All are mumbled in low voices by those selling, looking to buy or trade. Beyond the ease of acquiring recreational drugs and the free-form atmosphere in which to do them with somewhat reckless abandon, the band’s music holds massive appeal in its own right. Clear elements of jazz, boogie-woogie and delta blues, rock, folk, and jam band (obviously) shine through. Led by frontman and stellar guitarist Trey Anastasio, the band with a cult-like following of some of the smiliest-faced people on the planet had called it quits in 2004 though more show dates and live recordings have followed.

It had been 10 years since I had last seen Phish perform live; I was thrilled at the prospect of seeing them again and at one of the country’s finest locations. The weather at the Gorge was sublime — light breeze, warm air, no rain. I bought tickets from a “friend” in the parking lot though we could have gotten them for free if we’d waited. Tickets resting in the chain-link fence near the entrance were up for grabs. The show fulfilled my past expectations of a high-energy, ecstatically joyous experience — especially musically.

The band, who looked the same as they had in ’99 to me, walked out on stage 30 minutes late; no one cared. Anastasio waved to the crowd as he would greet friends he was really glad to see and immediately opened with "Down with Disease," a more rock-driven song from their 1994 Hoist album released on Elektra records (there was much grumbling of the band “selling out” with this song due to the divergence in sound from previous releases and a video airing on MTV). It was one of nine songs played during the first set. An all-around vibe of happiness was evident on the faces of those near me and those I could see across the crowd. Everyone danced. I grinned like a loon and giggled spontaneously when parts of the music swelled and the bass vibrated in my chest. And I danced the entire set — a good hour plus. As the sun went down, the light show lit up. Ah, the light show — the visual equivalent of taking psychedelics with an energy drink chaser.

Just as I expected and remember from the multitude of past shows I saw in my late teens and 20s in as many cities, the second set was mellower and slid directly into the land of jam, some of which was clearly self-indulgent on the band’s part. But who can blame them? They are doing exactly what they love to do in front of thousands of people who adore them, and if they want to turn one song into a 23-minute self-tribute to their musical abilities then they should (and they do). Given this, there were only six songs in the second set with the quality encore of "Slave to the Traffic Light." During some of these jams, the friends I was with jokingly asked “what song is this?” since the jams went on for so long that you could literally forget what song it sprang from. No worries, though. On perfect cue the band pulled it all in and launched directly back into the song they had started with as if the jam out session hadn’t lasted for 15 minutes. Each time the band reeled it in, the crowd cheered and threw themselves back into the dance, right on beat. Some songs are fanciful, straight-up funny and have seemingly senseless lyrics. Others address social issues of depression and the monotony of life.

Watching the band members’ faces while they play is nearly as entertaining as watching the crowd. Phish shows offer some of the most amazing and diverse people watching there could possibly be. I can’t imagine a band that draws more varied and large crowds and one that has such a large number of attendees high as kites yet peaceful as kittens. I skipped the campground party though I swear I heard the nitrous tank whooshing out its siren call all of the way from the main parking lot.